Harry Potter and the Prince of Slytherin
by The Sinister Man
Summary: Harry Potter was Sorted into Slytherin after a crappy childhood. His brother Jim is believed to be the BWL. Think you know this story? Think again. Year Three (Harry Potter and the Death Eater Menace) starts on 9/1/16. NO romantic pairings prior to Fourth Year. Basically good Dumbledore and Weasleys. Limited bashing (mainly of James).
1. HP&POS 1: The Meeting Begins

**HARRY POTTER  
AND THE PRINCE OF SLYTHERIN**

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

* * *

**CHAPTER 1: The Meeting Begins**

_**28 June 1995  
(Seven days after Little Hangleton)  
The Headmaster's Office  
**_

Harry paused at a conveniently placed mirror just across from the gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the Headmaster's Office. He was already late, but as the boy was a bit cross with Professor Dumbledore at the moment, he put being presentable ahead of being punctual and so took the time to adjust his green and silver necktie and pat down the few hairs that had slipped out of place. Potter men were known for their famously unruly hair, which was one of many reason why he was glad he no longer carried that name. Satisfied with his appearance, Hadrian Remus Black ("Harry" to his friends, his teachers, and pretty much everyone else in the world except for a tiny handful of particularly officious bureaucrats) turned to the gargoyle and gave the password – "Goo-Goo Clusters," some ghastly-sounding American confection the Headmaster had discovered – and then ascended the stairs.

"Come in, Harry," said Dumbledore from inside the office before Harry even had time to knock. The young Slytherin sighed. He'd never be so uncouth as to say anything, but privately, he'd always thought it rude for the Headmaster to always invite people in before they could actually knock, the wily old man's way of asserting dominance over visitors before they even made it inside his office. Also, it had been four days since the disastrous end of the Triwizard Tournament (they kept the original name in all papers for some silly reason despite the added participants), and only now had the Headmaster finally decided it was time to speak with him again.

"_A bit lax,_" Harry thought mildly, "_what with a lunatic snake-man back from the dead and running around loose with an army of inbred Pureblood terrorists and all_."

Not that he'd had been looking forward to this meeting. Harry had forgiven Dumbledore years before for his indirect role in placing him with the Dursleys, but the Slytherin was still continually exasperated by the Headmaster's efforts to get him back on good terms with the family he'd simultaneously been thrown out of and proudly walked away from. And thus, Harry was not surprised by the tableau before him when he opened the door.

In the center of the room was Dumbledore who for once wasn't twinkling madly at Harry but was instead looking quite somber. Indeed, today, the Headmaster actually seemed to looked his age. For just a second, Harry felt almost concerned, but then he remembered he had reason to be annoyed with the man and suppressed the charitable influence.

"_Bad enough the Dark Lord is back! But for him to use Dumbledore's tournament to achieve it? And with the aid of one of the Headmaster's best friends, who turned out to be a Death Eater operating right under his nose? Ridiculous! That would never have happened if Dumbledore had been a Slytherin!_"

Then, annoyed with his own annoyance, Harry closed his eyes and centered himself. "_Unbridled emotion is the enemy of cunning and the foe of ambition,_" Slytherin's memoirs had said, and they were words Harry had tried to live by pretty much since the day he first read them. If he crocheted, the quote would be hanging over his bed in framed needlepoint. In any case, Voldemort's rise made Harry and Dumbledore into allies whatever their past conflicts.

To Dumbledore's right was an empty chair apparently meant for him. Sitting next to it were two figures Harry was pleased to see: Severus Snape and Sirius Black. Snape, of course, was Harry's Head of House. After a rough introduction, Harry and the Potions Master settled into a truce that eventually blossomed into a relatively warm (for Slytherins, anyway) mentor-apprentice relationship. Lord Black, pale and gaunt, still showed the signs of years of false imprisonment in Azkaban, but that didn't stop him from adopting Harry as his son and Heir to the shock and horror of most of Wizarding Britain. Harry thought his role in successfully springing Sirius out of Azkaban and into a Lordship was one of his greatest achievements, exceeded only by the monumental task of getting Snape and Black past their adolescent hatred and into an uneasy alliance. There were still scorch marks on the walls of Grimmauld Place from his efforts. It helped that the three of them had mutual enemies.

Speaking of whom, to the left of the Headmaster's desk sat the Potters – James, Lily, and their son, James Jr. (Jim to his friends, the Boy-Who-Lived to his adoring public, the Supreme Git of the Universe according to the T-shirt Harry had sent to him for his 13th birthday). Ostensibly Harry's identical twin, the two could easily be told apart by Jim's atrocious hair, his relentlessly Gryffindorish attitude towards life, and the small jagged scar on his left temple that resembled the letter V. Harry had a scar of his own, of course, but one which was generally attributed to falling masonry, a lightning bolt having no apparent connection to the Dark Lord. Or so most people thought – Harry's Ancient Runes professor knew perfectly well that the lightning bolt scar couldn't have been a better representation of Sowilo, the Norse rune of power and victory, if somebody carved it deliberately, but being a Slytherin herself, she had hoarded that information, knowledge being power after all.

As Harry entered, the Potter father and son turned to look at him with angry glares as characteristic as they were predictable."_Honestly,_" he thought. "_It's not __my__ fault they both kept trusting the wrong people._" Lily Potter didn't glare at her eldest son, but Harry avoided eye contact with her nonetheless. The reasons for the gulf between her and Harry were very different from those separating Harry from his former father and brother, but they were perhaps even more insurmountable.

"You're late," said James coolly.

"Am I?" Harry replied cheerfully as he took the empty seat. "Actually, I don't recall being given a specific time to be here. Just instructions to come as soon as possible. I waited until Theo had left for Grimmauld Place and then came straightaway."

"That's no excu–!"

"Yes, thank you, Lord Potter," Harry said even more cheerfully and with the smile he usually reserved for people he thought were too thick for subtlety. "Your observations have been noted. I will endeavor to be more punctual in the future." Then, he turned to the Headmaster while his birth-father fumed. "Happily, I'm here now. Headmaster?"

Dumbledore was uncharacteristically silent for several seconds. Harry crooked an eyebrow. Finally, he spoke. "Before we get to that, tell me – how is Mr. Nott doing?"

Harry's smile faltered for a second before reasserting itself. The school's treatment of Theo had been a ... sore topic with him for some time. While that wasn't Dumbledore's fault, he certainly didn't do much to help.

"Theo _No-Name_ is doing as well as can be expected, sir. I don't know if Sirius has told you, but he has agreed to take Theo in for the summer and, assuming the legal issues can be worked out, eventually adopt him as Theo Black. Which I think is excellent, because frankly, I've always wanted a brother." Harry fought down the temptation to sneer at Jim with that last dig. After all, he'd been on a campaign for years now to get all the other Slytherins to sneer less often. Anyway, it was a lie – like Neville Longbottom, Theo had already been his brother in every way that mattered for years. Of course, there was that brief interval when Harry actually thought that he and Jim ... but no, that was over and there was no sense brooding over it.

Jim snorted. "You snakes deserve each other," he muttered. "You can get matching Dark Marks."

Harry sighed and shook his head. Apparently, the other boy was still upset at what happened in the graveyard at Little Hangleton, even though Harry's Slytherin cunning had saved both their lives after Jim's Gryffindor hero complex had once again led them into disaster. Typical, really. Sirius growled audibly in response to Jim's dig, and James tensed in response. Luckily, before the wands came out, Dumbledore snapped.

"Enough! All of you! The time for this dissension is past. The Dark Lord has returned, a fact the Ministry of Magic refuses to acknowledge. Voldemort is drawing his Death Eaters to his side even as we speak. Things ... things have _changed_." Dumbledore's voice broke on that last word, surprising everyone present who had always considered the Headmaster a monument of self-control. "As part of that, Jim, you will cease this constant badgering of your brother and of the other Slytherins. While it is true that Slytherin House has always had strong ties to the Dark Lord in the past, I cannot deny what Harry has done to persuade many of his house-mates and even their families to reject Voldemort now. And I will not have those fragile alliances undermined by the bigotries of House Potter that I have tolerated for too long!"

Jim shrank into his seat, as did his father. His outburst over, Dumbledore seemed to deflate as his anger faded. For his part, Harry's eyes widened. He'd never seen Dumbledore talk that way to the Boy-Who-Lived before.

"Now then, before we get to the primary purpose of this meeting, I'd first like to discuss the current attitudes of the DMLE and the Wizengamot towards the announcement of Voldemort's return. We ... we may not have an opportunity to speak of such things later." Black and Potter Sr. looked at each other coolly before Sirius nodded at his former friend. James turned back to Dumbledore and started his report on the state of the DMLE. Harry leaned back into his chair.

"_Things have changed_," Dumbledore had said. Harry looked over to the three people who were supposed to have been his family. But somehow, they were never quite up to the job, so he finally gave up on them and went out to find a family of his own. "_Some things would never change_." As his birth-father's voice droned on in the background, Harry thought about the choices – some his own, most made by others – that had brought him here.

* * *

**Minor updates on 8/28/2016. **

**Lots of Authors Notes below. Don't worry. Future chapters won't have nearly this many, and most won't have anything beyond a notice of when the next update will be.**

**AN 1: **

**Slytherin!Harry  
Intelligent!Competent!But-Not-Overpowered!Harry.  
Good!Dumbledore.  
GenerallyGood!Weasleys.  
NoBashing (except for James in the beginning)  
AU with multiple departure points (though still generally hewing to basic HP canon, at least through Fourth Year)**

**AN 2: My goal with this fic is to take the bog-standard Slytherin Harry/WBWL story and subvert its traditional elements. Of course, in order to subvert those tropes, one first has to establish them, so year one basically follows the standard arc for a Slytherin Harry/WBWL story with a few deviations, leading up to some BIG deviations at the end. Year Two diverges pretty significantly from canon, and by Year Three, I don't anticipate following the canon plot at all beyond the basic plot point of Sirius getting out of jail. The novel break-down (for people who don't want to read 300,000+ words at one go) is as follows:**

**Chapter 1: Prologue. What you're reading now, a flashfoward set at the end of Harry's Fourth Year before we go back to the beginning.  
**

**Chapter 2: Halloween 1981 and the tale of how Sirius ended up in Azkaban despite living Potters.**

**Chapters 3-34: Harry Potter and the Prince of Slytherin (Harry's first year).**

**Chapters 35-82: Harry Potter and the Secret Enemy (Harry's second year).**

**Chapters 83-ongoing: Harry Potter and the Death Eater Menace (Harry's third year)**

**AN 3: Harry is relatively OC compared to canon, which, I think, is inevitable for a Slytherin Harry story. This is Harry if he learned on his 11th birthday that his parents had faked their death and dumped him with the Dursleys for contrived reasons that imply they love the WBWL more than him. The result is a Harry who's basically canon-Harry plus a certain amount of bitterness and a monomanical obsession with proving himself superior to his brother. He is also much smarter than canon-Harry for reasons that will be revealed later. Also, for what it's worth, Jim Potter is basically canon-Harry if he'd had two loving parents and had grown up with the privileges and responsibilities of being the Boy-Who-Lived as well as being terribly spoiled by his father and godfather (who isn't who you think it is). While he may not acquit himself well either in this chapter or the first few chapters of Year One, he is not the gibbering idiot who normally plays the role of WBWL and will undergo significant character development starting with the end of Year 1.**

**AN 4: I freely confess that I can't write like an 11-year-old worth a damn and at a certain point I just gave up and handwaved it away with a magical explanation for why children this young were so well-spoken. For one thing, there is a good bit of humor as well as drama in this work, and frankly, 11-year-olds aren't generally very witty. If 11-year-olds who frequently talk like well-educated and occasionally smart-ass 14-year-olds is a complete deal-breaker for you, you should probably move along.**

**AN 5: Harry is the hero if this story, albeit a more reluctant one than canon. He acknowledges that he has a strong Gryffindor instinct with which he grapples from time to time. This will not be a "Dark Harry tortures everyone to death while laughing maniacally" story.**

**AN 6: The firstborn child of a Wizengamot Lord is deemed the Heir Presumptive as soon as he or she demonstrates accidental magic. The Heir Presumptive is elevated to Heir Apparent upon passing a certain number of OWLs or otherwise demonstrating competency as a wizard. These two statuses confer certain legal benefits on the Heir which can protect the Heir even against mistreatment by his parents (benefits which Harry will use to protect himself from a father who would much rather have the second son as his heir). For example, while James Potter desires to disinherit Harry in favor of Jim, he lost the legal right to do so the second Harry's Hogwarts letter was generated. I am aware that these terms have different meanings for Muggle nobility, but this is what they mean for wizards. Please do not leave me angry reviews or messages because I say Heir Presumptive when you think it should be Heir Apparent.**

**AN 7: No romantic pairings among minor children before Year 4 at the earliest. No slash for Harry, but there will likely be at least one gay character, possibly more, among Harry's peer group. Deal with it.**

**AN 8: The first few chapters were me finding my way as a writer and, admittedly, are a little rough. I've edited Chapter 1 and may come back and edit some later chapters when time permits. That said, I feel that I found my "voice" sometime around the Halloween 1991 arc (Chapters 11-14). If you read that far and still hate it, you probably won't like it any better by Chapter 50 or Chapter 100. **

**UPDATE TO AN 8 (8/28/16): I have edited chapters 1-7. There aren't any significant changes to the plot but I think I did make some improvements to the dialogue, streamlined a lot of clunky plot exposition, and made James and Jim /slightly/ less awful. **


	2. HP&POS 2: Halloween 1981

_**HARRY POTTER  
AND THE PRINCE OF SLYTHERIN  
**_

_**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **_

* * *

_**CHAPTER 1: HALLOWEEN 1981**_

* * *

_**31 October 1981**_

Peter Pettigrew slowly picked up himself up off the ground and surveyed the wreckage of the Potter home in amazement. He had sworn allegiance to Voldemort just a week before, bartering the secret James and Lily Potter had entrusted to him in exchange for a seat high in the Dark Lord's counsel. Voldemort had chosen tonight as the most auspicious time to kill the Potters and the Prophecy Child they protected, and he'd insisted that Peter accompany him to Godric's Hollow. The traitor remained across the street and watched as his master glided through the wards on Godric's Hollow and forced his way inside. There was a brief flurry of spellfire, and then silence that last for a moment or two ... until a titanic explosion blew away part of the second floor with enough force to knock Peter to the ground. After recovering from both surprise and the loud ringing in his ears, Peter closed his eyes and concentrated. There was a soft pop, and then a Norwegian Brown rat appeared in his place and quickly darted across to the Potter home. Once inside, Peter resumed his human form and began his investigation. To his great surprise, he soon discovered first James and then Lily Potter, both stupified, along with two infant children. It was decidedly unlike Voldemort to use a Stunning Hex rather than a Killing Curse, but Peter assumed his master had his reasons. Of the Dark Lord, there was nothing left but a pile of ragged clothing and a wand on the floor of the second floor nursery. Peter pocketed the wand inside his robes. The animagus descended the stairs and sat down on a loveseat near the prone body of his former friend, James Potter, muttering curses as he went.

_"Typical!" he thought. "I finally commit myself to the Death Eaters fully and Voldemort_ _immediately gets himself blown up! So now what do I do?"_ Peter sniggered softly to himself. "_I suppose I could turn into a rat full time. Find some wizarding child that needs a pet or something. At least I'd stay fed and out of Azkaban._" He shook his head to clear it and then closed his eyes in concentration. Then, he looked down at James's prone body and smiled.

The decision to switch Secret Keepers from Sirius to Peter had only been made just a fortnight before, and James had been insistent that no one know about the switch, not even Dumbledore. If they'd truly kept the switch hidden, he might have the chance to have his cake and eat it too. Peter cracked his knuckles as he studied James intently. Then, he reached into a pocket and pulled out a small box which he placed on the coffee table. He tapped it once with his wand, and it grew to its normal size - a wooden chest about foot across. From inside, the traitor removed a small vial containing a purple liquid that had been gifted to him by a fellow Death Eater who called himself Mr. Nemo. Peter smiled again. Most of the Death Eaters with whom he'd become acquainted could charitably be described as psychotic morons. Mr. Nemo, like Mr. Toymaker and Miss Direction, were also quite mad but _decidedly_ _not_ morons.

Peter carried the vial over to James' prone body and pried his mouth open before pouring a few drops of the purple fluid down his throat. Then, he pressed his wand to James' temple. The aurors knew ways of detecting memory-altering charms inflicted upon their own, but Mr. Nemo had assured Peter that any mind-altering spell cast in conjunction with his little miracle potion would be undetectable ... and irreversible.

"_**OBLIVIATE**_. You will forget that you switched Secret Keepers. You will forget that you ever considered it. You will forget any memory suggesting that anyone other than Sirius Black was your Secret Keeper." Satisfied that the spell had taken hold, he then cast a second spell. "_**CONFUNDUS**_. You will hate Sirius for what he has done and want revenge more than anything in the world."

Peter repeated the Obliviate spell on Lily after giving her a dose of Nemo's potion as well. Then, he looked up and around, his nose twitching uncontrollably as he did. His animagus form gave him a keen sense of danger, and so he was able to hear the approach of Sirius Black's flying motorbike long before he saw it. "No time for the Confundus then, Lily. But I'm sure James will be vindictive enough for the both of you. He always has been in the past." Peter took cover and tried to take out Black with a stunner, but the other Marauder dodged it.

"Wormtail! You backstabbing little vermin! How could you do this!"

Knowing he couldn't take a seasoned auror in a fair fight, Peter yelled out from his hiding spot. "The Potters are all dead, Sirius, all of them! And you're next! Catch me if you can, blood traitor! And by the way, I ALWAYS HATED THAT NAME!" Then, with a pop, he apparated away, confident that the ever-predictable Sirius Black would follow in a rage rather than taking the time to learn how he'd been deceived ... and framed.

* * *

**_November 1, 1981_**

"Albus? What happened? How did we even survive?" asked Lily from her bed at St. Mungo's.

"I'm not certain, my dear, but ... I think ..." Dumbledore seemed confused for a moment. Then, he looked up as the door opened, and a nurse pushed a double stroller into the hospital room. His attention was drawn to the sound of an infant's wailing. Peering into the stroller, he noticed two infants, one crying and the other asleep. The bawling child wore baby's pajamas in Gryffindor red, with the name Jim embroidered on the front. As he looked down at the crying babe, with a still fading V-scar on his temple, Albus relaxed and smiled. "Yes, I do believe that we have little Jim to thank for this."

" ... Jim?" said Lily in confusion before her maternal instincts kicked in and she rushed over to pick up her crying son. "Shh, Jim. It's alright. Mummy's here."

"Albus, what are you talking about?" asked a dazed James Potter, who had been resting in the bed next to his wife.

"Well, I am quite certain that the mark on Jim's head is a curse scar, the result of a backlash from Voldemort's attempt to slay him. It is clear now that Jim was the child spoken of in the prophecy which named a child born as the seventh month dies and who Voldemort would mark as his equal. Harry was born first at 11:52, while Jim was born just before the stroke of midnight. And now, Jim is marked with a V for Voldemort!"

"Our Jim did it?" said James in wonder. "It's ... a miracle!"

And while the three adults marveled over the child who would soon by known as "The Boy-Who-Lived," they ignored the other child sleeping peacefully in the stroller wearing identical pajamas save for the name "Harry" instead of "Jim." And on his brow, a rune of power pulsed with magical energies that none of them noticed.

* * *

_**November 3, 1981**_

Peter Pettigrew made his way casually through the crowded London street, occasionally looking around nervously. He'd seen the Grim out of the corner of his eye a few times and knew Sirius was waiting until the Muggle crowd was thinner. Suddenly, he heard movement behind him, and the animagus turned quickly and darted down a narrow alley. He'd only made it halfway when a voice like cut glass sliced through the night.

"It's over, Peter! I've got you now!"

Peter turned to face his pursuer, drawing his wand slowly as he did. "Traitor, Sirius? You'd know all about being a traitor, don't you?"

"What's that, Wormtail? Do you want to make some pitiful excuse for why you did what you did?" Sirius's wand was fixed on Peter, and Black had a murderous look in his eyes.

"I have no excuses for you, Death Eater!" shouted Peter, defiantly.

"What?! What the hell are you..." Whatever Sirius Black had mean to say was interrupted as a voice behind him yelled out "_**EXPELLIARUMUS**_!" and his wand flew out of his hand. Whirling quickly, he was shocked when James Potter whipped off his invisibility cloak to catch Black's wand easily with his off hand. Sirius's shock and relief that his friend was still alive was quickly replaced by concern over the look in James's eye, a look of absolute hatred. "Prongs?" he said in surprise. Then, Pettigrew's Body-Bind Hex slammed into his exposed back. Sirius's arms and legs slammed together, and he fell to the ground.

Paralyzed, Sirius could only watch in silent horror as his best friend walked up to his prone body wearing the same look of hatred and contempt he'd worn back in school when they were dancing with Snivellus. "You thought you could betray us – _betray me_ – the way you did and get away with it, _Secret Keeper_." With a snarl, he kicked the helpless Black in the ribs. The paralyzed Black made no sound, but his pain was still obvious.

_"Aah! Dammit James, I wasn't your Secret Keeper! Peter was!"_ he thought desperately, but no words came. Nearby, there were soft pops as aurors apparated into the area to ward off any curious Muggles.

"Thank you for helping to catch him, Peter. Although I do wonder why he was so bent on killing you instead of just fleeing the country."

"No idea ... unless. He yelled out that I was a traitor. You know, Dumbledore may have known he was the Secret Keeper, but only the three of us and Lily were there when you cast the spell. Perhaps he thought that You-Know-Who had killed both of you. If he killed me as well, he could have claimed that you'd switched Secret Keepers. Merlin, what a sly bastard!"

Wormtail looked down at Sirius, seemingly disgusted with him, but his eyes were almost dancing with mirth. Despite himself, Sirius almost had to hand it to the other Marauder. He never imagined that Peter Pettigrew could be this ... cunning. Where had he been hiding it all these years?!

"So now that you've caught him, James, what are you going to do with him?"

"As tempting as the Killing Curse is right now, I'll let our wonderful judicial system handle him."

"James!" exclaimed Peter. "You're going to trust the Wizengamot to decide his fate? He's the Black Heir! And now that he's exposed as a blood purist, they'll be spendthrift in winning his freedom!"

"What do you want me to do?" hissed James. "Use the Killing Curse on him in front of a half-dozen aurors?"

Peter stepped closer and whispered urgently. "You're an auror yourself, James. I know you have a license to kill Death Eaters."

James stared at him for a second. Sirius's eyes almost bulged out of his head. Potter was considering it! Suddenly, James whipped his wand, and Sirius's sleeves ripped away. James sighed loudly.

"I have a license to kill marked Death Eaters, Peter. Obviously, he hasn't been marked yet." Peter looked frustrated, while James stared down at his (former) friend intensely. "Still, there are other Death Eater Laws on the books. In circumstances involving high ranking Death Eaters, we're allowed secret trials. Hell, even trials in absentia. Between my sworn testimony, Lily's, and yours, we'll have this bastard in Azkaban by tomorrow night."

"James," Peter said hesitantly, "I was happy, honored even, to help you catch Sirius. But I'm not an auror. I don't have a heavily warded estate. And I don't want to be looking over my shoulder for Death Eaters for the rest of my life. Do you really need oath-bound testimony from me against the Black Heir?"

James smiled fondly. "No, I guess not. Lily and I can handle it. I will need a statement from you about what happened between you here tonight just to complete the auror report, but I'll have it sealed." He put his hand on Peter's shoulder. "You've been a true friend tonight, better than I've deserved from you. I know I didn't always treat you right when we were at school, but I promise I'll make it up to you from now on." James turned to the other aurors. "Alright, gentlemen. I want this bastard stupified, bound, silenced and locked up in the deepest, dankest Ministry holding cell you can find. No one talks to him and no one knows where he is until after he's sentenced. Got it?"

As a chorus of "yessirs" rang out in the night, the still-paralyzed Sirius Black looked up into the face of Peter Pettigrew. It bore an expression of absolute victory it, and for the next twelve years, it would be the first image he saw at night when the Dementors came.

* * *

**Updated 8/28/2016  
**

**AN 1: Sirius will not reappear prior to Year 3. Neither will Lupin, for anyone who's curious about that. Peter will return by the end of Year 1. This is not the Peter Pettigrew that you think you know.**


	3. HP&POS 3: The Reunion

**HARRY POTTER  
AND THE PRINCE OF SLYTHERIN**

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

* * *

**CHAPTER 3: THE REUNION**

* * *

_**25 July 1991**_

"So ... I'm a wizard," said Harry slowly.

"Yes, Harry."

"And ... you're ... my da...my father?"

"Yes," said James with a tight smile.

"So, where is ... my mother?"

"She's already at Hogwarts. She's the new Professor for Muggle Studies and is still in the process of getting her class situated. I mean, she wanted to be here..." James's voice faded away lamely.

Harry never looked up from the bowl of ice cream sitting in front of him. He had barely spoken to his father since the man arrived that morning the Dursley residence to announce that neither he nor his wife were dead, that both he and his wife were wizards, and that Harry was a wizard too who would soon be starting at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry along with a twin brother he'd never heard of before. James had been shocked and outraged to learn that the Dursley's had told Harry that he and Lily were dead and that he knew nothing of the wizarding world. His furious comments were cut short by Petunia's vicious response: _"He'd have learned the truth years ago if his parents had loved him enough to visit even once!" _Of course, it had been Petunia who had demanded that he and Lily stay away from the Dursleys when Harry was assumed to be a squib, but Petunia was supposed to contact the Potters at once if he showed any signs of magic, which he apparently had. That didn't make the Muggle's hateful insult hurt any less though.

And now, James Potter was nervously watching his eldest son, who looked so much smaller and frailer than his twin brother. Between them sat a bowl of Fortescue's ice cream that the boy hadn't touched yet. He just stared at it intensely because the alternative was looking at the father who'd abandoned him. After several seconds, the boy asked the question James had been dreading ever since he'd learned that his firstborn son was a wizard after all.

"Why?"

James swallowed. "It ... was necessary. Your brother, Jim, is ... special. He was chosen by prophecy to destroy a powerful evil wizard. We don't say his name, just ... You-Know-Who. Anyway, Jim destroyed You-Know-Who, saving all our lives in the process. He even resisted the Killing Curse, which everyone thought was impossible. They call Jim 'the Boy-Who-Lived,' and he can hardly walk down the street without people bowing and scraping before him. We were concerned that you might feel jealous of him. The magical healers were all certain that you were a squib. That is, someone born to wizards but with no magic of their own. As a squib, you'd have been a target for You-Know-Who's followers and wouldn't be able to protect yourself. So Dumbledore – he's the Headmaster at Hogwarts and the leader of the opposition to You-Know-Who – he suggested that we send you to live with your aunt and uncle so you could become accustomed to living in the Muggle world. We didn't even think you were a wizard until the school generated an invitation letter for you."

"My letter. Right. Do you happen to notice the address?" Harry asked in a curious tone of voice.

James blinked several times at the seemingly odd question. "Not particularly. I knew where you lived anyway. Number 4, Privet Drive in Surrey. Why?"

Harry ignored him. "So what happens now? Will I be moving in with you or going back to the Dursley's when I'm not in school?"

James sighed. "Dumbledore has put a lot of magical wards at the Dursley residence to keep your presence there a secret, so you can't be kidnapped and used against Jim. You really are safer there at least until you graduate and can defend yourself. But I promise you that once things have settled down, we'll have you over to visit so that we can all get reacquainted."

Finally, Harry lifted his head and looked his father straight in the eye, and for a second, James flinched. He'd always thought that Harry had his mother's eyes. But now, he realized that Harry's were brighter and more vivid. They were, in fact, the exact same color as the Killing Curse.

"Harry Potter. _**The Cupboard Under The Stairs.**_ 4 Privet Drive. Surrey. Are you really sending me back to the Dursleys so they can lock me in _the boot cupboard again_?"

James' mouth opened and closed like a fish. He had felt quite certain that Harry had been mistreated at the Dursley's simply from the number of times Petunia had screamed the world "freak" at him in the fifteen minutes he'd been there._ But a boot cupboard?!_

"Harry, I'm ... Merlin, I'm so sorry. I promise you. We'll speak to them. We'll make sure they treat you better from now on."

Harry was silent for a moment. Then, he slid his untouched bowl of ice cream towards the middle of the table. "I'm done eating. We should go buy my school supplies now." Then, he stood and walked towards the exit without looking back.

At Madam Malkin's (where James insisted on buying him a whole new wardrobe), Harry met an exuberant red-headed boy who couldn't stop talking about how he had to get into Gryffindor because that was where all of his brothers were and that was where the Boy-Who-Lived was sure to be sorted. The fact that he was standing next to someone who looked like a slightly smaller version of the famous Boy-Who-Lived was completely lost on him in his excitement. Harry grunted a response and left without getting the boy's name.

At Ollivander's, after dozens of failed efforts, the old man finally fitted Harry with a holly and phoenix feather wand which Ollivander described as "curious."

"I'm not surprised," the boy interrupted, eager to get the day over with. "It is a magic wand. I reckon that's a 'curious' as you can get. Is there anything you recommend to go with it?" And that was how Harry left the story with a polishing kit, a wrist-holder and a book on wand lore.

At Flourish &amp; Botts, James Potter told Harry to get whatever he wanted and charge it to his account while he ran a quick errand at Gringotts for the Headmaster. So Harry bought every book on the school list, plus every book that the store owner recommended that might conceivably help a Muggle-raised student adapt to Hogwarts. He also bought every single book mentioning the Boy-Who-Lived that looked even halfway reliable.

At Eeylops Owl Emporium, James insisted that Harry get an owl. "That way, you can stay in touch with us next summer while you're at the Dursleys," said James. Harry just looked at him. Finally, he relented and picked out a rather beautiful snowy owl. Then, he asked to return to Flourish &amp; Botts so he could set up an owl-post account in case he needed more books later. As they were leaving, Harry asked if it were possible for wizards to talk with their owls or with any other animals.

"Generally no," he replied. "The only animals a wizard can talk with are snakes. It's an ability called Parseltongue. And only people called Parselmouths can do it. It's a sign of being a Dark wizard. You-Know-Who was a Parselmouth."

"_Well_," said Harry quietly, thinking back to his recent trip to the zoo and the conversation he'd had with a boa constrictor. "_That's good to know._"

From there, James purchased Harry a new trunk and set him up with an allowance of ten galleons a week, which was apparently an extravagant sum and which would magically refill into the "bigger-on-the-inside" mokeskin pouch which James also purchased for him.

Later, back at Privat Drive, James had a long talk with the Dursleys during which quite a few threats were made. Apparently, the Potters had been paying Vernon and Petunia to look after Harry all these years, and if they weren't going to take reasonable care of the boy, then they'd be paying that money back ... as well as moving out of their home, for which apparently the Potters had paid the mortgage. Accordingly, Harry would be moving out of his cupboard and into what had been Cousin Dudley's spare room. Also, there would be no more chores for Harry, which was good news as he planned to a lot of time reading the books he'd purchased.

Finally, as he was leaving, James asked Harry to come out to the front porch for a good-bye. "Listen, son. I ... I can't tell you how sorry I am about all this. We should have checked in on you before now. We shouldn't have just trusted Petunia and Vernon to do right by you. But I promise, you. We'll get past this and come back together as a family."

Harry stared that unsettling stare again. "Do you really believe that?"

"You bet, kiddo."

Harry was silent for a few seconds before replying. "They told me you were both dead. That you were a drunk and were always on the dole. That my mother sold herself to pay for drugs for the both of you. That you killed yourself and mother while you were both drunk and high in an auto accident that I barely survived."

James looked up at the door to 4 Privet Drive as if he could burn a hole through it with the power of his angry gaze. "Those were lies, Harry. Filthy awful lies."

"I know. I've always known that they were lying to me about my mother and father. But I never _imagined_ that one day I'd wish it had been the truth."

And with that, Harry turned and went inside, slamming the door in his father's face.

* * *

**Updated 8/28/2016. Relatively minor changes, mainly to Harry's dialogue and to clarify that Petunia was supposed to inform the Potters if Harry demonstrated magic, but she did not.  
**


	4. HP&POS 4: Meet the Potters

**HARRY POTTER  
AND THE PRINCE OF SLYTHERIN**

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

**CHAPTER FOUR: Meet the Potters**

* * *

_**1 September 1991**_

Harry Potter had never considered himself particularly smart, and certainly no one he'd met in his entire life had even suggested that he might be. There had been one letter sent home to the Dursley's in his third year of schooling that indicated he was smart based on a test he'd taken at school and which had been graded by some education officials in London. But his guardians had been convinced that he'd cheated somehow, that a _freak_ like him couldn't possibly be ... _gifted_. So they locked him in his cupboard for a week and let him eat nothing but stale bread and water. When he went back to school, his teacher told the whole class that he'd admitted to his guardians that he'd cheated on the IQ test they'd all taken and that he was an awful, terrible child. And then, her hair turned blue for some reason. Magic, he now suspected.

After that, Harry set for himself the goal of always doing _slightly_ worse than Dudley in every class, a goal at which he succeeded admirably, though considering Dudley's poor academic skills, Harry had been lucky to have never been transferred to a special needs class. Once, he made it a point of getting every question on an exam correct and then leaving the last seven questions blank just to see if the teacher said anything. She didn't.

In short, Harry Potter learned early and well to never apply himself academically, a lesson which lasted right up until the day he met James Potter. It was like a dam cracking and then shattering, unleashing thoughts the boy had been burying since he was old enough to talk. The first night in his new room, he set himself to studying his new textbooks, starting with Potions. He was a remarkably good cook for an eleven-year-old (surprising the skills one picks up when the alternative is a frying pan flung at one's head), and he thought the principles should be similar. When he first came to a word he didn't understand ("_What on Earth is a bezoar?")_, he crept downstairs and claimed the Oxford English Dictionary which Aunt Marge had gifted to Dudley but which had never once been opened, and then he wrote the word and its meaning down in a spiral notebook leftover from the previous year of schooling. He started reading the book just after dinner and was surprised when he finally yawned, looked at his watch, and realized it was after midnight. He'd covered six chapters and filled three pages of his notebook. It was more homework than he'd done in his life.

Some people might have mistaken Harry's newfound studiousness for a desire to please the parents who had finally returned for him. Those people would be wrong. Harry had decided that he would excel in order to force his parents to acknowledge what a mistake they had made by tossing him aside, whatever it took. For ten years, the boy had been forced to accept his miserable lot in life as well as the vital need to keep his emotions in check at all costs. _Nothing good ever came of getting angry at the way he'd been treated. _But now, perhaps for the first time in his life, Harry Potter was angry. Absolutely and unreservedly angry. And it was an anger that burned cold.

For the entire month of August, Harry spent nearly every waking moment poring over the books he'd purchased at Flourish &amp; Botts. He ate sparsely and always in his room, leaving the Dursleys to learn to their disappointment just how bad a cook Petunia was. Mornings were for magic, though just theory and history for now. It was apparently illegal for him to practice actual spells at home prior to the start of school, and while James implied with a wink that the Ministry turned a blind eye to minor spell-casting by pre-First Years, Harry was taking no chances. Afternoons were for etiquette and politics as he struggled to learn the nuances of the odd and insular culture he was about to join. Evenings were for whatever topics had left him with the most questions during the day, plus time spent practicing with a quill which was an entirely new but apparently vital skill to master. Finally, he spent from thirty minutes before bed practicing with his wand holster in front of a mirror, because the first time he'd tried to release the wand from its holster, he'd dropped it onto the floor, and if he did that in front of fellow students, it would be too embarrassing for words.

It was in the second week of studying wizarding politics that he finally came across the law which had actually required James Potter, _under threat of jail time no less_, to inform his firstborn son of his wizarding heritage and see to his education. After an owl exchange with the clerk at Flourish &amp; Botts, Harry added **Hutchinson's Commentary on Wizengamot Inheritance Law** to his growing library. Luckily, his trunk had the best (and most expensive) expansion charms available on it. In a pinch, it even had a small room he could sleep in, although the idea of that reminded him too much of his cupboard for it to ever be comfortable.

On weekends, he would take a break by spending a few hours walking in a nearby park. Late on the second Sunday, he finally found what he was looking for: a small garden snake who, when addressed, hesitantly responded to Harry's voice in what sounded oddly like a Cockney accent. The snake, after expressing surprise at the sudden realization that it now had a name, introduced itself as ... Bob. And while Bob was not terribly knowledgeable about magic, he was somehow aware that Harry was "a Speaker," that Speakers were incredibly rare, and that no other snake known to Bob had ever met one. How Bob intuitively knew what other snakes he'd encountered remembered about a particular subject was a mystery even to Bob.

Even more strangely, Bob also indicated that he was only able to know these things while Harry talked with him or otherwise remained aware of him. Apparently, the moment a Parselmouth stopped regarding a particular snake as being worthy of attention, it went back to being a "normal" snake, though if the Speaker addressed it again later, it suddenly remembered everything that had happened in the meantime. But, if Harry actually assigned Bob some sort of task – like "watch over the park for a particular person" or even "go find other snakes and bring them here" – Bob could carry it out to completion, even following relatively complicated tasks in the process, only to revert to mundane "snakiness" when he was done. Strangest of all, the magic that powered Parseltongue seemed to be _contagious_. Bob could, if ordered to by Harry, go find other snakes and convey Harry's orders to them, which those snakes could then execute with at least as much intelligence and self-awareness as Bob himself had while under Harry's power.

The boy made a mental note of these findings but never committed them to paper, as it was clear from James's comments that Parselmouths were held in great disregard. Mainly, it seemed that this was because "You-Know-Who" was well-known for his Parseltongue abilities. Actually, Harry did not "Know-Who" and said so, but James explained that there was a powerful cultural taboo against speaking aloud the name of "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." After much prodding, James finally whispered that it was "Voldemort" but advised Harry never to say it aloud in polite company or even to write it down. And so, like his Parseltongue observations, Harry did not add the Dark Lord's name to his ever-growing stack of journals. By the end of August, Harry had filled three spiral-bound notebooks with his notes and questions about the Wizarding World, plus a fourth notebook just for calligraphy practice. He had no idea how wizards had gone so long without discovering the refillable ink pen, but he wasn't going to be the one to introduce the concept to them.

On the morning of September 1st, the Potters came by bright and early to pick Harry up from 4 Privet Drive, and he finally got to meet both Lily Potter and the Boy-Who-Lived. The latter was like looking into a fun-house mirror. Jim Potter was obviously Harry's twin, but he still stood almost three inches taller and weighed a stone heavier, most of it muscle. _"Obviously, __**someone**__ hasn't been half-starved for the past ten years,"_ Harry thought ruefully to himself.

Nevertheless, Harry was polite to his sibling and his mother, the latter of whom looked distinctly worried upon meeting her son. And the _look_ that passed between Lily and Petunia! Harry would have been amused if he didn't dislike both women so much. Together, the Potters moved out to a rather fancy limo parked in front of 4 Privet Drive (complete with a driver – Harry knew the Potters were quite wealthy, but he was a bit surprised at how eager they were to show it) with James carrying Harry's trunk and owl cage. As per the advice of the owl salesman, Harry had sent his owl on ahead that morning. She would be waiting at Hogwarts in the owlery. After toying with "Nemesis," "Avenger," and "Death Talon," he had finally named the owl "Hedwig." He told James he had found in a book and thought it "sounded cool." Hedwig was, in fact, the patron saint of orphans.

In the limo, Lily looked over at Harry and started to speak, but the boy interrupted her. "Look, the last time I met with ... Dad, I was upset, and I said some things that probably upset him, and you if he repeated them. But ... I want to go to Hogwarts and learn magic. I want to look forward to the day I never set foot on Privet Drive again. And if that means letting bygones be bygones and trying to be a part of the Potter family, then that's just what I'll do." And with those words, Harry smiled as earnestly as he possibly could, so much so that a slight soreness crept into his cheek muscles. He felt certain that the Potters would recoil from such insincerity, but they all smiled back at him warmly. Apparently, they were that desperate to believe that he could forgive them so easily. Or perhaps, they were just thick.

Jim reached over and punched Harry in the arm playfully. "That's great, Har. And listen, Dad told us that the Dursley's may not have treated you very well. But I promise, it was no picnic for me either. I've had to go through special training since I was eight to get me ready for Hogwarts in case any Death Eaters came after me. And I've had to deal with obnoxious fans always after my autograph. We've all had our problems to deal with."

The ache generated by Harry's smile became almost excruciating at that, but he took a deep breath and exhaled. "That's a very good point... Jim. It must have been ... very rough for you." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lily look suspiciously towards her husband, who swallowed nervously. Harry assumed he'd underplayed the extent of the Dursley's abuse to Jim, and maybe to Lily as well.

"Anyway," continued Jim. "Once we get to Hogwarts and get sorted into Gryffindor, I'll be there to look out for you and help you fit in. Everyone will love you once they find out you're the brother of the Boy-Who-Lived." He actually puffed out his chest at that.

"Jim!" sighed Lily. Apparently she had tried to keep Jim's ego in check, but unsuccessfully. James, of course, was delighted at the thought of his twin sons following in his footsteps.

"Ha ha! Two Potters in Gryffindor at once! Filch will have a coronary!"

Harry chuckled but then turned serious. "Well, I sure hope so. But ... like it or not, Jim and I have led very different lives even though we're twins. I hope you won't be upset with me if I don't make it into Gryffindor."

"Not at all, Harry," said Lily firmly. "All the houses have their good points._ Right, James?_"

"Alright, alright. Harry, I promise you that no matter what house you get into, we will still love you, and Jim will still look after you."

Harry sighed as if relaxing. "I'm glad. And for what it's worth, Jim. I'll do my best to look after you as well." The other three chuckled warmly, while Harry readied the knife. "After all, _I am the Heir_."

Jim blinked a few times. "Sorry? What?"

Harry looked around as if afraid he'd made a faux pas. Lily seemed surprised, while James looked like he'd just swallowed a lemon. "I'm sorry," said Harry uncertainly. "I've been cramming books on wizarding culture so I'll fit in better – don't want to make a fool of myself in front of someone from an important family, you know – and there was a chapter that discussed the Wizengamot. It said that because I was the firstborn wizarding child, I was automatically the Heir Presumptive for House Potter. Did I get that bit wrong?"

He hadn't, of course. His copy of **Hutchinson's** devoted almost 300 pages to discussing the Wizengamot, the families who ruled it, and the thousand-year-old laws governing succession to a seat in it, particularly to an Ancient and Noble Seat like that of the Potters. Harry was first born, and indisputably a wizard. Ergo, he was automatically the Heir Presumptive for House Potter and would be elevated to Heir Apparent once he'd come of age and passed enough OWLs. Before then, James could theoretically disinherit him personally from any assets that were his and not entailed to the family and maybe deprive him of spending money during his Hogwarts years. But his education and living expenses were paid for through graduation plus a mastery if he wanted it, and at seventeen, he was guaranteed a sizeable monthly stipend from the family trust for life. _And_, he was guaranteed the Potter Seat and all the entailed properties and assets someday provided he outlived James and avoided a surprisingly short list of sins that legally justified disinheriting an Heir. Even a felony conviction couldn't deprive him of protected status unless the sentence exceeded five years.

Lily and Jim, neither of whom seemed to know about such things, just looked back and forth between James and Harry inquisitively, as James hesitantly admitted the truth. "Yes, Harry. You are the oldest so technically that makes you the Heir Presumptive. Honestly, I hadn't give it much thought. I hope to live to a ripe old age before I have to worry about turning things over to an heir, after all."

"Oh, I do too, Dad," said Harry cheerfully. Then, he turned to his brother. "From what I read, it seems like the Wizengamot is kinda boring. I bet your happy that you have an older brother who can take care of all it – business management, estate planning, and other legal stuff like that – while you go do ... Boy-Who-Lived things."

Jim laughed. "Ha, ha. Fair enough, Harry. You handle all the boring family business stuff and I'll go out and fight the bad guys."

Lily clucked her tongue and admonished Jim for such foolish ideas, while James just stared at Harry quietly with a strange look on his face, an odd mixture of embarrassment, guilt and ... anger? And then, Harry realized. He simply _knew_ somehow that James had actually _tried_ to disinherit Harry in favor of Jim and then found out he lacked the legal power to do so. Harry broke his eye contact with his father and turned to look out the car window as the London streets flew by. He couldn't show anger, not now. _And he wouldn't cry!_

After regaining control of his emotions, Harry turned back to his family, his mask firmly back in place. The rest of the trip was spent making idle chitchat with his parents, especially his mother. What was it like as a muggleborn student? Should Harry expect the same treatment as a half-blood who was muggle-raised? Where do muggleborns get their magic from anyway? Harry already had a few ideas on that last question, and he'd spent some of his time between his birthday and today wheedling family history out of Petunia, but he was curious as to what a Muggle Studies professor might think. Her response – which boiled down to _"nobody likes to talk very much about that"_ – was not reassuring, particularly in light of the mild condescension his father seemed to have for what his mother went through as a brilliant but prickly Muggleborn. Oh, and he had a lot of bad things to say about someone named "_Snivellus_" about whom Lily would say nothing, though the mention of his name seemed to make her sad.

"_Oh well,_" thought Harry. "_If someone like James Potter has gone to all the trouble of giving this 'Snivellus' an insulting nickname, he can't be too bad._"

* * *

**Updated 8/28/16. Mainly tweaked dialogue, though I did decide that Harry's owl would be called Hedwig. I don't use the owl enough for it to be a big deal, but calling it "Nemesis" as the earlier draft did seems kind of silly and over the top now. He might as well have named it "I Hate the Potters," and Slytherin!Harry is way too smart for that.  
**

**AN 1: If you haven't noticed by now, this Harry is very smart and very articulate compared to most 11-year-olds. Actually, most of these kids are well-spoken for eleven-year-olds, and the in-setting reason for that will be revealed in an upcoming chapter. The REAL reason is that I can't convincingly write dialogue for an 11-year-old to save my life. That said, both Harry and Hermione are exceptionally intelligent even by the standards of their peers. Harry, in particular, while not quite as smart as super-genius Harry Potter-Evans-Verres from Methods of Rationality, very clever and articulate (not to mention a deadpan snarker) compared to canon!Harry as well as the average 11-year-old child. This is a plot point that will become very important later. For right now, just go with it. **


	5. HP&POS 5: Introductions on a Train

**HARRY POTTER  
AND THE PRINCE OF SLYTHERIN**

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

* * *

_**Chapter 5: Introductions on a Train**_

Not long after, the Potter family made its way through the entrance at Kings Crossing. They were delayed for a bit as both James and Jim had to glad-hand with various friends and hangers-on. A shy chubby kid named Longbottom was there with his grandmother (a stern-looking old biddy with what appeared to be a stuffed vulture mounted on her head) and his rather creepy-looking uncle who kept lecturing the boy about "not losing his toad." Harry actually assumed that was some strange magical euphemism until the boy pulled an actual toad out of a pocket to prove he still had it. Harry shrugged and shook his head. The ginger kid from Madam Malkins was also there, along with a small army of relatives, including another set of identical twins who seemed to idolize James Potter for his former juvenile delinquency and a young girl whose eyes were fixed on Jim with breathless adoration.

Oh, and they had to stop for pictures, as the Daily Prophet was on hand to chronicle the Boy-Who-Lived as he started off for Hogwarts and so wanted pictures of him and his parents standing next to the train. This was apparently something the Potters were used to, so much so in fact that they completely forgot about Harry ... again. So did most everyone else, as a photographer nearly knocked him down. After a few minutes, he leaned over to Longbottom's grandmother (who at least had the decency to seem appalled on his behalf at how the Potters were acting) and asked her to let his parents know he'd went ahead to find a seat.

Once aboard, Harry deliberately sought a compartment near the rear of the train, hoping it might take a while for Jim to find him. After the train pulled out, he sat alone for twenty minutes reviewing his copy of **Dilworth's Guide to Wizarding Etiquette** before the door opened, and a bushy-haired girl stepped into his compartment.

"Excuse me, but by any chance have you seen a toad? A boy named Neville has lost his."

"Blond first year? Yeah, I noticed them both on the platform before we left, but I haven't seen either him or his toad since." Harry thought for a moment. "You should ask one of the prefects. I think there's a summoning charm that should help, but it will be years before we're expected to know it. The incantation is Accio but I don't know the wand movements. Or if that doesn't work, I'm sure they know some kind of detection spell that would help."

"Oh, that is a good idea, thank you." Then, her eyes lit up. "Is that a book on _wizarding etiquette_? How interesting!" And then the girl was off, rattling off a startling number of personal details – how much she liked reading, how she was the first witch in her family and hoped she wouldn't be disadvantaged by that, how she'd read every single textbook assigned to First Years and even done a few spells, how her parents were both dentists – all on a single breath, before finally pausing to say "Oh, I'm sorry. I haven't even introduced myself. I'm Hermione Granger."

"Harry Potter. A pleasure to meet you."

"Potter? By any chance are you related to Jim Potter?"

Harry took a breath, and his fake smile slide back into place. Interestingly, Hermione Granger seemed a bit more astute than any of the Potters, and her face registered a mild concern, as if she'd just said something rude but wasn't sure what.

"Yes. He's my brother."

"Really? I've read several books about him and none of them mention him having a twin brother."

"I know. I've been living with relatives since I was a baby for ... reasons."

"... reasons?"

Harry paused and sighed. "Miss Granger, two things. First, I just found out about my parents, my brother and this whole 'Boy-Who-Lived' thing about a month ago. Which, I have to say, is a bit of a sore subject right now and, no offense, one I don't wish to discuss with someone I've just met."

Hermione blushed. "I understand. I apologize for any offense."

"None taken."

"And the other thing?"

Harry hesitated. "Well, now I'm worried that I might offend you. I promise I don't mean to but ... You say you've read all the text books already. Have you read any books on wizarding etiquette?"

Hermione stiffened at the preemptive apology but then was intrigued by his question. "No, no I haven't. There weren't any mentioned on the list we were given and it didn't occur to me to ask. I mean, other than the magic, Hogwarts is still just another British boarding school, isn't it? It's not like we're moving to Japan or Dubai or someplace that different."

"Actually, I've been cramming for the last month, and from what I've pieced together, it's _a lot_ like moving to a foreign country. See, there's this thing called the Statute of Secrecy that was enacted about 300 years ago that requires near-total separation between wizards and Muggles, and Wizarding Britain takes it _really_ seriously. That's three centuries in which most wizards ignored what Muggles were doing as much as possible. Most wizards don't know much about TV and movies and nothing at all about computers or the space program. With magic, you can instantly fix cavities and other tooth-related issues, so most wizards probably won't know what a dentist is or, if they've heard the word, will probably assume your parents yank teeth out with rusty pliers and no anesthetic. Now, I don't mean to say the wizarding world as backwards. It's actually a lot more progressive than the Muggle world in some ways but weirdly formal in others. For example, wizards don't have any problems at all with the idea of a woman in a position of high authority like Minister of Magic or Chief Warlock, but a lot of them seem to get really touchy if you don't properly refer to a woman as Madame if she's married and Miss if she's not. In a lot of ways, I think going away to school in Japan or Dubai might involve less culture shock than where we're headed."

Hermione sat down with a concerned look on her face. "I suppose it might," she said slowly. "Is that why you made a point of calling me _Miss_ Granger?"

Harry held up his copy of **Dilworth's**. "There's _a whole chapter_ in here on when it is or is not appropriate to call someone by their first name. My impression is that to most people, it doesn't matter ... but to the wizards and witches _who run the country_, it matters a _lot_."

The girl nodded at that. "But why did you think I might be offended at that?"

"Well, you're obviously smart, but you are obviously proud of your Muggle heritage. Which is fine! My, um, mother was a Muggleborn and she's a Hogwarts professor teaching Muggle Studies. Being Half-Blooded and Muggle-raised myself, I don't have any problem at all with Muggleborns. But the last Wizarding War – the one that ended when Jim Potter destroyed You-Know-Who – was started by Purebloods who wanted to kill all the Muggleborns because of a crazy belief that they were somehow stealing magic away from Pureblood children. And the Wizarding War before _that_ was started by Purebloods who wanted to conquer the Muggle world outright because they thought wizards were just naturally superior and it was only proper that we should rule over the Muggles for their own good. I certainly don't think you should _hide_ your Muggle heritage, just as I don't plan to. But I think our time at Hogwarts might be a lot less enjoyable if we don't address the fact that, well, _we're _the outsiders here."

The two continued to talk for a good five minutes. About what little they both knew about wizarding politics and history. About the incredibly vague definitions of Pureblood, Halfblood, and Muggleborn. About the vast number of unwritten rules that mark Muggleborns as outsiders. About how in the otherwise highly secular Wizarding Britain, it was a horrible faux pas to take the Lord's name in vain, so most people use "Merlin!" as a generic expletive.

"Honestly," said Harry. "I only care about this stuff because ... well, because my father, James Potter, is from a very old Pureblood family. And someday, Merlin willing, I'll inherit his seat in the Wizengamot, so I'm trying not to accidentally insult anyone important needlessly."

"Merlin... willing," she repeated while shaking her head. "That's going to take getting used to. Any other major blunders I should avoid making? Bearing in mind that I don't plan on changing my principles just to appease bigots."

"Me neither. And like I said, I don't think most wizards care about etiquette unless you do something _very_ offensive or the wizard is a Pureblood from a very old family, but better safe than sorry." Harry thought for a second. "Oh, here's a big one that's important to us since we're just now starting school. _Never_ raise your hand in class."

"What?!" Hermione said incredulously.

"Well, more specifically, never raise your hand in class unless you're asking the teacher a question or they have clearly asked for a volunteer, usually after someone else has tried to answer and flubbed it. Whenever the teacher first asks a question, he usually has someone specific that he plans on asking but is just giving the student a few seconds to prepare an answer. My ... my mother was _very specific_ about this. Apparently, when she was a First Year, she was treated as an outcast and couldn't figure out why. Finally, someone took pity and told her that raising her hand every single time the teacher asked a question implied that she thought her classmates were too dumb to know the answer if called upon."

"Wow," she said. "I would never have considered it like that if you hadn't explained it to me!" She blushed slightly. "Before Hogwarts, I went to a gifted school where classroom participation was a big part of the grade. I'd have made a complete fool of myself if I'd gone into Hogwarts with the same attitude."

Harry nodded sagely. "There's a lot of fiddling stuff like that can cause newcomers to this world like us to stick out like a sore thumb if we're not careful. Basically, Miss Granger, you and I are about to start our first year at Oxbridge, you as a scholarship student, me as a legacy raised abroad, and neither one of us having been raised to know anything about Oxbridge culture."

Hermione looked down at the floor. It was a lot to take in. "Do you think, Har... Mr. Potter, that I'll be discriminated against because my parents are Muggles?"

Harry hesitated. "I'm ... not sure. Personally, I reckon I'll be treated like an outsider to some degree, at least at the start, and I'll have to figure out to react from there. I'm sure some people will be biased against both of us because of our heritage. Of course, not everyone will feel that way, and even the bigots will hopefully be somewhat restrained since their side lost the last war." He paused. "Have you thought about what House you want into?"

"I was hoping for Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. Why? Do they have different attitudes towards Muggleborns?"

"Well, all I really know on that topic is what my parents told me, so take this with a grain of salt. A lot of Slytherins followed You-Know-Who during the last war, and I'm sure some of their children will be among our peers, so I'd expect them to be hostile to Muggleborns and probably to the brother of the Boy-Who-Lived. Not all I hope, but it's to be expected. The Ravenclaws are the most academically focused, so you might like that, but they're very traditional and have a reputation for elitism, so it might be kind of cutthroat. The Hufflepuffs pride themselves on tolerance and accepting everyone, but the price they pay for it is to be looked down upon by the other Houses as lacking standards. My father called them the House of Duffers, but I doubt _that's_ true, seeing as how there have been more Hufflepuff Ministers of Magic than any other House. Surprisingly, my birth mother said that Muggleborns do best in Gryffindor. They're the closest thing to a House of Rebels we'll find, and apparently they embrace Muggleborns and Halfbloods just to thumb their noses at traditionalist Purebloods. They're also the ones least interested in formality and etiquette so they'll be more forgiving of minor social mistakes. Of course, she was a Gryffindor herself, so she might be biased."

Hermione rose. "Well, you've given me a lot to think about, Mr. Potter. But I suppose I'd better go and find Neville ... Mr. Longbottom, I mean, and see what luck he's had with his toad." She turned at the door. "Mr. Potter, what books would you recommend to learn more about what we talked about?"

Harry smiled, genuinely this time, and he rattled off the names of three etiquette books. "If they don't have those in the Hogwarts library, just ask and I'll let you borrow my copies."

"Thank you." She paused while trying to remember how the people in **Pride and Prejudice** talked to one another. "And Mr. Potter, if I am not being presumptuous in saying, I would be gratified if you would call me Hermione," she said with a smile of her own.

Harry laughed. "You are not being presumptuous at all, Hermione. And I would be equally pleased if you called me Harry."

She nodded and left the compartment, as Harry returned to his etiquette book, pleased at having made his first tentative friendship. About ten minutes later, the door flew open and Jim entered, along with the red-headed boy Harry had encountered twice before.

"Hey, there you are!" exclaimed Jim. "I've been looking for you for ages. This is Ron Weasley. He'll be in our class. Ron, this is my brother, Harry!"

"Good to meet you, Harry," said Ron enthusiastically.

"Likewise," said Harry blandly. Internally, he thought "_Oh, yeah, definitely Gryffindor_." Out loud, he said "Actually, I think we've already met. We were getting fitted together at Madame Malkin's."

"Oh, yeah! I remember you. You should have told me you were Jim's brother!"

"Well, I'd just found ... never mind. Let's just say it was a stressful day and I didn't think about it."

"Well anyway," said Jim, dropping into the seat next to Harry, with Ron opposite them. "I'm sorry we got caught up with those photographers. It's a pain sometimes. But Ron here introduced me to his brothers and they introduced me to the Gryffindor Quidditch team." He paused. "Say, do you know anything about Quidditch, Harry?"

"Not much. I know it's a strange combination of water polo, dodgeball, and capture the flag but played in the air on high speed flying broomsticks."

"Oookaay. I don't know what _any_ of those are. But don't worry. Dad was an awesome chaser when he was in school, and he got me my first practice broom for my fourth birthday. We'll get you up to speed in no time."

Harry, who had spent his fourth birthday learning how to cook bacon and scrambled eggs for the Dursley's (with the threat of a frying pan to the head if anything was burnt), smiled that painful smile again. "I'm looking forward to it."

Suddenly, the compartment doors opened again, and yet another person barged in. This one was a thin, blond boy with aristocratic features. Behind him out in the corridor stood two stocky boys who would probably grow into hulking brutes within five years.

"I was told that James Potter, Jr., the Boy-Who-Lived, was in this car," said the newcomer imperiously. "Is it true?"

"He is," said Harry with some bemusement. "And you are?"

"Malfoy. Draco Malfoy of the Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy." Jim and Ron both sniggered at the boy's pomposity, but for some reason, he focused his ire solely on Ron. "I can tell what family you belong to. Red hair. Freckles. Hand-me-down robes. Undoubtedly a _Weasley_," he sneered.

Both Ron and Jim turned red in anger, while Harry's eyes narrowed. He recognized the name Malfoy and was quite surprised by how rudely the scion of such an important House was acting. Not to mention the _oddly specific_ insults Malfoy had made towards someone he obviously didn't know before just now.

Ignoring Ron, Draco turned back to Harry but was surprised to finally notice that there were two very similar looking boys in the car. He made a guess and hoped it _wasn't_ the one a chocolate stain on his shirt who was presently giving him an angry glare. "So, are you James Potter?" he asked the more reputable looking one.

Harry shook his head and pointed at Jim who had stood up and moved threateningly close to Draco. The two thugs outside tensed and readied themselves for a fight. "I'm Jim Potter," he said. "What's it to you?"

Draco held his hands up to show he meant no threat. "Potter, please. I apologize if I offended you in any way. But you're a national icon and the Heir to an Ancient and Noble House. You're obviously going to need help finding the right sort of friends. I can help steer you away from the _wrong crowd_." From Draco's posture, it was clear "the wrong crowd" included Ron, whose face twisted into a mask of anger.

"I can find the _right sort_ of friend without your help, Death Eater," sneered Jim.

Draco's eyes narrowed, while Harry watched the display, idly wishing he'd brought popcorn. "_Obviously_, there is no possibility of me being a Death Eater since _I'm eleven_. And if you refer to my father, then you should remember that the Wizengamot found him not guilty. So you should speak a little more thoughtfully, Potter, unless you wish to be sued for slander."

"Oh, come off it, Malfoy!" said Ron contemptuously. "Your family is as Slytherin as they come, and there's never been a dark wizard who wasn't a slimy Slytherin, from You-Know-Who to Grindelwald all the way back to Salazar Slytherin himself."

"Oh, well that's just nonsense," snapped Harry irritably. "First of all, no one knows what house You-Know-Who was in or even if he went to Hogwarts, and Grindelwald definitely went to Durmstrang. Yes, most of the convicted Death Eaters were Slytherins, but there were also Death Eaters from other Houses. Barty Crouch Jr. was a Ravenclaw, and Sirius Black, You-Know-Who's lieutenant, was a Gryffindor. And anyway, the worst Dark Lord to have ever attended Hogwarts was Emeric the Evil back in the 14th Century, and he actually claimed that it was his Gryffindor nature that gave him the courage to defy all mundane standards of decency and morality."

The other boys in the compartment looked at Harry as if he'd grown a second head.

"Um, you sure know a lot about dark wizards," said Ron.

Harry shrugged. "It was all in **The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts**." He turned to look at Jim. "I bought it to read the section about you and You-Know-Who, but it had chapters on all the other major British dark wizards since the founding of Hogwarts. Admittedly, most were Slytherins, but Gryffindor and Ravenclaw have each had plenty dark wizards, and even the Hufflepuffs have produced one in the last five centuries."

Draco stared at him in confusion. "Who _are_ you? Since when has the Boy-Who-Lived had a twin brother?"

Harry stood up to look Draco in the eye. "Since birth, obviously. And you were mistaken earlier. I, Harry Potter, am Heir Presumptive to the Ancient and Noble House of Potter. And while I will not be as blunt as my brother, I must tell you, Mr. Malfoy, that you have made a bad first impression. I think it would be best if you leave before things escalate into something ... unpleasant."

Draco studied Harry carefully. "So be it." Then, he left the compartment and headed down the corridor, minions in tow. Jim turned to grin at Harry.

"That was awesome, Har! 'Leave before things escalate into something ... _unpleasant_.' Wicked. I bet if you talked to those Muggles like that, they wouldn't give you any problems at all."

Harry's head snapped towards Jim, and his eyes lit up as if he'd been slapped. To his side, Ron asked what Jim had meant about "Muggles" but his voice sounded strangely far away. Jim, suddenly unnerved, looked back and forth between Harry and Ron before he finally spoke.

"It's nothing, Ron. Forget I mentioned it. Hey, Har? You want to learn to play Exploding Snap?"

Harry studied his brother as if examining a bug. Then, he considered the question. Not the question of "_do you want to learn to play Exploding Snap?_" but the much more pressing question of "_do you want to spend the next seven years pretending to smile when you'd rather snarl or scream?_" And he made his decision.

"Actually, right now, I'd like to go find the loo," he said brightly. "I assume this train has one if the ride is six hours long."

"Oh yeah," said Jim. "We passed the restrooms on the way here. Just follow in the direction the three mini-Death Eaters went."

"Thanks, Jim." Harry stepped past his brother and out the door, closing it behind him. He walked a few feet down the corridor and then, on impulse, crept back to the edge of the compartment he'd just left. Then, he listened.

"No offense, Jim, but your brother is a little weird."

"I know. When he was a baby, Mum and Dad thought he was going to be a squib, so they sent him to live with Muggle relatives. Apparently, they were kind of mean to him and he blames our parents. He's being a right baby about it to be honest, but Mum insisted I stay close to him until he gets over his anger. Whatever."

Harry exhaled very slowly. Then, he turned and moved quickly down the corridor and into the next car. Malfoy and his as-yet unnamed goons were up ahead. "Mr. Malfoy!" he called out.

Malfoy stopped and turned as Harry walked up to the trio. "What do you want, Potter? I thought you'd made your feelings quite clear."

"I did. And, to be fair, Malfoy, you _did_ make a poor first impression. Happily, I don't make snap judgments based on first impressions. And while I can _also_ decide for myself who the 'right sort of people' are, I won't be influenced by my father and brother's biases in the process. Now, I don't know yet where I'll be Sorted, but I hope you and I can have, at the very least, an amiable relationship regardless of our Sortings. We are the future of our respective families, after all."

"I find it unlikely, Potter, that there can ever be an amiable association between a Slytherin and a Gryffindor."

"Then we're in luck, Malfoy. Because I think it's _highly_ unlikely that either of us is going to be a Gryffindor." And then, Harry stuck out his hand, and after a second of hesitation, Draco took it.

* * *

Seven hours later, the Sorting Hat whispered into Harry Potter's head. "Oh good. I was afraid you were going to be difficult about this." And then, in a booming voice, it yelled out ...

"SLYTHERIN!"

* * *

**Updated on 8/28/2016, hopefully to make the Harry/Hermione scene into less of a clumsy info-dump.**


	6. HP&POS 6: Day One in the Snake Pit

**HARRY POTTER  
AND THE PRINCE OF SLYTHERIN**

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

* * *

_**Chapter 6: Day One in The Snake Pit**_

**_2 September 1991_**

Harry awoke from eight hours of wonderful sleep in the most comfortable bed he'd ever been allowed to even touch. As his roommates stirred around the First Year Slytherin dorm, he thought back to the night before. Jim had, of course, gone into Gryffindor and actually had the temerity to look hurt and betrayed when Harry went Slytherin. The Weasel had joined him, as had (surprisingly) the timid Longbottom boy and (less surprisingly) Hermione. Poor Longbottom looked terrified of everything and probably might have been happier in Hufflepuff, but from his observations before boarding the Hogwarts Express, Harry gathered that his parents had been Lions and that his grandmother and especially his great-uncle would deem him a failure if he hadn't followed suit. Still, if the boy got some confidence, maybe he could adapt to his new situation. Hermione, as he'd suggested on the train, might actually do quite well in Gryffindor if she could adapt to that house's anarchic culture.

The Hat actually called Draco Malfoy for Slytherin before it sat all the way down on his head, which Harry found amusing. It sorted Blaise Zabini nearly as fast, but took a few minutes for Theo Nott, a shy, thin boy who seemed almost ... resigned to being a Slytherin. There were four girls also sorted into Slytherin: Greengrass, Davis, Parkinson and Bulstrode. Malfoy – for the two were not yet on a first name basis – quietly told Harry that Greengrass and Parkinson were both Purebloods from Noble (but not Ancient) families, while Davis and Bulstrode were both Half-bloods from "unimportant" families. Despite their differing backgrounds, Greengrass and Davis somehow knew each other and were friends. Bulstrode seemed a bit of a loner, while Parkinson practically cooed over Draco. She hinted that Draco and she had an arranged marriage ("_At the age of eleven?!_" thought Harry), the mention of which caused Draco to turn a bit green.

Crabbe and Goyle also made it into Slytherin. In fact, their Sortings were the reason Harry's own took several minutes. The Hat immediately suggested Slytherin, and in principle, Harry didn't object. But he'd spent time talking to Crabbe and Goyle on the train, and during his Sorting, Harry had bluntly asked the Hat how two monosyllabic slabs of beef could have gotten into "the house of cunning and ambition." The Hat hemmed and hawed before finally admitting that it had tried to direct both boys into Hufflepuff, but it was bound by certain rules put in place during the Middle Ages to sort children of "vassal families" into the same houses as their "liege lords." The Crabbes and Goyles (and to a lesser extent, the Parkinsons) were bound to the Malfoys by magical contracts dating back several centuries, the nature of which the Hat was not at liberty to disclose. _But_ if Harry wanted to learn more about such things, he should _definitely_ go to Slytherin because there were quite a few snakes hidden in the paintings and worked into furnishings of their dormitory that, in the Hat's opinion, were "prone to gossip." Since exploring his Parseltongue gift in controlled and discrete circumstances was high on Harry's to-do list, that was a clincher.

Of course, the placement of the Boy-Who-Lived's mysterious brother came off as quite a scandal. Dumbledore looked disappointed, as did "Mum." More troubling was the fact that Professor Snape, his head of house, looked outright homicidal. Later, he would send the prefects to deliver the orientation speech to the Slytherin First Years. According to some of the older students, that was the first time he hadn't welcomed the students personally since any of them had been at Hogwarts. Oh, and for some reason, the DADA instructor gave him a sharp headache every time he turned his head.

On the bright side, Harry's extended Sorting also gave him an idea for how to spin his Slytherin status. "_I begged the Hat for Gryffindor, honest I did! But then, it asked why and I said I wanted to help protect Jim! And then the Hat said 'Well, where do you think most threats to the Boy-Who-Lived are going to come from?' So I thought it over ..._" That, to Harry, seemed plausible enough for James to believe, and going undercover among "the slimy snakes" seems like something that would amuse a prankster like him. Harry resolved to send a letter to his birth-father right after breakfast.

"Good morning, Malfoy!" Harry exclaimed cheerfully as he jumped out of bed.

"Morning, Potter. You seem chipper today."

"First day of school, and the first day of the rest of our lives." With that, Harry made his way to the bathroom for a quick shower. On the way in, he passed Theo and caught a quick glimpse of the boy's back which was marked with a number of scars. Only years of experience in keeping his head down at the Dursleys kept him from staring. Harry thankfully only had one similar scar but it was enough to know what kind of mark a cane left, as well as to learn never to comment on Vernon Dursley's weight. It troubled Harry to realize that even in the wizarding world, child abuse was apparently tolerated.

Thirty minutes later, he passed through the doors of the Great Hall, which was mostly-full at this point. Jim and Ron were already at the Gryffindor table. Ron nudged Jim as soon as Harry walked in, and the two scowled at him. Jim actually sneered, but he also had a strange look of excitement, as if he expected something to happen soon. Hermione and Longbottom were sitting several seats down from them. Hermione was chatting amiably with several of the older Gryffs, while Longbottom kept to himself. Harry made his way to the Slytherin table on the opposite side of the room and sat down between Malfoy and Nott.

A few minutes later, the day's owl deliveries began, and a majestic horned owl headed towards the Slytherin table with a blood red envelope clutched in its talons. Immediately, Theo Nott tensed and stopped breathing. Concerned, Harry asked if the boy was all right, but Theo did not relax until the owl dropped the red envelope onto the table in front of Harry.

"Ooooh," squealed the Parkinson girl maliciously. "Look everybody! Potter's got a Howler!"

The other Slytherins backed away while still staying close enough to see his reaction. "And what, pray tell, is a 'Howler'?" Harry asked nonchalantly. Across the room, Harry could see Jim and Ron standing up to get a better view and openly laughing, so he doubted it was anything good.

Theo answered urgently. "It's an angry letter, Potter. A _very_ angry letter. The longer you wait to open it, the louder it will be. And if you wait too long, it will explode."

Harry glanced around the room again. His housemates were all waiting to see how he responded. In fact, the noise level in the whole room dropped to a soft murmuring as the wizard-raised children all seemed to know what a Howler was and didn't want to miss the show. At the Head Table, most of the teachers looked somewhat interested, though Lily Potter had her hand over her face in an expression of absolute horror.

Harry chuckled. "Wow. An screaming explosive letter. And a school that tolerates them being sent to eleven-year-old children at breakfast in front of their fellow students. How ... professional." He reached forward and slashed at the Howler's seal a butter knife and then leaned back in his chair casually, picking up his pumpkin juice to sip as he listened.

**HARRY POTTER! **

**WHEN JIM /hic/ WROTE TO ME ABOUT YOUR SORTING I COULDN'T BELIEVE IT! I KNEW ... JUST KNEW LETTING YOU COME BACK TO US WAS A MISTAKE! NO POTTER HAS EVER BEEN SORTED INTO SLIMY SLITHERY SNAKEY SLYTHERIN! AND AFTER YOU'RE DONE /hic/ DISGRACING OUR HOUSE, I HOPE NO POTTER EVER IS AGAIN! I'M /hic/ WARNING YOU NOW, IF YOU STEP ONE FOOT OUT OF LINE, IF YOU GIVE THE TINIEST HINT THAT YOU'RE /hic/ TURNING EVIL OR ANYTHING, I WILL YANK YOU OUT OF THAT SCHOOL AND WANT YOUR SNAP... I MEAN SNAP YOUR WAND MYSELF! I WILL DISINHERIT YOU FROM HOUSE POTTER AND HAVE YOU BACK WITH THOSE DURGLES ... /hic/DURSLEY MUGGLES BEFORE THE SUN SETS! THIS IS THE ONLY WARNING YOU'RE GOING TO GET!**

**YOUR HUMILIATED FATHER,**  
**JAMES CHARLUS LORD POTTER**

And then, the letter burst into flames and quickly disintegrated. Silence reigned over the hall. At the Head Table, most of the teachers bore expressions of shock and embarrassment. Even Dumbledore seemed astonished by James's vitriol and cruelty, not to mention the fact that he was quite obviously drunk when he wrote and sent the Howler. Lily Potter jumped up and stormed out of the room. Only Severus Snape maintained his composure despite his personal delight in how James Potter had humiliated his entire family with a single letter. He waited to see what happened next. How the Potter boy reacted could make or break him in Slytherin House. Personally, he expected the boy to break and run out crying to the laughter of his own house and that of his revolting twin. Instead, to Snape's astonishment, the boy ... _burst into laughter_.

"Amazing! So my dad's a _drunk_ as well as an idiot. Good to know." And then, he stood and held up his glass of pumpkin juice in the direction of his younger twin _in salute_.

"And nicely played by you too, Little Brother!" he called out across the hall with the appearance of good cheer, as if the Howler had just been an amusing little prank. "Did you have to break curfew to tattle on me last night? Or maybe petty little rules like that don't apply to the Boy-Who-Lived."

Jim's face grew furious at that, and he jumped up onto the table, knocking over dishes and pitchers. "YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY, YOU SLYTHERIN _FILTH_!" he yelled, which only made Harry laugh louder as he sat back down.

Finally, just as Jim was ready to yell something else, Minerva McGonagall's voice bellowed across the room. "James Potter. Jr., sit down this instant! I don't want to hear another word from you! And twenty points from Gryffindor for disrupting breakfast and for insulting another House!" Jim looked stricken to have cost his house so many points before classes had even started, and he slowly sat down, sparing one final hateful look towards Harry who was wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

Over at the Slytherin table, the rest of the House slowly returned to their seats while warily studying their house mate and his strange reaction. His laughter over, Harry returned to quietly eating his breakfast while going over notes for his first Transfiguration class. His mood was obviously (and to his classmates, bizarrely) cheerful.

"Uh, Potter?" said Nott timidly. "Are ... are you okay?"

"Never better, Theo. May I call you Theo? I hope that's not presumptuous of me. You can, of course, call me Harry if you wish."

"Okay then, um, Harry. You took that Howler, well, much better than one would expect."

"Oh that bit of rubbish," Harry said with a grin. "There's nothing to that. Just a ridiculous man yelling at me. And I've had people much more ridiculous than him yelling at me for years and usually a lot more loudly." He took a bite of toast and chewed it slowly as if collecting his thoughts before turning back to the other boy. "For a long time, I put up with that sort of thing because I didn't know any better and didn't have any other choices. And now, _I do_. You see, Theo, that man imagines that he's my father and that gives him some sort of right to be abusive to me. But the truth is, he's _never_ been my father in any way that matters. And no matter how much he yells and makes a fool of himself, I know full well that he's got no power over me that I don't allow him, and I've just decided to allow him none at all." He chuckled quietly. "It's ... good, actually, that things came to a head so quickly. I was toying with the idea of at least _pretending_ to be a good son to James Potter. But after that display? Nah. Not a chance. It's total war now."

Theo looked at Harry with something very much like awe, but the rest of his classmates seemed to think he'd gone mad. Meanwhile, Harry turned towards Draco.

"Speaking of which ... Mr. Malfoy. I know we're not very far into our association, but might I ask you for a small favor?"

Malfoy, who for some strange reason was mildly jealous that Harry hadn't asked to use his first name, said, "What sort of favor, Mr. Potter?"

"Would you mind very much owling your parents and asking if they could recommend a good solicitor? One experienced in Wizengamot inheritance laws?"

Draco Malfoy stared at the Brother-Of-The-Boy-Who-Lived. And then, it was his turn to laugh.

* * *

Later that evening, Harry was alone in the Slytherin common room finishing up his homework for the first day before going to bed. His first day of classes had gone rather well, notwithstanding his birth-father's tantrum. Transfiguring matchsticks into needles still eluded him as it did everyone else in Slytherin, but he'd been awarded two points in Charms. He'd also made a few allies ("friends" was premature, but Harry was optimistic). As Harry stood up and stretched, he noticed a painting above the fireplace of a puff adder curled over some books on a writing desk. Feeling slightly foolish, he walked over to the painting, looked around to make sure no one else was present, and then focused his attention on the snake. "Um, hello. My name's Harry," he said softly. The snake in the painting twitched and then looked up at him before hissing a response. Harry smiled warmly as another friendship of a different sort was born.

* * *

**Updated on 8/28/16 to tweak some dialogue and to clarify that James was drunk when he sent the Howler. Not that it excuses his action, but it does knock his transgression down from Abusive Monster to Tiresome Idiot, which is something of an improvement.  
**


	7. HP&POS 7: Potions and Process

**HARRY POTTER  
AND THE PRINCE OF SLYTHERIN**

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVEN: Potions and Process**

**_6 September 1991_**

After the events of the previous Monday, Jim was more subdued. Apparently, the other Gryffindors were upset at him losing so many points so quickly, and he'd also received a thorough dressing down from both his mother and McGonagall. He'd written his father to complain, but apparently James was in the doghouse with Lily over his own actions. She'd actually sent him a Howler of her own that went off in the middle of the Auror's Office – **"****_LET'S SEE HOW _****_YOU _****_LIKE IT!_****"** – and so James advised the boy to let things settle for a while. Not that Lily herself had actually reached out to Harry, who didn't know if she disagreed with James' views on his Sorting or was simply embarrassed by James firing off a Howler at her place of employment. Regardless, Jim and Ron avoided Harry, although he felt certain that his twin had some idiotic Potteresque plan for revenge.

Meanwhile, Neville Longbottom apparently had some sort of falling out with the two and made a point of partnering himself with Harry during Herbology. Harry was dubious at first until Neville nervously admitted that he was frightened of Snape and desperate to pass Potions. He hoped that with an obviously intelligent young Slytherin as his Potions partner, he might make it through unscathed.

"I have three conditions, Mr. Longbottom" said Harry somewhat imperiously. "One: we do not sit anywhere near my brother unless absolutely necessary."

"O..okay, um, Mr. Potter," stammered the nervous boy.

Harry took a step forward. "Two: From now on, you keep your chin up, you look people straight in the eye, and you always speak with confidence, whether you feel it or not. Because you are Longbottom of Longbottom, Heir Presumptive to an Ancient and Noble House. Just as I am Potter of Potter. And if the two of us are going actually earn the legacies our family names have left us, we'd both better get started now."

And with that, he put his hand out. "And Three: You call me Harry."

Neville blinked several times. Then, he straightened his back, took a deep breath, and shook Harry's hand. "Just as you will call me Neville, I hope." Harry smiled. He wasn't sure, but he could have sworn the boy just grew an inch-and-a-half.

Initially, it was Harry who got the better end of the deal, as Neville was a certifiable genius at Herbology, already able to talk conversationally about plants from the Fourth Year curriculum. Apparently, the Longbottoms had made their fortune in the growing and selling of exotic magical plants of all types and he'd been up to his knees among them since before he could walk. It wasn't until Friday that Harry and Neville made it to their first Potions class, and there was a crowd outside the locked door. Theo came over to join the two. Malfoy followed with a sneer on his face and Crabbe and Goyle on each side. Harry still wasn't sure which was which.

"Honestly, Potter, you're partnering with Longbottom again? You're squandering what little status you have as a Slytherin by hanging with such lumps."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You baffle me, Malfoy. I understand why you're hostile to the Potters, though I have no idea what Weasley could have done to make you hate him on sight. And now, you're antagonizing the Longbottom Heir? Has your father _instructed_ you to make enemies of all the Ancient and Noble Houses?"

Malfoy's face flushed, but then his eyes hardened. "I don't think it will ever be possible for the Malfoys and Longbottoms to ever be anything _but_ enemies after what his grandmother did," he spat.

Harry crooked an eyebrow and looked back to Neville, who took a deep breath but met Draco's glare without wavering. "He's referring to an incident from when we were both five years old during which my Gran caused a scene and loudly referred to his parents as '_Death Eater swine_' in a crowded restaurant."

Harry pursed his lips and exhaled. "Alright, I can understand why someone might possibly hold a grudge..."

"In her defense, Malfoy's aunt, his uncle, his uncle's brother, and two of his cousins were known Death Eaters, three of whom were responsible for the assault on my parents that left them both ... permanently disabled, and one of whom was the man who betrayed your family to You-Know-Who, so her assumption was not wholly unwarranted. _Also_, his father, whose family has supported Pureblood policies for generations, avoided conviction for a number of Death Eater-related crimes after claiming to have been under the Imperius Curse. I'm sure it's just a coincidence that within days of his acquittal, St. Mungo's Hospital received a huge donation big enough to pay for the construction of the 'Abraxas Malfoy Memorial Children's Ward.'"

Draco and his minion bowed up as if ready to fight. Harry looked around. The Git and the Weasel were further down the hall but were looking that way. Jim coming over was the last thing Harry was in the mood to deal with.

"Alright, listen up, both of you. I am _not_ going to judge anyone I meet at this school based on what any of their relatives may or may not have done. And I'm not going to surrender the benefits of having a Herbology genius as my lab partner because of something that happened when you were both _five_! Nor will I blame the Malfoys for something Sirius Black did, seeing as how I looked it up and Sirius Black was one of my cousins, too. In fact, I think, Neville, that he was distantly one of yours. Now then, we're all going to be stuck with each other in some capacity for another seven years. Can we at least try to be civil to one another in spite of what our relatives think? The three of us will hopefully all be on the Wizengamot together some day. We may all hate each other by then, but can we resolve now that we'll hate each other for things we actually did to one another instead of relying on feuds passed down like family heirlooms?"

Longbottom and Malfoy stared balefully at one another, when the Git spoke up down the hall. "Hey, Longbottom! Don't let these slimy snakes bully you around! Stand up for yourself!"

Neville raised his chin without breaking Malfoy's eye contact for a few seconds. Then, he turned towards Jim. "I don't know what you're on about, Potter. Malfoy had just come to me with some questions about his Herbology assignment. Isn't that right, Malfoy?"

The corner of Malfoy's mouth twitched a bit, but he composed himself quickly. "Quite so, Longbottom. I'm grateful for your advice. You're a credit to your house," he said loudly before turning away and making eye contact with Jim, "unlike some others I could name."

Jim made a face and then turned back to talk with Ron when the door to the Potions class was suddenly jerked open. Professor Snape stared angrily at the assembled Gryffindors and Slytherins, as if annoyed there was no fight for him to break up. "Inside, all of you," he barked.

As the students filed in, Harry put his hand on Neville's shoulder. "Neville," he said softly, "I'm sorry about your parents. I didn't know. And thank you for... for being a bigger man than Malfoy deserved."

Neville shrugged but smiled a bit at the compliment. "Eh, he was just lucky that Jim's been more of a prat this week than him. He's been strutting around like Godric Gryffindor himself all week long, and most of us are sick of it."

"Not surprising. If you happen to know, how is Hermione Granger doing?"

"You could ask me yourself, you know," said an amused Hermione from behind his back.

"Ack! You startled me, Miss ... um, Hermione?" Harry said with uncharacteristic nervousness. He had not spoken to his first Hogwarts friend since before the Sorting, and he wasn't completely sure they were still on a first name basis given the rivalry between their houses. The smile she gave reassured him that they were.

"Hello, Harry. I'm so sorry I haven't had a chance to come talk to you, but I had promised to sit with Parvati and Lavender in Herbology, and this is our only other class together. Incidentally, the books you recommended were all in the Library and extremely helpful, even if most Gryffindors aren't as well-mannered as Neville here." Neville blushed at the compliment. "If you're free and interested, Neville and I have a study session planned in the Library for the free period after lunch."

"Yeah, please come, Harry. Hermione's been a real life-saver!"

"Sure thing. Oh, forgive me. Hermione Granger, this is Theodore Nott of the House of Nott."

"A pleasure to meet you, Miss Granger," Theo said tersely.

"Likewise, Mr. Nott."

By the time the four students made it into the classroom, the only seats left were near the front, and unfortunately, right next to Jim and Ron, though Ron, Hermione and Neville separated the two feuding brothers. As the children settled in, Professor Snape reentered from the back storeroom with a flourish and proceeded to give a speech alluding to the superiority of potion-making to the "foolish wand-waving" of other branches of magic. Then, he took roll, pausing to remark on "James Potter Jr., our new ... _celebrity_." Snape had also glared at Harry when reading his name out, but he made no comments.

Instead, he suddenly barked "Potter!" before clarifying "_James_ Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of Asphodel to an infusion of Wormwood?"

Jim rolled his eyes contemptuously. "I don't know, _sir_. Obviously not shampoo, though."

The room went deathly quiet. Almost in unison, Harry, Neville and Hermione slowly turned their heads towards Jim Potter in complete amazement. Ron was grinning like a mad man, but the rest of the Gryffindors were horrified.

"Five points from Gryffindor for your cheek, Potter. Here's an easier one: Where would you find a bezoar?"

Harry saw Hermione flinch her arm and suppressed a smile. It was apparently taking all of her willpower not to raise her hand.

"Sunken within the greasy depths of your hair, perhaps?" Jim asked sarcastically.

"Another ten points from Gryffindor!"

"My father said you'd be like this – bullying, snide, and cruel – and that you'd probably try to make an example out of me be asking a bunch of obscure trivia questions first thing. He also said to call you Snivellus."

"Twenty points from Gryffindor! Did he also mention I can do this all day? Here's another one: What's the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"No idea. What's the difference between..."

"JAMES POTTER JR. WILL YOU STOP ACTING LIKE AN IGNORANT BRAYING ASS!"

The entire class, including Snape, stared in astonishment at Hermione Granger, who had shot out of her chair and was literally shaking in rage at Jim's antics. After a few seconds of dead silence, Snape quietly said "Five points _to_ Gryffindor." Hermione took a deep breath and slowly sat down.

Snape turned back to Jim and said, more quietly, "I've had quite enough of your idiocy for one day, Mr. Potter. I'll be discussing this matter with your Head of House ... and your mother. If you will have no respect for my authority, perhaps you will show some for theirs." Jim fumed at that but said nothing more.

"However," said Snape silkily, "in this instance, we have an unusual opportunity to investigate the relative value of nature versus nurture. Mr. _Harry_ Potter! Can you answer even one of the questions I posed to your brother?"

Harry coughed. "I'm confident I can answer all three, sir. In reverse order, monkshead and wolfsbane are two of the many common names for the poisonous flowering plants of the aconite family. And if I had to find a bezoar somewhere around _here_, I would look for an emergency kit or, failing that, search the store rooms in the section containing animal byproduct supplies."

"Explain," ordered Snape. "For your less educated peers." He sneered at a sulking Jim Potter as he said that.

"Well, a bezoar is a small stone formed of undigested plant matter and harvested from the stomach of a goat. The textbook said that it can counteract most poisons, although I don't believe it actually mentioned which poisons it would _not_ cure."

"For future reference, Mr. Potter, it will not cure poisons derived from dragon's blood or basilisk venom, though thankfully those are rare. And my first question?"

"Er, yes sir. Adding powdered root of Asphodel to an infusion of Wormwood is the first step in the creation of a extremely powerful sleeping potion. I'm afraid I can't recall the exact name of it," he turned to look directly at his fuming brother, "but I do recall it was on the _very first page_ of the assigned reading." And then he smiled. And it didn't hurt at all.

* * *

Curiously, Snape did not award Harry any points for his correct answers, even though he was notorious for favoring Slytherins in his Potions classes. The rest of the period passed relatively uneventfully, save for one hiccup. Snape did not allow Harry and Neville to partner as they had agreed. Instead, he placed Neville with Hermione and Harry with Theo. Neville was initially panicked at this change of plans until Harry reassured him that Hermione was probably better at potion-brewing than him anyway, and the four of them would be at adjacent cauldrons. There were a few near explosions, but Hermione kept Neville calm and on-task, and Harry was close enough to whisper some advice and words of encouragement. Eventually, Neville and Hermione produced an acceptable Boil-Curing Potion, as did Theo and Harry. Ron and Jim were less fortunate, their potion resulting in a thick black sludge that melted out the bottom of their cauldron. Finally, as everyone filed out, Harry told Hermione, Neville and Theo to head on without him as he had a personal matter to attend to.

When everyone else was gone, Snape looked up from his notes to see that Harry was still there.

"Class is over, Mr. Potter."

"I know sir. But I would like the opportunity to discuss some ... house matters with you. If right now isn't good, I would be happy to come back at some more convenient time. But I think it's important that we address with this immediately rather than just let things ... fester."

Snape snorted. "I was right. You are just as arrogant as your father and brother."

"Not at all. Before this summer, I literally didn't even know James Potter was alive or that I even had a brother. And I haven't learned anything since then to give me the slightest regard for him. I gather based on things he's said in our brief conversations that he bullied you when you were at school together. And I can see that he raised Jim to be an arrogant bully as well. But he didn't raise me. And I don't want to spend the next seven years feeling as though my head of house was an enemy just because he _thinks_ he has grounds for hating my birth-father."

"I don't _think_ anything of the sort, Potter!" spat the older man. "I _know_ I have reasons to hate him."

"With respect sir, you really don't," said Harry with an eerie calm.

"Explain yourself!" Snape snarled.

"Harry Hunting."

Snape blinked in confusion at the odd expression. "What?"

"Harry Hunting. It's a game my cousin Dudley and his friends invented. They'd count to ten to give me a head start. And then they'd run after me. And if they caught me, they'd knock me to the ground and kick me until they got bored. They started playing it when I was six."

Snape said nothing, so Harry continued.

"In the summers, they had a special variation. Dudley's Aunt Marge would come to stay with us. She raised dogs and always came with a pit bull named Ripper. Instead of chasing me themselves, they'd just sic the dog on me. I have a bite mark I can show you from when I was seven and it got me before I was tall enough and fast enough to climb trees. From the age of about four, I cooked for the Dursley's, cleaned for them, did yard work for them. Sometimes, the Dursleys deliberately spilled things on the floor because I was done with my chores and they didn't want me to have any free time. At nights, I slept in a boot cupboard. My medical records include one broken arm, a fractured clavicle, and at least four cracked ribs. Until I started primary school at the age of six, I _literally_ thought my name was 'freak' because that's what everyone called me. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had to sit me down the night before primary school started and explain that _other people_ would call me 'Harry Potter' so I shouldn't act surprised by it, but in their house, I shouldn't expect to called anything but 'freak' or 'boy.' And as near as I can tell, all of that happened to me simply because James Potter and Lily Potter and Albus Dumbledore thought keeping me around was _inconvenient_ and would complicate the more important task of raising the Boy-Who-Lived into the wonderful specimen of humanity he is today."

Harry stood and picked up his book bag. "I haven't told you any of this because I expect pity. And certainly not because I expect you to do anything about it. I've never met a grown-up who did anything to help me in any way. But I want you to understand one thing: You. Have. No. _Idea_. About what it means to _hate_ James Potter." Then, he walked to the door and opened it. "Until next class, sir."

"Potter!" The boy turned back. Snape hesitated ... and then sneered at him. "Your hair looks ridiculous. Like some lazy Gryffindor who just rolled out of bed. Get it taken care of before you embarrass your house any more with it."

Harry nodded curtly, and then he was gone. Snape stared at the door for a long time. "Oh, Lily," he whispered, "what have you done?"

* * *

Later, while Harry was at lunch, Hedwig flew in bearing a thick, legal-sized envelope. Eagerly, Harry tore into it and pulled out several parchments over which he started poring, absently eating a sandwich as he read.

"What's that, Potter?" asked Draco.

"Some documents from my solicitor. Speaking of which, please remind me to send your parents a thank-you note. They were quite helpful."

"My pleasure." Draco turned then as the Gryffindors came into lunch late. Some were chatting amiably while others looked upset, and the youngest Weasel looked absolutely murderous. On the other hand, the eldest (and most boring) Weasel looked just as angry but it was focused on his youngest sibling. Then, Draco noticed that Jim wasn't with the rest of his House. Turning to the Head Table, he noticed Snape entering late but with a satisfied look on his face. Neither Dumbledore nor McGonagall nor Lily Potter were there.

Draco pointed out their absence to Harry who just crooked an eyebrow and said "Interesting."

"That's not the only _interesting_ thing, Potter," said a Third Year. "I heard that your dad apparated in just before lunch. All the Potters together ... except you of course." The boy laughed rudely as Harry frowned at the reference to his "dad." Then, he straightened up with an excited look in his eye.

"James Potter is here? Where is he?" said Harry excitedly.

"After that spectacle his son – the other one – made in Potions class, I imagine he's in the Headmaster's office with McGonagall, Professor Potter and Junior," said Draco. "Why do you care? I didn't think you'd want to see any of the Potters, and after Monday, I wouldn't think he'd want to see you."

Harry began sifting through the documents from his solicitor until he found a rolled-up grey parchment which he pocketed. Then, he stuffed everything else into his book bag.

"What he wants is irrelevant, Mr. Malfoy. All that matters is what he deserves. Total war, remember?"

With that, Harry practically ran out of the Great Hall and to the gargoyle that stood at the entrance to the Headmaster's Office. Once there, he sat down, collected himself, and waited. About fifteen minutes later, the gargoyle slid aside, and the Potters came through the doorway. As soon as he saw Harry, James' face darkened, as did Jim's.

"What do you want?" hissed Jim.

"Nothing from you, Little Brother." Harry whipped out the scroll with a flourish and handed it to his father, who snatched it up and unrolled it. Then, his eyes widened.

"You've filed ... an _injunction_! Against either Lily or myself interfering with your schooling or your inheritance? Or even speaking to you without your head of house present? You mean _Snivellus_?! Why you little bastard!"

"James!" said Lily angrily.

"You should listen to her, Father. After all, you just slandered her and your other son as well as me with that remark. You know, I'd planned on giving that to mother and owling you a copy, but seeing your face in person makes it a thousand times better."

"Do you really think you're going to accomplish anything with this little stunt?" said James. "In case you've forgotten, Dumbledore is the Chief Warlock! He'll never let this stand."

"Oh, I haven't forgotten. Since you broke the seal and read the title, that alerted my solicitor that process has been served. As we speak, he's filing a motion to force Dumbledore to recuse himself from any legal actions involving our family because of his conflict of interest. After all, Father, you yourself told me that it was his idea to have me shipped off to the Dursleys for ten years."

"Harry," Lily interrupted, "I know you're upset about that, and I don't blame you. But isn't this a little extreme?"

"Oh, hello, _Mother_. It's so nice to hear you actually speak to me for a change instead of ignoring me from across the Great Hall. And, no, this isn't extreme. Threatening me in front of several hundred witnesses to snap my wand is extreme. Promising to have me shipped off to be beaten and abused by _your filthy relatives_ and to _illegally_ disinherit me is extreme. And doing all that just because I was sorted into a house my father dislikes? The same one that his boss, Rufus Scrimgeour, was once in? _That's_ definitely extreme. This? This is just rational self-interest." He turned and walked away, calling back as he went. "Enjoy your weekend, Potters. I know I will."

And once again he smiled.

* * *

**Updated 8/28/16. Minor dialogue changes.**

**AN: The idea for the WBWL making an ass of himself in the first Potions class before being called out by a furious Hermione was something I first saw in a fanfic (apparently abandoned since 2013) called "The Warlock of Slytherin" by Romantic Silence. The circumstances and fallout are different here, but I always loved that idea of Hermione winning points from Snape for successfully shutting up James Potter's obnoxious brat. **


	8. HP&POS 8: Meanwhile, in the Lion

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

CHAPTER EIGHT: Meanwhile, In the Lions' Den

After leaving the Potters standing slack-jawed in front of the Headmaster's office, Harry sauntered into the Library looking for Hermione, who had invited him earlier to join her study group. Also in attendance were Neville and several other Gryffs clustered around Hermione like she was royalty. On the way in, Harry crossed paths with Theo, and he asked the boy to join them. Theo just looked back at the table (making eye contact with Hermione as he did). Then, he whispered a quick "_no_" and rushed out of the Library.

Shaking his head, Harry walked over to Hermione's table and introduced himself to the other Gryffindors: Parvati Patil, Lavender Brown and Dean Thomas. "I must say, I didn't expect this many people. I thought it was just three of us."

"Let's just say Hermione's popularity has skyrocketed in the last few hours," said Parvati smugly.

"Oh, stop!" said Hermione, blushing madly. "Now that the adrenaline's worn off, I feel quite embarrassed about the whole thing!"

"Well don't be!" said Neville. "You were incredible! That was what Gryffindor bravery is supposed to be about, not acting like ... _like a braying ass_." The other Gryff's laughed at that, until Madame Pince loudly shushed them all.

"What? For calling Jim out in Potions?" asked Harry.

"Oh, that was just the start. At some point, Harry, I'm going to borrow my Gran's pensieve just so you can watch the memory, because I'm going to treasure it forever," said Neville. "It all happened like this..."

***

_Three hours earlier..._

After the horrors of the first Potions class had ended, the First Year Gryffindors returned to their tower with mixed emotions. For Jim Potter, the dominant emotion was anger.

"Granger!" he bellowed as soon as he was through the passageway. "Gryffindors are supposed to stick together! What the hell do you mean by calling me a 'braying ass' in front of the whole class? And in Snivellus's class at that!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Potter," she said sweetly. "I'm only a humble Muggleborn still in awe of the wonders of the magical world. And when I see a braying ass magically disguised as a Hogwarts student, I CAN'T HELP POINTING IT OUT!"

"Why you little...! What were you so upset about anyway?! It's just house points! Nobody here cares about that except Little Miss Know-It-All!"

Hermione's eyes flashed dangerously, and she whipped out her wand. Startled, Jim fumbled for his own, but Hermione simply turned and walked to the stairs leading up to the dorms. There, she pointed her wand up each staircase and, to everyone's astonishment, shot off a series of loud popping fireworks before yelling "ALL PREFECTS TO THE COMMON ROOM FOR AN EMERGENCY MEETING!"

Seconds later, dozens of older Lions, including all six prefects were pouring into the room, where an angry Hermione Granger was standing atop a coffee table surrounded by the rest of the First Years who were staring at her in amazement. She still had her wand out and looked ready for battle.

Ralph MacMillan, the 7th Year prefect, was the first to speak. "What the HELL is going on down here?! Who called a prefects meeting?!"

"I did," said Hermione calmly. "You lot said if we have any questions, then we should ask a prefect! Well I have a question, and I want it answered right now!"

"Have you gone completely _**mental**_?!" exclaimed Ralph before a female prefect, Emily Rossen, put her hand on his arm.

"Easy, Ralph. Let me. Miss Granger, er, Hermione. You're obviously distraught. Why don't you put your wand away and step down off the table and we can talk about this?"

"Not until I've asked my question."

Emily took a deep breath. "Okay, then. What's your question?"

"The House Cup. Is it something Gryffindor House actually cares about? Something that we actually aspire to win? Or is it just a big joke that only 'Know-It-Alls' worry about? Something we should just laugh over whenever some idiot costs us dozens of house points at one go? Because if it's the latter, I promise you I can stop caring about the House Cup too! It will be a lot easier to pass my OWLS if I'm not dragging a lot of _**dead weight**_ behind me!"

Hermione glared at Jim and Ron at the end, but Percy Weasley missed that and whirled around on his twin brothers instead. "Oh Merlin's pants, what have you idiots done now?!"

In unison, the twins put their hands up in a surrender gesture.

"Twasn't us, oh Perfect Prefect Percy." "We haven't lost any house points ... yet." "Haven't had time to do anything worth memorializing." "I mean, we did steal a toilet seat, but I don't think anyone's noticed yet."

"We've noticed," said Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet, almost in unison and with obvious displeasure.

Neville interrupted the discussion. "It wasn't the twins, Percy. It was Jim."

"Oh, thanks a lot, _traitor_," snapped Jim.

Hermione stepped down from the table and walked over to the confused prefects. "I don't know how things are going for the upper years. But among the First Years, it has taken Neville, Parvati, Lavender and myself a week to make up for the twenty points Jim Potter cost us on his first morning as a student."

Ralph coughed at that. "Yes, well. Admittedly that was a bad start for Potter, but hopefully, it's given him something to think about and won't happen..."

"Jim just lost us thirty-five points in Potions," she said calmly.

The room went quiet and all six prefects stared wide-eyed at the Boy-Who-Lived, who swallowed hard at attention that, for once, was not as favorable as he was accustomed. Then, the assembled Lions began murmuring their discontent. The twins were incorrigible, but a thirty-five point loss was what they might post in a week, not a single class. It represented nearly half the points the entire house had earned in the first week of school.

"Thirty-five points... in one class," said Emily weakly.

"Actually," said Neville tiredly. "Thirty-five points in under a minute."

"... _**HOW**_!" shrieked another of the prefects.

Lavender spoke up. She'd been very proud of those two points that she'd won in Charms the day before. The fact that Hermione not only remembered it at all but considered it just as important as the dozen or so the Muggleborn had won by herself instantly endeared her to the other girl. "Well, first of all, he mocked Professor Snape for his grooming habits to his face. Then, he went on a tear about how his father and Professor Snape hated one another and so his father basically told him it was okay to be disrespectful to the Professor. Then, he called Professor Snape 'Snivellus.' Did I forget anything?"

"Well," said Hermione, "it was patently obvious that Jim hadn't done the assigned reading, but that seems almost ... pedestrian after everything else."

"Of course," joined in Neville, "I'm sure he'd have carried on for longer and lost even more points had you not shut him up." He turned to the prefects. "For which she won us five points back, by the way."

Ralph waved that off and turned to Jim. "Why ... in Merlin's name, why would you deliberately insult a Hogwarts professor on the first day of class?"

Jim stiffened and looked around. He was dismayed and angry that most of the house seemed to be against him. "Because I shouldn't have to put up with abuse from someone who's had it out for my family since before I was born. I shouldn't have to be embarrassed with obscure questions no First Year would know."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Show of hands, please. Are there any other First Years who didn't know the answer to at least _one_ of Professor Snape's questions?"

"I knew all three." "I knew two but didn't know the bezoar one." "Really? It was highlighted in bold in the side bar on page 3." "Oh! Darn it! I always forget to read the sidebars." Other than Ron, it appeared that all of the First Year Gryffindors knew the answer to at least one of Snape's questions. Finally, Jim snapped.

"SHUT UP, ALL OF YOU! I SHOULDN'T BE TREATED LIKE THIS! I'M..."

"The Boy-Who-Lived! Yes, we know," finished Hermione. "Harry was right about you with what he said last Monday. You really do think that the rules don't apply to you."

Jim blinked rapidly. Hermione almost started to feel bad seeing him on the verge of tears. Almost.

"I destroyed You-Know-Who! That should mean something!"

Hermione stepped forward to look Jim straight in the eye. "How?" she asked simply.

"Wh-what?"

"How did you destroy You-Know-Who? I've read several books about the last war. They all just say You-Know-Who broke into your house, stunned your parents, and then tried to use the Killing Curse on you when you somehow 'vanquished' him. How did you do it?"

Jim stared at her, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.

"You don't know, do you?" she continued. "You've been internationally famous and universally beloved for something that happened when you were a baby, and you have no idea how it was accomplished. For all anyone knows, it could have been nothing but a magical fluke, but you expect to be treated like royalty for it." She shook her head and turned towards the stairs to her dorm room. At the edge, she suddenly whirled back around and smiled.

"You know, I just had the _funniest_ notion! Wouldn't it be amusing if, for all this time, it had been Harry who destroyed You-Know-Who? And the reason your parents sent him to his Muggle relatives was to keep him hidden away while they put you forward and made you famous just to hide the fact that Harry was the real Boy-Who-Lived?"

As she spoke, Jim's face twisted into a mask of rage, and with a vicious snarl, he pulled out his wand. But before he could cast a spell, he was grappled by two older Gryffindors. That didn't stop him from screaming in a rage, though. "_**SHUT UP! SHUT YOUR FILTHY MUDBLOOD MOUTH**_!"

There were audible gasps around the room. Neville took an involuntary step towards Jim as if to strike him, but Hermione called his name sharply and he stopped, his fists still clenched. "Mudblood, Potter?" Hermione repeated. "I wonder what your mother would say to that. Perhaps we should ask her." She turned her head, and the rest of the room followed her gaze to the entryway in the far wall ... where Professors Potter and McGonagall stood completely aghast at the scene before them.

"Mu-Mum?" Jim asked.

"_Not. One. Word._ Come over here. Right now." Lily spoke quietly but with a frightening intensity. Slowly, Jim walked over to his mother, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his robe as he went. She placed her arm firmly around the boy's shoulders and guided him out of the common room. After they were gone, McGonagall exhaled slowly before turning to her Lions.

"I will not deduct any more points for what I have just witnessed. Mr. Potter will, instead, be serving detentions with me for the next week. Miss Granger? As I understand it, this marks the second time today you have stood up to one of the most famous and revered figures in our society and chastised him for his atrocious conduct. That is two times you have done what is right rather than what is easy. Professor Snape has already awarded you five points for the first instance, and I will match it for the second."

McGonagall surveyed the room. "I don't know what each of you thinks, but I for one wish very much to win the House Cup. It saddens me to think that any of my Lions lack sufficient pride in their house to share that wish. But while I cannot make you care, I assure you, I can make life difficult for you if you undermine others who do. Henceforth, any point deductions from a single individual in excess of five points in a day will be accompanied by detention, as well as any point deductions caused by willful defiance of or disrespect towards a Hogwarts teacher. Am I understood?" The chastened crowd indicated that she was. "Good. Carry on."

****

_Three hours and ten minutes later..._

Harry stared slack-jawed at Hermione as Neville finished his tale. No wonder Jim had seemed so subdued as he left the Headmaster's office. "I hope you won't think it forward of me, Hermione, but will you marry me?"

"Back off, Potter," said Neville with mock gruffness. "I saw her first."


	9. HP&POS 9: Study Sessions

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

**AN: I should warn in advance that I'm ... unhappy with this chapter and have grappled with it for a while. There's some good stuff in here that I like and a whole lot that sets up future chapters. But it's a bit talky and non-actiony and feels like a big info dump in places. Bear with me, because the troll that's on the way will make up for it. That said, thanks for all the Follows and Favorites and keep those Reviews coming.**

_CHAPTER NINE : Study Sessions_

_Harry stared slack-jawed at Hermione as Neville finished his tale. No wonder Jim had seemed so subdued as he left the Headmaster's office. "I hope you won't think it forward of me, Hermione, but will you marry me?"_

_"Back off, Potter," said Neville with mock gruffness. "I saw her first." _

Harry, Neville and the other children laughed while Hermione blushed once more, but with a smile. Then, they set to work. For the first thirty minutes, Hermione led a review of their Transfiguration homework. Everyone had been impressed when she'd accomplished the feat of transfiguring her matchstick into a needle on the first day. But when she explained her thought processes as they applied to McGonagall's methods, several of the others quickly made the same cognitive leap. Harry was able to transfigure a matchstick as well as Hermione after just a few minutes, while all the others save Neville made significant improvement. The boy was somewhat dejected by that, as Hermione was certain his wand movements were correct, but he was still unable to do more than make the matchstick a little silvery in hue.

Shaking off his frustration, Neville took over the session next, answering everyone's Herbology questions with ease. Then came Harry, who apparently was the only one capable of deciphering Quirrell's awful stutter into coherent notes. Harry and Hermione jointly covered Charms, and then, to Harry's surprise, Lavender Brown led the discussion on Potions. Apparently, despite her flighty personality, she came from a long line of Potions masters, and her family held the patents on several cosmetics-related potions and also the valuable European concession on some Asian hair-care product called Sleekeazy. Remembering Snape's final words that morning, Potter resolved to ask her about it later.

After two grueling hours, the group broke up, but everyone seemed interested in continuing to meet again on Tuesdays and Fridays for the foreseeable future. Harry, Neville and Hermione stayed behind to chat after the others had left.

"That went rather well," said Hermione. "Do you think this group is the right size? Or should we try to add anyone else?"

"We can go a little bigger if we have the right people," said Harry. "Anthony Goldstein is good in Astronomy. Apparently, his dad is a Muggle astronomy professor. There's a Puff named Finch-Fletchley who is fascinated with wizarding history and actually stays awake in Binn's classes. Personally, I'd like to add Susan Bones, but that's for political networking reasons, so don't think you have to let her in just to appease my evil Slytherin ways."

Neville rolled his eyes. "No Slytherins to add then? And I guess I should ask – is it going to cause problems for you to study with us?"

He shook his head. "I'm Heir Presumptive of an important house. I'm in a wonderfully antagonistic relationship with the Boy-Who-Lived. And I've been cultivating a reputation as an eccentric loner. It shouldn't be a problem. But it's unlikely any other Slytherins will join us. At least not unless we start trouncing them in class work."

Hermione hesitated before asking. "Is ... is it because a ... a Mudblood is leading the group?"

Harry sighed. "Well, I wouldn't use that word, but yes, probably. There aren't any Muggleborns in Slytherin at all, not unless one of the Halfbloods is running a spectacular bluff. There are two Halfbloods in our year besides myself – Davis and Bulstrode – and a Pureblood whose family never served You-Know-Who, but I don't think any of them will risk alienating the older Purebloods, many of whom are openly bigoted. And, to be blunt about it, yes, Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkington would probably call you a Mudblood to your face if no teachers were around. Crabbe and Goyle are basically appendages to Malfoy and will follow his lead. And honestly, I still have no idea about Zabini. He just floats around like some kind of social ninja."

"What's a ninja?" asked a perplexed Neville.

Harry started to answer and then paused looking equally perplexed. "You know, it's funny, but I actually have no idea how to explain ninjas to someone who's never seen a Muggle movie or television show! Let's just say a really mysterious sneaky person and leave it at that."

"And Nott?" asked Hermione. "I saw your exchange with him before you came over. When he looked at me, he didn't seem ... hateful. More like sad than anything else."

"Theo's ... a special case. I'm still working on him." He hesitated. "I don't want to start any unfounded rumors, so I'd appreciate it if you keep this to yourself. But I'm afraid that if it got back to Theo's father that he'd been hanging out with Muggleborns and 'blood traitors,'" Harry made air quotes around those words, "he might face ... physical consequences."

Neville shook his head while Hermione gasped. "Surely not! I thought heirs of Pureblood families were protected from things like that."

"_Presumptive_ Heirs, Hermione," replied Neville. "Nott has an older brother at Durmstrang. That means Theo's not the Heir Presumptive, so he doesn't really have much protection from his father. I can sympathize." The boy hesitated and looked slightly pained. "I've never told anyone this, but when I was younger, my great-uncle Algie ... sort of ... tried to kill me. Twice."

Harry's eyes goggled at that, while Hermione looked concerned. "You said at the Welcoming Feast that when you were eight, your uncle accidentally dropped you out of a window and you bounced," she said.

"Yeah," he said somewhat bitterly. "And before that, there was that time 'accidentally' he knocked me off Blackpool Pier. I nearly drowned before he fished me out. Officially... well, officially, they were both accidents. Unofficially, it was understood that he was trying to scare me into using accidental magic. I told that story at the Feast because everyone was telling amusing tales about how they found out they were magical, and I got nervous and told the only one I had. But I've always wondered about it because as it turns, if I'd actually died, Uncle Algie would have gone from just being my regent until I turn fifteen to inheriting the whole estate outright."

"And no one considered prosecuting him for attempted murder?" asked Harry.

"What's to prosecute? It's basically legal to deliberately endanger a child from a Wizengamot family if it's for purposes of provoking accidental magic, provided there's been no sign of it before and the child's at least four years old." He hesitated. "Sometimes, I wonder if that's why my magic is so weak. My parents were both powerful wizards, but I almost never had accidental magic and, well, I'm struggling in all my wand-magic classes. I wonder if there was some trauma related to what he did to me that stunted my magical development."

"That's awful!" exclaimed Hermione, earning another hiss from Madame Pince. "Do you mean to tell me I've entered a culture where it's acceptable to endanger children just to make them demonstrate magic? That's barbaric!"

"To be fair, there is a Wizarding Child Services department in the Ministry that looks after the health and welfare of Muggleborn, Halfbloods, and even Purebloods of 'lesser' families. It's just barred by law from questioning the treatment of children who are from Wizengamot families but who aren't established as Heirs Presumptive, which I wasn't until my magic saved me from that fall. From what I can tell, I was kind of an unusual case because most wizarding children show some sign of magic in early childhood. Anyway, our system of government depends on keeping as many Wizengamot seats filled as possible, especially Ancient and Noble seats. As far as the law is concerned, if I'd been a squib, it would have been better for me to have died young so that the Longbottom seat could more quickly pass to an actual wizard. Honestly, you as a Muggleborn have a lot more legal protections than Theodore Nott. He could be kicked out onto the street tomorrow or worse on his father's whim."

"You can see now, Hermione, why I've been studying this stuff like mad," said Harry. "By leaving me with the Dursleys and not looking after me, the Potters and the Headmaster violated several centuries-old laws." He turned back to Neville. "And not to change the subject, but you seem rather well-informed about Theo's home life."

"I can make some educated guesses." Neville looked around the Library to make sure they were not being observed. "Last summer, Gran made me study files she'd had drawn up on all the children I'd be at Hogwarts with whose parents were either known or suspected Death Eaters. She has a personal grudge against the Malfoys for what the Lestranges did to my parents, but as far as specific crimes, Lucius Malfoy wasn't even that bad. He was accused of bribery, financially supporting a terrorist group, and misdemeanor Muggle-baiting. If he took the Dark Mark of his own free will rather than while under the Imperius Curse, then he probably murdered at least one Muggle, but that's basically unprovable. He's an arrogant bigoted snob, but compared to most suspected Death Eaters, he's relatively harmless."

Neville leaned forward intently. "Tiberius Nott, on the other hand, was accused of all that plus murdering a dozen Muggleborns and Merlin knows how many Muggles. The killings usually were, well, extremely violent. Gran called him a psychopath and said he was probably the worst Death Eater to not get put into Azkaban."

"Why wasn't he if he was that bad?" hissed an astonished Hermione.

"You can thank Sirius Black. His trial transcripts are still sealed, but according to the information that was released to the press, he confessed to putting over two dozen Wizengamot members under the Imperius for You-Know-Who, including Malfoy, Goyle, Crabbe, Parkinson ... and Nott. That got all of them off the hook in spite of them carrying Dark Marks. Gran figures Black knew he was done for, so he took the blame for all the suspected Death Eaters who hadn't been caught red-handed."

"Is it possible to see those press accounts?" asked Harry.

Hermione pointed across the room to an upper floor. "They've got bound copies of The Prophet doing back decades at least."

Harry nodded. That would be something else to add to his studies, which already included his normal class work, Wizengamot law, and wizarding genealogy. "You know, Neville, if you're really worried that there's some kind of childhood trauma that might be limiting your magic, you should go see Madame Pomfrey. Perhaps it's something correctable. I've already talked to her about my size – the Dursleys weren't big on nutrition where I was concerned – and the nutrient potions she gave me are supposed to get me up to Jim's height within a year or two."

"I'll ... think about it. Thanks."

After some more discussion of school matters, the trio separated, with Hermione and Neville headed back to their dorm and Harry to the back issues of The Prophet, starting with the volume for 1981. The results were unenlightening. You-Know-Who's death was front page on November 1st of 1981, and two days later, the paper officially attributed his demise to "_Jim Potter, The Boy-Who-Lived_" even though there were no actual first hand witnesses for his miraculous feat of deflecting the Killing Curse. Nevertheless, it was just ... accepted that Voldemort had tried to use the Killing Curse on Jim and some strange backlash destroyed him, leaving Jim with the Dark Lord's mark on his brow. Harry idly wondered if the V-shaped scar might actually contain some fragment of Voldemort's evil, thereby explaining why the Boy-Who-Lived should be such a monumental prat. Then, he disregarded the idea. Voldemort might be evil, but Harry thought he'd be much smarter and less obnoxious than Jim. Harry was unsurprised to see that there had been no mention of his status or even his existence.

The traitor Sirius Black was arrested on 3 November, 1981 by James Potter himself. He was tried by a secret tribunal in accordance with what were referred to as The Death Eater Laws, a series of controversial temporary laws passed in 1980 to better allow the wizarding law enforcement and judicial systems to cope with what was effectively an armed insurrection by a substantial part of the nation's ruling class. Given the influence Voldemort had, Harry wondered why he didn't just have his followers pass laws to give him what he wanted rather than going on mass killing sprees.

The Death Eater Laws were most infamous for sanctioning the use of the Unforgivable Curses by aurors and hit-wizards against Death Eaters, but they also had provisions for secret trials, as opposed to normal criminal trials in which a quorum of the Wizengamot serves as jury. The transcripts of these tribunals were sealed to the general public, and even the aurors who stood guard over accused prisoners had to submit to Memory Charms after each trial so that they couldn't reveal the identities of any participants. Ostensibly, this was to prevent the names of witnesses and judges from being revealed publically and thus allowing Death Eaters to seek revenge. Apparently, before that law was enacted, several judges who had presided over successful Death Eater trials had later been murdered. The article on Sirius Black's trial merely said that the trial transcript had been magically certified by the Court Scribe and that the trial had been presided over by three of the twelve anonymous Wizengamot members who were eligible to sit as judges in criminal proceedings (and who had all sworn magical oaths to fairly adjudicate such proceedings). Those three anonymous judges would decide Black's fate.

The evidence against Sirius Black consisted of sworn affidavits from James and Lily Potter that he had been their secret keeper, a sworn statement from an Unspeakable (whatever that was – Harry added the term to his long list of things to research) giving expert testimony that a Fidelius Charm could only be penetrated if the secret keeper voluntarily revealed it, and a lengthy confession from Black in which he proudly admitted to being secret Death Eater, to betraying the Potters, and to placing a number of influential Wizengamot figures under the Imperius Curse. Nothing more except his sentence – a lifetime in Azkaban for his repeated use of an Unforgiveable. Ironically, his betrayal of the Potters wasn't even a major part of his sentence since no one actually died as a result of those actions. Having learned all he could about the fall of Voldemort, Harry returned the book and went back to his genealogy research. After an hour of making notes, he prepared another letter to his solicitor and sent it off with Hedwig before heading off to dinner.

The following weekend, Harry discovered the most immediate and tangible benefit of his involvement with Hermione's study group. Harry had approached Lavender Brown with some embarrassment over the topic of wizarding hair care products, but she eagerly took him in hand and answered all of his questions. On Sunday afternoon, Lavender and Parvati performed a "make-over" on him in an unused classroom and introduced the young Slytherin to the wonders of Sleekeazy. When he entered the Great Hall on the following Monday morning, it was with the first perfect coif of his entire life. Jim laughed at him, but Snape and Draco nodded approvingly. Greengrass and Davis were also quite impressed and asked him to call them Daphne and Tracie, respectively.

By the following Tuesday, Hermione's study group had indeed grown. Justin Finch-Fletchley and Susan Bones joined, as did Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil, though she made a point of sitting as far away from her twin as possible. Harry wondered whether magical twins ran hot or cold – either practically sharing a brain like the Weasley Twins or else at each others throats like the Patils or the Potters. Harry remained the only Slytherin who wanted anything to do with the group, which was perhaps for the best, as the group split its time between studying course material and discussing the relative merits of Muggle and wizarding cultures. The Muggleborn and Muggle-raised were learning loads about the wizarding world while the Purebloods were learning that a lot of their assumptions about Muggles were wildly incorrect. All of the them were greatly improving their magical skill, though Neville was becoming frustrated by his lack of progress in his wandwork.

The second session also answered a question that baffled Hermione since school had started – what was early education like for wizarding children? She realized quickly that there were no wizarding primary schools, yet all of her Pureblood and Halfblood classmates seemed able read and write several years above their age level compared to Muggles. Not compared to _her_, of course, but she was surprised at how effective magical home-schooling seemed to be. The answer, of course, was magic.

Anthony Goldstein, a Halfblood who'd lived abroad for several years, explained to the Muggle-raised in the group about "educational potions" and how they worked. An educational potion was, as the name implied, a potion that instantly tutored the drinker in some field of study. The number and scope of these educational potions was rather limited, as they were difficult and expensive to produce. It was easiest to create potions that taught languages, and students who took Ancient Runes in Third Year would start off with a regimen of potions that would instantly give them fluency in Elder and Younger Futhark, with more obscure runic languages coming later. Anthony had taken a potion at the age of seven that taught him German when his father had accepted a teaching position at the University of Hamburg. He said it tasted nasty and gave him a headache that lasted for a day, but when he woke up the next morning, he was completely fluent in German, albeit with a 19th century Prussian accent.

Wizarding Child Services provided a few free educational potions to all British Pureblood and Halfblood children beginning at age six so that by the time they reached Hogwarts, those children could read, write, and perform basic arithmetic on a level comparable to a fairly smart Muggle child who had completed his first year of secondary school. Understandably, the Muggle-raised children were annoyed to learn that they'd spent six years attending Muggle primary school when the same benefits could be obtained in a few days with the appropriate potions, but Anthony explained that there were some sizeable gaps in the potions' utility and availability. For example, there was a potion that covered basic arithmetic, but most wizards seemed completely unaware of higher Muggle maths like algebra and calculus or, for that matter, entire maths-dependent fields like engineering and architecture. After all, who needs an engineer to design a building when you can transfigure raw materials as you like and then magically reinforce it no matter how structurally unsound it was. Arithmancy, a Third Year elective, introduced elements of geometry and trigonometry but only to the extent relevant to the magical implications of the maths involved. There were also potions for literacy that taught wizarding children to read and write at the level of an 8th Year Muggle secondary student, but the vocabulary and syntax hadn't been updated in over a century, which was why Pureblood children who didn't socialize much had such oddly formal speech patterns.

Any potions other than the ones for literacy and numeracy had to be purchased privately and at significant cost. There were lots of options for language potions, but only a few for natural sciences. The most popular one, designed for people who wanted to pursue studies in alchemy, gave the drinker a complete understanding of the field of Muggle chemistry ... as it was understood in 1893. The physics potion was so out of date that it was actually counterproductive, leading the unwary drinker to think that fires were caused by burning phlogiston and that vacuums were actually full of ether. There were few potions for Wizarding history, and none at all for Muggle Studies – Susan Bones, whose guardian was a high-ranking Ministry official, did not know who the current British monarch was, and none of the Purebloods had a clue how Parliament worked. Finally, it was apparently impossible to brew a potion that conferred practical knowledge of any facet of actual magic, even topics as seemingly mundane as Herbology or Care of Magical Creatures, which was why Hogwarts' existence was still necessary. The prevailing explanation for this gap was that "_Merlin did something and so we can't make potions that teach magic_."

Understandably, both Harry and Hermione found that explanation completely unsatisfactory.

**The next update will be posted on the afternoon of May 11, 2015**


	10. HP&POS 10: Flights and Duels

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

**AN: So, here's Chapter Ten, and just last night, I was rereading the first three chapters and see typos that I now notice for the first time. Sigh. Ah well. Anyway, thanks for all the Favs, Follows and Reviews. Onward!  
**

_**CHAPTER TEN : Flights and Duels**_

_**12 September 1991** _

As Harry headed down for breakfast, he wondered if he'd need an extra dose of Sleakeasy to get through the day, for today was to be the much-anticipated start of flying lessons. Naturally, the Slytherins and Gryffindors were grouped together, so it was probably going to end in tears. And sure enough, the day got off to a poor start when Malfoy and his lackeys inexplicably picked a fight with the Gryffindors at breakfast, one quickly broken up by Professor McGonagall. When they came over to the Slytherin table, Harry asked what that had been about. Malfoy was evasive, but Goyle blurted out that they were mocking Longbottom because his grandmother had sent him a Rememberall as a present.

"And what's a Rememberall when it's at home?" asked Harry.

"It's a globe that turns red when you've forgotten something important," replied Draco blandly as he buttered some toast.

"Hmm. I suppose that could be useful," replied Harry.

"Not really. Besides, Longbottom's is huge and ancient and ugly and looks to be made of cheap glass. He'll probably break it by the end of the week."

"I thought you'd gotten over your issues with Neville."

"I don't have 'issues,' Potter. But your brother hasn't done anything obnoxious in a week, so I've gone back to having equal disdain for all Gryffindors."

Harry shook his head and went back to his Daily Prophet. He hoped the rest of the day would be less dramatic.

**_Ten hours later ..._**

Harry's hopes had been in vain. That evening, Draco sat down for dinner across from him, and Harry just looked at the other boy in furious consternation. Finally, Draco noticed he was being stared at intently.

"What?" he asked.

"And what, pray tell, was all _that_ about?" asked Harry somewhat hotly.

"You'll have to be more specific, Potter. It was an eventful day."

"The bit where you insulted Longbottom when he wasn't there to defend himself, then you deliberately threatened to destroy Longbottom's Remember-thingy after he fell and got hurt, then you flew off with the Git in defiance of Madame Hooch's orders, and then tried to destroy the Remember-thingy, only for the Git to miraculously save it. Oh, and just now, you challenged the Git to – and I can't believe this is even a thing – _a wizard's duel_?!"

"Yes. That all did happen. Do you want to be my second? The Weasel is seconding the Git."

"At a wizard's duel? It's not even October! What are you two going to do – transfigure matchsticks to needles and fling them at one another until somebody loses an eye?"

"You'll just have to come to the duel and watch. Meet me in the Trophy Room at midnight."

Harry's eyes narrowed as he studied Malfoy's smirking face. "You're not even going, are you? This is just a trick to get the Git and the Weasel out of bounds after curfew."

Draco laughed. "That's what I like about you, Potter. Despite your obvious deficiencies, you're still leagues ahead of your miserable brother."

"Well, I suppose that's what passes for a compliment in this house."

"Pfft. If you wanted compliments, Potter, you should have gone to the Puffs."

Harry snorted. "Well, hopefully, this has at least cured you of your strange obsession with Longbottom's Rememberall."

Draco sneered at him and then resumed eating. Theo eyed the whole exchange silently.

Later, as the Slytherins were returning to their dorms, Theo nudged Harry and whispered, "You should think about getting a Rememberall yourself if you can." And then he held out his hand to show a small orb that looked just like Neville's only about one-fourth the size. "Draco has one as well. They're more useful than you might think." Then, Theo moved on quickly leaving a perplexed Harry Potter behind.

_**13 September 1991**_

The next morning, Harry met with Hermione and Neville in the Library. They were supposed to meet up so that he could answer a few last minute DADA questions before that morning's class. But now, instead, he was sitting in a padded chair rubbing his temples and listening as Hermione and Neville described their "_adventures_" from the night before.

"So let me get this straight," he said tiredly. "Jim and Ron decided to sneak out to participate in an illegal midnight wizarding duel which wasn't going to happen anyway because the whole thing was a trap to get Jim in trouble which I figured out in less than five seconds. And you went along because...?"

"Well, I wasn't planning on accompanying them, but I came out into the hall after them to tell them not to go, and then the Fat Lady wandered off somewhere and I was stuck anyway, so I thought it better to go along with them than just sit in the corridor by myself," said Hermione as if that was the most logical thing in the world.

"And they actually found me passed out on a bench nearby. I, ah, sort of forgot the password and fell asleep." And then, Neville muttered "_stupid Rememberall_" under his breath just barely loud enough for Harry to hear.

"So to continue," Harry said with some annoyance, "the four of you went to the Trophy Room, discovered that Malfoy never showed, almost got caught by Filch, and then decided the best thing to do was to go to the Third Floor Corridor of Certain Painful Death?"

"Well," Neville replied with a grin, "obviously the Headmaster's warnings of certain painful death were exaggerated since we did not, in fact, die or even suffer pain. But we did find a Cerberus! And we also learned that Jim has a very high pitched voice when he screams!" He laughed, and Hermione punched his shoulder in annoyance.

"We also learned that the Cerberus was sitting on top of a trap door," she added. "Obviously, something incredibly valuable is being hidden down there with a Cerberus to guard it. But what could it be?"

Harry looked back and forth between his two friends in wonderment. "A better question would be: _why on Earth do you care_? Dumbledore said to stay away because it was dangerous, and I take him at his word. How did you even get past the door?!"

"Alohamora. It's in Chapter 7 of Goshawk's **Standard Book of Spells for First Years**."

Harry, who had already read that entire textbook from cover to cover, stared at her and then crooked an eyebrow suspiciously. "No it's not," he said firmly.

Neville looked at Hermione who was now blushing.

"Oh, alright! It was in Chapter 7 of the 1923 edition which I found in a used bookstore in Diagon Alley. It had a lot of wonderful spells that weren't in the current edition because they were deemed unsuitable for children to learn."

"Oh, that's a relief," said Neville. "Now, I don't feel so thick for having never heard of it."

"So to recap," said Harry acidly, "you were concerned about Jim and Ron doing something foolish, so you followed them out and then helped them break into an out-of-bounds area with an illegal lock-picking charm."

"It's not illegal, Harry, just ... frowned upon. Besides, they do teach it in upper year classes. You can't practice warding a door against the Alohamora if you don't know how to cast it."

"_Ah_, so you _can_ ward the door leading to the deadly Cerberus against the Lock-Opening Charm that precocious First Years can cast, but the staff didn't bother to do so because ... you know, I don't even care anymore. I'll give myself a headache if I keep trying to apply common sense to this school."

Harry looked over at Neville, who seemed amused rather than embarrassed. "Wait a minute. You say you forgot the password to get into your dorm? I thought that Remember-whatsit was supposed to prevent that."

"Oh no. Apparently, it just turns red when I've forgotten something important, but it doesn't actually tell me what."

"That seems spectacularly unhelpful."

Neville stiffened. "It was a gift from my Gran. I don't care if Malfoy thinks it's stupid..."

"Easy, Neville. Draco was just being ... Draco. Besides, I'm reliably informed that he has one himself and was actually mocking you for yours being an antique. Apparently, the newer models are much smaller and sleeker. Probably a Scandinavian influence. I blame IKEA."

The other boy, on whom Harry's joke was completely lost, merely shrugged. "It's kind of a tradition for Longbottoms to reuse family heirlooms. That's why I'm using my dad's wand instead of a new one."

Hermione's brow furrowed. "You can do that? Just use a family member's wand? Mr. Ollivander must have made me try fifteen wands before we found the right one."

"And twice that number for me. He kept going on about how 'the wand chooses the wizard' and stuff like that."

Neville shrugged again, but Harry persisted. "Nev, I know you've been frustrated about how much trouble you've been having in classes, but it looks to me like you're doing _fine_ in everything except wand-work. The book on wand lore I picked up at Ollivander's says that using a wand that's unsuited for you at best makes it hard to work magic and at worst can be physically dangerous. Is it possible that your wand isn't compatible and that's what's holding you back?

"It's my father's wand, Harry! He was a great wizard, and I want to be worthy of him!" exclaimed the boy, who was becoming upset. Pince shushed loudly from her desk, and Neville ducked his head.

Hermione patted his leg and said gently, "We know, Neville. But you're not a carbon copy of your father. Your mother was a great witch as well. And half of you comes from her. Was her wand made of the same materials as your father's?"

Neville closed his eyes. "I ... don't think so. I understand what you're saying. If ... if my wand work doesn't improve, I'll talk to Gran about getting a new one."

"_Like you promised to talk to the nurse about your magic and your memory issues?_" thought Harry, though he said nothing aloud.

"Well, I suppose we should head on down to breakfast before the Weasel eats it all. But both of you, please, stop trying to follow after Jim Potter and save him from himself. I understand the desire to stop Jim from costing you even more house points, but it's not worth the risk of you two getting into trouble or possibly even hurt." Harry shook his head. "By the way, I never heard. How many points did McGonagall take yesterday after that broom nonsense with Jim and Draco?"

Neville and Hermione looked at each somewhat nervously.

"What?" asked Harry, suddenly apprehensive..

_**Thirty seconds later, after the trio had been kicked out of the Library because of Harry's yelling...**_

"_Unbelievable_! This place is absolutely unbelievable! A teacher says 'don't do this or you'll be expelled,' Jim Potter does that very thing a minute later, and not only is he not expelled, _he gets on the flipping house Quidditch team_! Bloody hell!"

"Language, Harry!" said Hermione.

"I bet he's the youngest Seeker in, what, twenty years? Thirty?"

Neville coughed. "A century."

"**GAAAAAAH!**"

"Harry, please. Think it through."

"Oh, by all means, Hermione, explain what rational reason there is for putting Jim Potter on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, other than McGonagall caring more about a stupid trophy than any pretense of school discipline!"

"_Professor_ McGonagall, Harry," Hermione corrected. Harry actually sneered at that, which startled Neville. He was used to sneering Slytherins, but he'd never seen Harry do it before. He was surprisingly good at it.

"Listen, Harry," she continued. "Yes, this seems grossly unfair, but think about it from Professor McGonagall's point of view. They've been using sticks pretty hard with Jim to no avail, so they've decided to give him a really big carrot."

Neville looked back and forth between the two. "I have no idea what you're on about. _Carrot_? Is this like that 'ninja' thing from last week?"

Harry sighed. "It's a Muggle expression, Nev. To get a donkey to move you can either hit it on the behind with a stick or dangle a carrot in front of its face. It means that they obviously can't control Jim with detentions, let alone loss of house points, so they're giving him something he desperately wants – the status of being on the house Quidditch team – which they can then threaten to revoke if he acts out of line."

"Exactly," said Hermione. "And as an added bonus, the Gryffindor captain is a madman named Oliver Wood who has set up a truly grueling practice schedule – twelve hours a week. Possibly more as the first match draws near. We are playing you lot after all. That's twelve hours or more a week he'll be under the supervision of upper year students and kept out of mischief."

Harry took a deep breath and exhaled. It made sense. But that didn't mean he had to like it. "Fine. I hope the Git falls off his broom." The other two laughed. "I'm sorry I lost my temper. You to go on to breakfast. I need to use the facilities." The two Gryffindors said their goodbyes and headed on. Harry turned and walked the other way, pausing at the boy's lavatory door before looking back at his friends. Then, seeing that they weren't watching, he quickly darted past the bathroom before turning down a side corridor and into the empty classroom sometimes used for Care of Magical Creatures. Checking quickly to see that no one else was there, he picked up a piece of chalk and threw it at a large painting of a sleeping ashwinder wrapped around its eggs.

"Esme! Esme! Wake up!" With a hiss, the fiery serpent raised its head and hissed at Harry, the corona of flame around its head lighting up the whole room. "I'm sorry for waking you, but this is important. What have the other snakes been saying about the locked room in the Third Floor corridor? You know, the one with the three-headed dog in it."


	11. HP&POS 11: Halloween 1991 (Part 1)

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. Thanks for all faves, follows and reviews. Please keep 'em coming. **

_**CHAPTER 11: Halloween 1991 (Pt. 1)**_

_31 October 1991_

As the Slytherin First Years got ready for the day, Harry laid in his bed, deep in thought. Today was Halloween in the Muggle world. He supposed it was in the wizarding world too, but it was also Victory Day, the day Jim Potter vanquished You-Know-Who. Tonight's feast would likely be particularly impressive, since it was the Git's first year at Hogwarts. The "carrot" had apparently worked. Jim had not suffered any serious point losses since joining the Quidditch team and appeared to have buckled down on his studies.

"Appeared" being the operative word, of course. Now that he knew that tantrums would get him nowhere, Jim had become a bit more, well, Slytherin in his approach. He'd ingratiated himself with the Weasley Terrors (as the Slytherins dubbed the Twins), and good friends that they were, they'd taken to pranking the Snakes, and Harry in particular, with a vengeance. Particularly notable was the morning Harry spent forced to walk backwards everywhere, not to mention the two days that the entire First Year Slytherin class had been compelled to refer to each other as "Junior Death Eater" every time they spoke to one another. The twins rarely pranked Neville and Hermione out of house loyalty, but there was something of a cold war amongst the Gryffindor firsties, with Neville and the girls on one side and the rest of the boys on the other. Dean had even stopped coming to the study sessions.

Exacerbating things was the fact that Neville was still making no progress in his own wand work, yet he refused to consult with his grandmother about the issue of his wand. He hadn't quit the study group, but he now barely even tried in Charms and Transfiguration. Naturally, this had resulted in him losing some points for lack of effort and, eventually, a Howler from his grandmother during lunch the previous week.

All of which suddenly made Harry's position in his own house a bit more precarious. He was doing well academically and still held the advantages of being the Potter Heir (though his solicitor advised that James Potter was _still_ looking for grounds to disinherit him). But his reputation was no longer "mysterious eccentric loner" but rather "loser on the outs with his family whose only friends were other losers." Largely as a consequence, Daphne and Tracie had rather coolly advised him that they were back on a last name basis. So it was a somewhat downbeat Harry Potter who walked with his dorm mates to breakfast. Up ahead in front of the Great Hall, he noticed the Weasley Twins waiting and watching. Then, to his right, he heard a soft hiss from the tapestry depicting St. Patrick purging the snakes out of Ireland. Harry stopped... and then took a running jump to clear the group of floor tiles that the snake had warned were hexed.

"Potter, do stop acting like a Muggle fool," drawled Draco from just behind him. Then, there was a crackle of magic followed by cries of dismay. Harry turned around. Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle and Parkinson all now had hair the color of Gryffindor red with golden eyebrows to match.

"The Weasley Terrors," Harry said in a bored voice. "And fairly obvious this time. Do at least _try_ to be aware of your surroundings, Malfoy. Now, I suggest you go to the infirmary before whatever that stuff is soaks in. That or you can look like lost Weasley cousins the rest of the week." Draco snarled at Harry, and then he, his two bookends, and his ... whatever Pansy was stormed off to the infirmary. Daphne Greengrass sidled up to Harry and looked at him with curiosity.

"How did you know the Weasleys had put a trap there," she asked.

Harry shrugged and then lied. "Just something we losers figured out in our loser study group. I'm sure someone as clever as you would have figured out on your own. If not, you'd look lovely with bright red hair." She huffed and headed on to breakfast. Harry then turned and walked boldly in the Twins' direction, hoping that Egbert's memory and eye for detail were as good as he claimed (Egbert being the snake hanging from the tree in the background of a painting on the third floor who claimed to have overheard observed the Twins and picked up some juicy gossip from it). "Gentlemen, a moment of your time?"

The Twins, who had been both amazed and annoyed at how casually he'd evaded their prank, straightened up.

"Oh? And what might us two..." "Innocent little Gryffies ..." "Want to say to..." "A mean little snake like you."

Harry sighed. Part of him wondered if he and Jim would have the same back and forth patter down if they'd lived together. Another part of him was suddenly grateful to the Dursleys for preventing just that outcome.

"Well, I'd like to try diplomacy for a start. Have I, in fact, done anything to anger you two or to deserve the somewhat aggressive level of pranking I've had to put up with for the last month? Because if so, I apologize and I'm happy to make amends. If not, of course, I'll have to assume the worst – that you two have simply agreed to become Jim's attack dogs and come after me for no reason but his pettiness."

"Gryffindors stick together, little snakey Potter," said one of them with surprising coldness. So it had been Jim. Harry guessed that meant it was time for "the stick."

"Well, Slytherin's don't. So you can go after my house-mates to your hearts' content, but leave me out of it. Because ... well, I do apologize for making threats, it's really not my style ... but so help me, if one more hex or jinx or prank hits me and I think you to are responsible," he hesitated for emphasis as the Twins looked at him smugly, "_I'll tell Snape about The Map._"

**_That_**got their attention. And while the Twins were pretty good at acting innocent, they were not prepared for a First Year Slytherin threatening their most treasured secret. After a few seconds of eye-goggling, one of them ("The one with the tiny mole next to his left eye," Harry noted for future reference) finally said nervously, "W-What Map?"

"Oh, do you have more than one? The one I'm talking about is activated by ... oh what were the words? Something like 'I swear I'm up to no good.' No! 'I _solemnly_ swear I'm up to no good.' That's how it goes, right?"

The Twins were even more shocked at that, and inwardly, Harry was singing Egbert's praises for his perception and memory. "Look, guys. I don't want to be your enemy. To be honest, I'm a fan of your work ... well, when it's not directed at me and when you don't cross the line from 'playful amusement' to 'cruel bullying.'" They actually looked a bit hurt at that, so Harry decided to offer the carrot as well. "In fact, I think if you had a bit of ... financial support, you could take your work to the next level."

Their eyebrows shot up and that, and the one without a mole asked, "Are you offering us a bribe to not prank you?"

Harry made a point of looking mildly offended. "I'll make you a deal. You don't call it a bribe and I won't call it paying protection money. A galleon a week. You leave me out of your pranks. If Jim asks you to prank me, tell him ... tell him that Snape has been looking out for me and it's too risky or something like that. And before you ask, no, I will not help you prank any other Slytherins."

They looked at one another before saying in unison. "Two galleons."

"A galleon and eight sickles. And for that price, you also leave Theo Nott alone as well. He doesn't deserve it."

They both stiffened. "His father was a Death Eater," said Mole Weasley.

"I know," Harry said calmly. "And believe me when I say that Fate played him a crueler trick by giving him that bastard for a father than you could come up with on your worst days."

Their eyes widened and then they nodded solemnly. They understood. "It's a deal." "No pranks or jokes on ickle firstie snake Potter." "Or ickle firstie snake Nott." They even shook on it. "Now then, tell us, how did you find out about the Map?"

He leaned in conspiratorially. "Let's just say ... 'snake' spelled sideways is 'sneak.' Until next time, gentlemen." And with that, he walked away whistling, not even knowing how much quiet admiration he'd earned from two future allies.

***

Neville was, as usual, on top of his game in Herbology, winning two points for Gryffindor. Nevertheless, Harry noticed he was tense and asked the boy about it, but he didn't want to talk. Instead, after waiting until most of the class had left, he asked Harry if he would mind skipping lunch to help him with the Levitation Charm which they would be covering in Charms. Hermione had been helping him to no avail, so he thought Harry might have some insights as he'd been the first Slytherin to master it the day before. Unfortunately, as they were leaving the greenhouse, an unwelcome voice intruded.

"That snake won't be able to help you, squib," said Jim from behind them. "Heck, he's not much more than a squib himself."

"Our points earned so far would seem to show who's the better wizard, little brother," Harry said mildly.

Jim's eyes flared. "Points aren't everything. And while your little study group has been playing around, I've been getting real lessons from the upper years on the Quidditch team." He whipped his wand, waved it and said "_**ACCIO REMEMBERALL.**_" To Harry and Neville's surprise, the glass globe slipped out of Neville's pocket and floated lazily through the air and into Jim's hand.

"That was a Fifth Year summoning spell, by the way." Jim smirked and then looked down at the globe in his hand. "I still remember the day I first saw this thing, Longbottom. While your buddy Harry was standing around slack-jawed, afraid to stand up to a filthy Death Eater wannabee like Malfoy, I was up in the air, facing him head on, risking my life to get this back to you." He took a few steps towards Neville and Harry, idly tossing the Rememerall in his hand as he did.

"I know I was kind of a jerk in the beginning, but I'm sorry. And I've gotten better, both at not acting out like I was and at working magic. Forget Harry and Granger and their stupid little club. Let me help you." He looked down smugly at the Rememberall. "After all, I've just proven that I'm better at magic than..."

"_**ACCIO REMEMBERALL.**_" Suddenly, it was Jim's turn to be surprised, as the orb shot out of his hands like a rocket and slapped into the waiting hand of Hermione, who had been standing off to the side out of sight.

Harry smiled, while Jim stared dumbfounded. "Nicely done," said the Slytherin. "When did you learn that spell?"

"Just now. Well, you told me the incantation on the train but didn't know the wand pattern, which Jim kindly just demonstrated. It's not really hard at all. Just a double reverse swish as you say 'Accio' and then a ten-degree-above-horizontal flick in the direction of the target object as you describe what it is. Mass and especially range will probably be quite limited until we're older and our magic is stronger, but the basic spell is simple enough for nearby objects you can clearly see."

Harry considered that and then lashed out with his own wand. "_**ACCIO REMEMBERALL!**_" The orb then shot out of Hermione's hand and into his own just as fast as it had for her. "Wow. That _was_ easy." He looked up at Jim smugly. "Thanks, little brother. You 're a really good teacher!"

Jim was speechless. It had taken him two days to master the charm that Hermione and his brother had just performed effortlessly after watching him demonstrate it once. Finally, he shook off his surprise in favor of anger. "Go to hell, snake!" he said. "And you two traitors can go with him!" Then, he turned and stalked off.

Harry shook his head and handed the Rememberall to Neville, but he was surprised when the orb immediately turned a very dark and angry red that almost seemed to shimmer and pulse angrily in Neville's hand.

"Um, has it been doing that?"

"Yeah, for the last few days" said Neville quietly. "Makes sense. I forget more than I remember, it seems."

"Come on, Nev. Don't let Jim get you down," said Harry.

"He's not, Harry," Neville said curtly. "You two are."

Harry and Hermione looked at one another. "Um, excuse me?" Harry said.

He exhaled in frustration. "Jim just did a Fifth Year spell, which was impressive enough even if he had upperclassmen teach it to him. You two? You just learned it yourselves just from watching him do it once! And you do it better than him! Meanwhile, I can't do anything in the First Year spell book!" He started walking away from the other two. "I'm thinking maybe I should write to Uncle Algie and see if there's a way for me to voluntarily step down as heir and just pass the lordship directly to him. Jim was right. I am a squib in every way that matters."

"Neville!" exclaimed Hermione. "You can't give up!"

"Look! I'm grateful for all you've tried to do for me, both of you. But ... I just can't deal with this anymore. And I'm tired of feeling ... pitied! From now on, just leave me alone and concentrate on the others in the group. They might actually get something out of it." And with that, he left. After a worried look passed between them, Harry and Hermione followed their friend towards the castle. Neither noticed Theo Nott standing at the corner of the greenhouse, a look of deep concern on his face.

**The next update will be on Monday, May 18, sometime between 4pm and 7pm CST.**


	12. HP&POS 12: Halloween 1991 (Part 2)

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

**Sorry about the delay in posting. Small family emergency. **

CHAPTER 12: Halloween 1991 (Pt. 2)

Neville didn't show up at lunch, but Hermione sat next to him during Charms, which the Gryffindors shared with the Hufflepuffs. His hour spent revising helped a little – he was able to perform most of the very basic charms that the class had learned in September, although clearly not at the same level of power or control that his classmates had. Problems started when Professor Flitwick introduced the new charm of the day – the Levitation Charm. The incantation was "Wingardium Leviosa," which Neville got after a single whispered correction from Hermione, and she assured him that his wand movements were correct. Despite all that, however, the feather sitting on his desk resolutely refused to move.

Unsurprisingly, Hermione was the first to achieve a proper result – her feather floated up gracefully and then danced around the ceiling in response to her wand movements. The small gaggle of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff girls (for whom Hermione had become a role model) all clapped, and Flitwick awarded Gryffindor three points. Across the room, Jim and Ron rolled their eyes. Then, Flitwick turned to Neville, who swallowed and then looked down at his feather as if it were a poisonous snake. He raised his wand cast the spell – perfectly, as far as Hermione could tell – and focused all of his will upon the feather. Nothing happened.

But Neville didn't release the spell. Instead, without taking his wand off the feather, he concentrated harder and poured more and more of his magical power into the spell he'd cast. He gritted his teeth painfully, and a bead of sweat appeared on his forehead. The feather shook slightly. His face contorted into a mask of concentration and even pain, causing both Hermione and Flitwick to become alarmed. Neville paid them no mind. All of his attention was bent towards the feather, which had started to rock slightly as if striving to become airborne. When Hermione called out his name rather loudly, he ignored her. He also ignored the tickling sensation just below his nose and the strange coppery taste on his lips. Finally, as his vision began to blur, the feather slowly began to rise off the table – one inch, two inches, three – before it suddenly burst into flame, causing him to lose the spell. He sat back in his chair, exhausted and shaking. Instinctively, he rubbed his hand over his mouth and was startled to realize that his nose was bleeding. Then, he looked up and saw the whole class was staring at him, including a visibly shaken Flitwick.

"Are you quite alright, my boy?" he asked gently.

Neville swallowed deeply and wiped his nose again. "I'm ... I'm not feeling very well, Professor. May I be excused for a bit?"

Flitwick hesitated and then nodded. "Take as much time as you need. And if you don't feel better quite soon, I want you to go to the Infirmary. Understood?"

Neville nodded, snatched up his bookbag, and fairly fled the classroom. Just before he walked out, though, he turned back to look at his classmates. Jim Potter was looking right at him, smirking. And then, the Boy-Who-Lived mouthed a single word that Neville didn't need to hear to understand. "_Squib_." Neville walked out the door and did not return to class that day.

Hours later, Theo Nott stepped into a restroom to wash his hands before dinner and was surprised to find Neville sitting on the floor in the corner staring vacantly at his wand. His face was clean from his earlier nosebleed but it was obvious he'd been crying. Theo looked around to make sure no one else was in the room before he tentatively spoke. "Are ... are you alright?"

Neville didn't even look up. "I'm fine. Just leave me alone."

Theo started to leave but then hesitated and turned back towards other boy. "I, uh, noticed your Rememberall this morning, after Herbology. It was ... red. Very red. And also pulsing."

"Yeah," Neville laughed bitterly. "Apparently, I'm very forgetful."

Theo bit his lip anxiously. Then, he moved a bit closer and knelt down to the floor so he could make eye contact. "Longbottom ... Neville ... has anyone ... ever explained to you what a Rememberall is actually for?"

Neville just stared at him without comprehension. "_Oh dear_," Theo thought to himself.

At dinner that evening, Harry was digging into some cottage pie when Malfoy nudged him slightly. "Your Mudblood friend is making a spectacle of herself trying to get your attention."

Harry glared at him. "I don't appreciate the use of that word, Malfoy."

Draco glared back. "I don't appreciate house mates who have greater loyalty to Gryffindors than Slytherins. And yet here we are."

"It's interesting that you're so concerned for my loyalty to the house when you've worked so hard to isolate me within it, Malfoy."

Before Malfoy could respond, a paper airplane landed on the table between the two of them, narrowly missing the gravy bowl. The words "_To Harry! From Hermione!_" were written on it. The two boys looked up from the airplane's direction to see Hermione waving at him.

"That's it," said Malfoy with a sneer. "Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy. We're moving. It's getting a bit too ... _muddy_ around here." The four Slytherins relocated to the far end of the table. On the other side, all the other First Year Slytherins save Theo moved as far away from Harry as was possible. Harry frowned. He had hoped to lay low within Slytherin House for a while longer and continue learning the house's secrets before he made any sort of power play. Unfortunately, Malfoy seemed bent on forcing the issue, so a confrontation would likely happen quite soon. It was ... annoying.

Harry turned his attention to Hermione's airplane which he unfolded to reveal a blank page. To his surprise, words in Hermione's elegant script faded into view.

_"Harry, do you know where Neville is? I'm very worried about him. Tap the parchment three times and whisper your response and then tap the parchment twice more to send it back to me."_

Harry eyebrows shot up in surprise, and then he replied.

_"I haven't seen him since Herbology. How are you doing this?" _

_"A modified Switching Spell linking your parchment to the one I'm writing on. It's out of the Third Year curriculum, though I think this adaptation is from Fifth Year."_

Harry chuckled. How these idiot Purebloods could even pretend to be superior while Muggleborn prodigies like Hermione stalked the school was a mystery to him.

"What _is_ that?" asked Theo.

"Oh, just Hermione, once again proving that everything Draco thinks about blood purity is bollocks. By the way, have you by any chance seen Neville recently?"

Theo coughed nervously. "I saw him about an hour ago. He was in the first floor boys' bathroom. He was very upset."

"Yeah. I heard something happened in Charms and he had to leave class, but I haven't gotten any details."

Theo chewed his lip again. "It was more than that. Harry, do _you_ know what a Rememberall is for? Because Longbottom didn't until I told him earlier. I ... I realized he didn't and thought he ought to know. I hope I didn't make a mistake by telling him."

Harry was confused but also suddenly concerned. "Neville told me that a Rememberall lets you know when you've forgotten something important."

"Yes, but it's more than that." Theo looked around conspiratorially. "In the mid-1700's, a spell came into widespread usage called the Memory Charm, followed soon after by its close relative, the False Memory Charm. The former creates a targeted amnesia in someone. The later replaces the erased memories with new ones of the spellcaster's choice. They caused a lot of problems at first, until the Ministry passed laws heavily regulating them. In fact, they were nearly declared Unforgivables, but they were deemed too valuable for use on Muggles in preserving the Statute of Secrecy to ban so completely. They aren't taught at Hogwarts and you're supposed to get licensed by the Ministry to learn and use them, but there are plenty of old families which have preserved them in grimoires so they're still available to learn illegally if you have the right contacts."

"And the Rememberall protects against them?"

"Not exactly – it just lets you know when you've been hit by one. It's kind of a tradition in wealthy old Pureblood families, especially the paranoid ones, to gift them to children starting at Hogwarts. Only the rich ones, though, because they're pretty expensive. It's to hopefully prevent children from being mentally manipulated until they're old enough to develop psychic defenses. They turn a pale red if you've forgotten something naturally, a dark red if you've had memories erased or altered through magic," Theo swallowed, "and a very dark red if you've had lots of memories affected that way."

Harry paled. "Like Neville's did earlier today. Can these memory alterations be reversed?"

"That's another thing Rememberalls do. If you carry one with you at all times, it can gradually reconstruct memories that have been erased or altered by magic. It may take a long time depending on how extensive the alterations are and how powerful the wizard was that cast the spell. That's what the glow meant this afternoon. Longbottom's Rememberall has finally reconstructed his true memories and is ready to restore them."

Harry inhaled sharply. "Did you tell Neville how to do that?"

Theo grimaced. "Yes. For what it's worth, I did tell him that he should probably have someone with him when he restored his memories in case they were traumatic, but he insisted on doing it alone. I guess I should have come and told you anyway, but it seemed kind of ... personal to him."

"Maybe so, but you still should have come and told me."

"Well, I'm sorry," said Theo hotly. "I'm not used to all this ... kindness stuff. I wasn't raised for it."

Harry smiled. "I don't know, Theo. I think you might just have a knack for it." Then, he turned back to the parchment, tapped it, and whispered another message.

_"Neville is in the first floor boy's toilets. He's very upset. I'll explain why on the way. We'll go as soon as the Feast is over."_ But just as Harry sent the message, the doors to the Great Hall flew open, and Professor Quirrel entered in a panic.

"TROOOOLLLL! IN THE DUNGEON! ... Thought you ought to know." And then the silly man fainted.

Harry exhaled loudly. "Bugger."

There was a brief moment of school-wide panic which the Headmaster shut down before commanding the students to return to their dorms. Harry tapped the parchment again.

_"Strike that. We go now. Slip away from the other Gryffs and meet me outside the Great Hall doorway."_

Hermione nodded at him from across the room and then rose to leave with her house. Harry also rose, but then Rodney Montague, the Seventh Year Slytherin prefect, called out to his house. "Slytherins, sit back down. Our illustrious Headmaster in his ... haste has apparently forgotten that our dorms, like the Hufflepuffs, are in the dungeons. Ergo, we shall remain here in the Great Hall and once the Lions and Eagles have left, the prefects will seal the doors and ward them. No one, whether human or troll, will get in or out until the crisis is over. Understood?"

The Slytherins all sat down. "Double Bugger," spat Harry ruefully. He closed his eyes and started muttering to himself as he rubbed his temples. "Need a distraction. Need a distraction. Think!"

Theo leaned in and put a hand to his shoulder. "Seriously?!" he whispered urgently. "Are you seriously considering sneaking out of here, defying the prefects, and running off to find Longbottom when there's a troll on the loose?!"

Harry opened his eyes and looked at Theo. "Neville is my friend, and he's in trouble. So I'm there for him. Just like you're my friend, and if you're ever in trouble, I'm there for you." Harry had said it matter-of-factly and without thinking, so he was surprised when Theo jerked back, his eyes widening in surprise. Then, with a twinge of sadness, Harry realized the other boy had probably never had anyone offer him that degree of friendship before. Theo looked around and then put his hands under the table so no one could see as he removed the silver ring he always wore. He handed it stealthily to Harry.

"Put it on the third finger of your left hand. Then, when you're ready, take a _deep_ breath and give it a half-twist. And then, _move_! It will only last while you hold your breath, and then it will have to recharge for a while. And when you next take a breath, everyone here will immediately notice you're gone. Now _go_!"

Surprised, Harry put the ring on his finger, took the deepest breath he could, and twisted the ring. Nothing happened. He looked around and no one was paying him any mind. Slowly, he stood. No one turned in his direction. Carefully he stepped over the bench and moved towards the door. When it was clear that everyone was ignoring him completely, he ran, slipping through the gap just as the Slytherin and Hufflepuff prefects were closing the doors. As he ducked out, he noticed that Professor Quirrel was no longer laying on the floor where he'd fainted. Harry continued to hold his breath until he caught up with Hermione, who was hiding behind a suit of armor watching the receding troupe of Gryffindors as they headed towards their tower. Then, when his lungs were burning and he could hold it no longer, he let go with a gasp, and the girl jumped with a small "_eek_!"

"Harry! How did you do that?! Surely invisibility spells are too powerful to cast at our age!"

"Let's just say," said Harry between gasps of air, "that it was through the power of friendship and leave it there for now. Come on, we have to get to Neville."

On the way the restroom, Harry filled Hermione in on what Theo had said about Neville's Rememberall.

"So someone has been tampering with Neville's memories on a repeated basis? I wonder if that's why his memory is so poor generally."

"Probably," Harry said grimly. Suddenly, the two were stopped by a noxious stench that almost made them both gag. From around the corner, they could hear a growl, the sound of smashing stonework ... and Neville Longbottom yelling of absolute terror. Harry muttered bitterly under his breath. "_'Troll in the __**dungeon**__. Thought you ought to know.'_"

**The next update is scheduled for May 22 between 4pm and 6pm CST.**


	13. HP&POS 13: Halloween 1991 (Part 3)

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

**CHAPTER 13: Halloween 1991 (Pt. 3)**

_Suddenly, the two were stopped by a noxious stench that almost made them both gag. From around the corner, they could hear a growl, the sound of smashing stonework, and Neville yelling of terror. Harry muttered bitterly under his breath. _"_'Troll in the __**dungeon**__. Thought you ought to know.'_"

_**A few seconds earlier... **_

Neville washed his face for several minutes, splashing his eyes with the cool water to wipe away the redness where he'd been crying. Then, he stared at himself in the mirror for a long time, as if wondering whether the reflection in the mirror was one he still recognized. Emotionally drained, he headed for the door and opened it, only to find himself staring into the face (well, actually the stomach) of a twelve-foot-tall troll armed with a club. The monster snarled at him.

"_Yeah, I guess it's just been that sort of day_," Neville thought with a strange mixture of amazement, annoyance and resignation. Then, he dropped down to the floor with a yell of fright, ducking just as the troll reached a meaty hand out for him. The boy scrambled away until his back was against the far wall as he desperately tried to remember any spells he could actually perform that might work against a troll, while the great beast squeezed into the room, ripping out part of the door frame with its huge body as it entered. Neville tried Hermione's fireworks spell, but nothing came out of his wand except a soft pop and two lonely sparks. The troll reached down towards him hungrily ... and then suddenly roared as a blast of fireworks struck its posterior. Angrily, it turned to face its new quarry, Harry and Hermione.

"_**WINDGARDIUM LEVIOSA!**_" yelled Harry, and the troll's club flew up over its head and swept around to smash its face. Unfortunately, the troll was surprisingly fast when it needed to be. It threw up an arm and batted the club away and towards Harry and Hermione, who had to duck quickly to avoid it and then were knocked down by falling masonry when it shattered against the wall. Hermione recovered first and started back in with her fireworks. Harry shook off the impact and quickly joined her with fireworks of his own.

Across the room, Neville was shocked at the sight of his two friends who he had so rudely spurned earlier but who were now risking their very lives to save him. Still trying to think of a spell, he looked down at his wand, and he suddenly felt _hatred_ for the useless stick in his hand, the wand that had never chosen him and that he'd never chosen as his own. Then, he looked up at the back of the troll that threatened his friends, and something burned in young Neville Longbottom's eyes that no one would have ever expected to see there. _Rage_.

Harry and Hermione were still trying to harm the troll or at least frighten it away with fireworks, but the beast was barely slowed down by them. Harry vaguely recalled that trolls had magic resistant skin and didn't think there were any spells remotely possible for a First Year that could harm it. Then, to his amazement, he saw Neville climb up onto a sink and then leap onto the creature's back! With one hand, he grabbed hold of the iron collar around the troll's neck and hoisted himself up over its shoulder. His other hand still held his wand, which, with loud grunt, he jammed up the troll's left nostril. Then, still barely hanging on to the struggling troll with one hand, Neville shifted his grip, and with a scream like a furious berserker in the midst of battle, he shoved the wand another three inches up the monster's nose with an audible "_squick_."

With that, the troll screamed in agony, and a thin trail of green blood trickled out of the nostril where the wand had been lodged. The troll's thrashings increased, and Neville finally lost his hold, falling hard onto the floor behind the monster. Quickly, Harry flicked his own wand towards the protruding butt of Neville's wand. "_**WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA**_!" He pushed with all his magical might and the wand slid another few inches up towards the troll's brain. There was resistance, though – Harry could almost feel the tip of the wand snap and crack against the troll's brain pan. The creature started pounding on the sides of its head in pain.

"HERMIONE! TOGETHER!" he yelled. The young witch raised her wand, and the two cried out in unison. "_**WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA**_!" With the sharp sound of cracking bone, Neville's wand shot up the troll's nostril and penetrated its brain. There was a spray of green ichor from the beast's nose. The bellowing stopped instantly, and the monster's eyes rolled back up into its head. Then, the half-ton creature wobbled before falling backwards, straight towards where Neville had landed. In a flash, Harry repositioned himself and cast. "_**ACCIO NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM!**_" The other boy slid right through the wobbling troll's legs and into Harry and Hermione's waiting arms. The troll collapsed and crashed to the floor with an enormous thud.

Neville then pulled both Hermione and Harry into a bone-crushing hug. "I'm sorry I was such a prat to you two," sobbed Neville. "You two are the best friends a guy could ever have." At that, Harry's eyes got a bit misty as well. He'd never really had friends himself before Hogwarts thanks to the Dursleys, and now, between Hermione, Neville and Theo, he had more and better friends than he'd ever imagined possible.

The bonding session was cut short, however, by a loud shriek in a Scottish brogue. "WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!" Behind McGonagall were Snape, Flitwick and a nervous looking Quirrell.

"Well, um," said Harry nervously, "there was this troll. And ... I think we killed it."

Hermione gasped. "Oh, we did, didn't we! I mean, I know we didn't have a choice, but it was still a semi-sentient being!"

Snape, who had walked past them to examine the fallen beast, snorted loudly to register his contempt for Hermione's soft-hearted nature. "Then rejoice, Miss Granger, for your poor innocent victim is not dead. A troll's regenerative powers are second to none. Your ... innovative use of what appears to be Mr. Longbottom's wand as an excerebration tool has placed the troll into a coma. When the obstruction is removed, the damage will heal itself and the troll will return to life no worse for wear." Snape turned towards Quirrel who shrank back from his gaze. "With that in mind, perhaps Professor Quirrel might see to the troll's proper containment. As I recall, you have presented yourself as something of an expert on trolls, have you not?"

"Oh, y-y-y-y-yes, P-p-p-p-professor S-s-s-snape. R-r-r-right away!"

"But what I wish to know, Miss Granger, Mr. Longbottom, is _what on Earth possessed you to go after a troll in the first place_!" McGonagall practically shrieked.

"Well," interjected Harry calmly, while wiping dust and debris off his robes, "to be honest, we weren't actually going after the troll at all. The announcement at dinner was that the troll was in the dungeon, not on the First Floor. However, Neville ... took ill during Charms and was in here when the announcement was made. We just wanted to make sure he was safe."

"It is true, Minerva, that young Longbottom took ill during my class today," said Professor Flitwick. "I allowed him to leave early and did not see him at dinner. I was actually considering sending a prefect to check on him when Quirinus made his announcement. In my distraction, I quite forgot about you, Mr. Longbottom, for which I offer my most sincere apologies."

"That explains Miss Granger's presence, Potter, but the Slytherins were instructed to remain in the Great Hall. What are _you_ doing here?" asked Snape harshly.

"Neville is my friend, sir," said Harry simply. He did his best to ignore the look of contempt that provoked in his Head of House.

"Ahem," interrupted McGonagall. "That's all well and good, but, if I may ask, how did three First Years manage to defeat the troll?!"

"Oh, well, trolls have magic resistant skin, so none of our spells could hurt it. But then, Neville had this absolutely brilliant idea of jamming his wand up the troll's nose, and once he'd inserted the excera-what-Professor-Snape-said tool, we drove it the rest of the way into its brain with the Levitation Charm we learned from Professor Flitwick."

"Oh, good show!" said the Charms professor in an excited voice. "An awareness of the defensive properties of a dangerous creature. A resourceful use of an improvised weapon. And a creative use of a charm you just learned this week. Plus _inter-house cooperation_! Well done! I think an award of, say, fifteen points a piece seems appropriate. Don't you agree, Severus? Minerva?"

Neither of the two objected (though Harry thought Snape had considered it), and McGonagall said it was time for the three children to return to their dorms. She would conduct Neville and Hermione to Gryffindor tower, while Snape escorted Harry to the Slytherin dungeon. But at that point, Neville stepped forward.

"Excuse me, Professor McGonagall. Before we do that, I need to go to the Headmaster's Office, or really any office with a Floo connection. I need to speak to my Gran. Immediately."

"Mr. Longbottom," replied McGonagall. "It's very late. I know this has been traumatic for you but I think it would be best if you got some rest and then contacted your grandmother by owl in the morning."

"I'm sorry, Professor," said Neville a bit more forcefully, "but I _really_ need to speak with my Gran as soon as possible. Also, I would appreciate it if someone with the authority to do so contacted the DMLE and arranged for a couple of aurors to come to the school so I could make some kind of statement to them."

A silence descended over the room. "Mr. Longbottom," said McGonagall, now with a bit of asperity in her voice. "At this point, there is no evidence that the troll's appearance is anything but an unfortunate lapse in the castle's wards. The incident will be investigated by the Hogwarts staff and if it is determined that the troll was brought into the school intentionally..."

"Professor McGonagall," interrupted Neville, who was now visibly annoyed with his Head of House. "With all due respect – _Sod. The Flipping. Troll!_ I want to speak to my Gran and I want to speak to someone from the DMLE." As he spoke, Neville reached into a pocket and pulled out his Rememberall, which was now perfectly clear of any redness. "Because I have just learned that my great-uncle, Algernon Longbottom, Regent for House Longbottom, has tried to _murder_ me." He glanced at Harry and Hermione significantly before looking back to his Head of House. "_Five_ times."

Harry's eyes widened, while Hermione put her hand over her mouth. "Bloody hell," she whispered.

Despite his exhaustion, the corners of Neville's mouth rose into a faint smile. "Language, Hermione."

**The next update is scheduled for May 25th between 4 and 6 pm CST. Unless too much beer flows at my Memorial Day cookout, in which case it may not be until Tuesday morning. Enjoy the weekend, and if you have the chance, thank a veteran.**


	14. HP&POS 14: Halloween 1991 (Finale)

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

**LONG AUTHOR NOTE (sorry): Thanks for all the favs, follows and reviews (especially the last, because feedback is always helpful). Several reviewers have asked about pairings, so I'll go ahead and clarify this and also update the story description. _There will be no romantic pairings before Harry's Fourth Year at the earliest. _Harry will be making friends and allies and enemies, both male and female, but he will _not_ develop any romantic inclinations towards anyone else (though there may be a few flirtatious moments here and there if the mood strikes me). **

**This is for three reasons. First, this story is primarily about mystery, political intrigue and world-building, and I have to confess, I am not an overly romantic person, so I want to get the main story up and running before I risk it getting derailed into a genre I'm not comfortable with. **

**Second, stories about children who discover true love at eleven frankly disturb me. My ship of choice is H/Hr, but I am frankly creeped out by stories in which Harry and Hermione discover their "soul bond" early, get married in Fourth Year, and kill Voldemort through the love they express when they lose their virginity to each other at fifteen. I have never met a single married couple who were childhood sweethearts that didn't end in acrimonious divorce, and when I was Harry's age, I was still pretty sure that girls had cooties, so the whole idea of pairing Harry with anyone this early just ain't happening. **

**Finally, JKR herself has recently indicated that she now thinks Harry and Hermione should have ended up together (to which approximately half the fanfic community said "Duh!"). I think her mistake was that she decided on Harry/Ginny all the way back in Book One and, having decided on that pairing, didn't do anything with Ginny to develop her as a credible partner for Harry, and so when it finally happened, everyone was thrown by it. I mean, _no one_ who saw that scene from with Harry and Hermione slow dancing in the tent in Deathly Hallows pt I (who had not already read the book) would have predicted the epilogue. As a result, you can probably find more _Harry/Daphne_ pairings than Harry/Ginny pairings even though canonically, Daphne was basically wallpaper. **

**So, long story short: No romantic pairings before Fourth Year (probably when Harry starts angsting over the Yule Ball). Now, on with the show.**

CHAPTER 14: Halloween 1991 (Finale: The Power Play)

Immediately after Neville's dramatic announcement, he was escorted to the Headmaster's Office, while McGonagall accompanied Hermione to Gryffindor tower and Snape grudgingly led Harry back to the Slytherin dungeon. The Potions Master seemed quite annoyed with the young Snake and also seemed to be experiencing some pain in his leg.

"Of all the unmitigated Gryffindorish tomfoolery! And you were awarded fifteen points for it! You are fortunate that I don't deduct thirty for your actions!"

"Sir, as I explained, we had no idea that the troll would be on the First Floor and merely intended to find Mr. Longbottom and see that he got to safety. I had to make a split second decision with no time to plan or investigate, and I made the best decision I could under the circumstances."

"Exactly! And you made exactly the sort of rash decision I'd expect from a Gryffindor rather than a Slytherin!"

"Well, sir, respectfully, if that's what you think, then you should probably change how Sorting is done here at Hogwarts. Because all the Hat said to me was that Slytherin was the house of cunning and ambition where I'd have the best chance to prove myself. I might have asked to go somewhere else if it had warned me that Slytherin was also the house of selfish prats who abandon their friends when things get tough."

Snape's head snapped around furiously. "And what is THAT supposed to mean, POTTER!?"

Harry looked up at Snape, somewhat surprised at his anger. "Merely that, as I said, Neville Longbottom is a close friend, and I don't accept that it is a Slytherin characteristic to abandon valued friends to their fate without trying your best to help them," he said honestly.

Snape relaxed, mollified. For an instant, he had thought that the boy was referring to how his friendship with Lily came to an end all those years before. "Still, five points deducted for defying your prefect's orders," he snapped irritably.

Harry sighed. "Yes sir." They walked on in silence for a few seconds. "Mind you, even if I _were_ a selfish prat, I still would have gone after Neville. I've put a lot of effort on forming a relationship with the Heir Presumptive of an Ancient and Noble House. It would have been foolish to ignore the opportunity to ingratiate myself with him further when I genuinely believed the risk was minimal."

Snape glanced back down at the boy as they walked. "Well, that's _better_, I suppose." Then, he winced in pain again.

"Sir, the infirmary isn't far if you want to stop in there for a bit. If I may say so, that does look like a very painful Cerberus bite."

Snape stopped and looked down at the boy in a mix of amazement and fury. "Oh no. No, no, _**NO! **__Tell me_ that you are not so much a Gryffindor that you ..."

"Of course not!" Harry interrupted indignantly. "What kind of idiot do you take me for?" Then, he changed to an almost cheerful expression. "Speaking of idiots, though, I am reliably informed that the Git-Who-Lived and his pet Weasel _have_ been to see the Cerberus, and also that they have noticed the trap door it's guarding. I gather they see it as some sort of ... adventure."

Snape all but groaned at the news, as the two resumed their walk towards the dungeons. "Please keep me informed of anything you hear about the matter and do not approach that room yourself."

"Yes sir. Should I also keep an eye on Professor Quirrell?"

Snape's head snapped around again in surprise. Then, he became annoyed at himself for his lack of discretion. Unfortunately, his normally rigid self-control was rather impaired by the intense pain in his leg inflicted by Hagrid's infernal beast. "Why would you think Quirrell is worthy of your suspicion? He is a Hogwarts professor, after all."

"Well, you yourself just said he claims to be an expert on trolls. But when he actually encounters a troll, he doesn't try to capture or kill it. Instead, he runs to the Great Hall, announces that the troll is in the dungeons, and faints dead away. It turns out, however, that the troll is _not_ in the dungeons but on the First Floor, and some distance away from any staircases big enough for it to fit through easily. And as I'm sneaking out of the Great Hall, I notice that Quirrell is already recovered from his supposed faint and has disappeared completely. So it occurs to me that _maybe _Quirrell deliberately let the troll into the castle onto the First Floor and merely _said_ it was in the dungeon so that all the professors will run off and start searching the castle floor by floor from the dungeon up, thereby giving him time to go straight to the third floor and try to get past the Cerberus. Luckily, the Head of Slytherin House is clever enough to see that the troll is merely a diversion and goes to the Third Floor corridor himself to secure it which, unfortunately, is when the Cerberus got a piece of him."

Snape looked down at the boy appraisingly. "Hmm. Have you considered the possibility that the cunning Head of Slytherin is actually the one trying to steal ... that which lies beyond the Cerberus ... and merely used the troll as a distraction?"

Harry shook his head. "That theory would not explain how the troll got in, unless the cunning Head of Slytherin let it in and then just blindly trusted that Professor Quirrell would find it and then act appropriately. And it still doesn't explain Professor Quirrell's own suspicious actions. And if the troll getting in was just a coincidence which the cunning Head of Slytherin took advantage of, well, that's just wildly out of character, I think, to rush off like that without any sort of advanced planning. Practically ... Gryffindorish."

The corner of Snape's mouth twitched. "Perhaps the cunning Head of Slytherin and Quirrell are in it together," he suggested idly.

"I refuse to believe that the cunning Head of Slytherin would ever work with a man who wears _a turban_," said Harry drily.

"_How is it possible that you are the child of James Potter?!_"

"As I recall, nurture over nature was the theory you proposed. Oh, and by the way, this may be completely unrelated, but whenever we're anywhere near Quirrell, both Jim and I get strange headaches. I just thought it was generic weirdness before, but after this troll business, it seems like it might be important."

Snape rolled his eyes. "Potter, cease your pretensions of childish naivete. While I deplore your Gryffindor tendencies, it is clear that you are remarkably cunning for a First Year student. You know perfectly well that if you have a mysterious ailment that only strikes you whenever you are near someone whom you have already found suspicious, _of course it is important_! Do these headaches last the entire time you are near him?"

"No, it's more like an intermittent stabbing pain centered right here," Harry touched his scar. "Hermione says that from his reaction, Jim gets the same pain also centered on his own scar."

"Hmm. Avoid Quirrell outside of class. During your Defense lessons, whenever these pains strike you, make a note of the time and whether Quirrell was doing anything unusual at the onset. If you can do so discretely, have your Gryffindor associates observe the Other Potter to see how he reacts and whether his reactions differ from your own. You will present a written summary of your notes to me in one week's time. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir," said Harry as if instructions to essentially spy on another teacher and also get his friends to do likewise were the most commonplace things in the world.

By that point, the two had arrived at the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room. "As I have said, Potter, you have a distressingly strong Gryffindor streak within you, which is unfortunate but understandable given your lineage. That said, I must confess that I am thus far pleased to see how well you have harnessed it and bent it to a Slytherin's wisdom. Five points _to_ Slytherin." Those were the first points Snape had given Harry since the start of school, and the boy smiled appreciatively and thanked his teacher with suitable humility.

With that, Snape gave the password and the door to the common room slide open. Inside were the majority of Harry's house mates who had only just arrived after the all-clear was given. Rodney Montague was the first to meet Snape and Harry at the door.

"Mr. Montague," drawled Snape. "I return the last of your charges to you. His punishment for leaving the Great Hall after you had ordered it sealed has already been addressed. No further comment on that matter is necessary."

Montague looked back and forth between Snape and Harry. "Very good, sir," he finally said.

"And for what it's worth, Mr. Montague," said Harry, "I sincerely apologize if my rash actions caused you any distress."

The boy looked up at the prefect with such a mixture of respect and perfect innocence that, for a second, Montague almost thought he was sincere. Snape exited the common room, and Montague, after looking strangely at Harry for a few seconds, rounded up the other prefects to let them know what Snape had said. Harry walked over where an anxious Theo was waiting off by himself. He warmly thanked the boy for his help and shook his hand, discretely palming the ring back to him in the process. Theo nodded bashfully. Then, Harry headed off in the direction of the First Year dorm rooms when his way was blocked by Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle. The rest of the First Years (and a dozen or so from the other years) were near enough to observe but were not actively interfering.

"Unbelievable!" exclaimed Malfoy. "When my father hears that the Heir of an Ancient and Noble House snuck away, in defiance of the prefect's orders, in pursuit of a blood traitor squib and a mudblood ..."

"**BINGO**!" shouted Harry loudly. All the Slytherins nearby were startled by his outburst. "Sorry. That's a Muggle thing. You finally managed to work _mudblood_, _blood traitor_, and _my father_ into a single sentence. I thought if I pointed it out first I might win a prize." Somewhere in the background, he heard Theo snigger briefly before getting control of himself.

"You are such an embarrassment to this house, Potter. How many points did you lose us with that stunt?"

"Well actually, I _gained_ fifteen. But then, Professor Snape took five from me not obeying the prefect's orders. _But then_, after I explained my reasoning for my actions, he gave me back five for demonstrating what he referred to as _Slytherin wisdom_."

"You're lying," snarled Malfoy.

"Ask him tomorrow," replied Harry cheerfully. "_I. Dare. You."_

"When my father..."

"WHY ARE YOU HERE?!" interrupted Harry with an angry shout. Draco was taken aback and several other Slytherins moved closer to the arguing group.

"Because someone needs to put you in your ..."

"No! Not '_why are you here, right now, annoying me?_'! I mean '_why are you in Slytherin House at all?_'! Yes, you're a rich Pureblood. So what. So is Zacharias Smith and he's a Hufflepuff! We've been in this house for two months, and I haven't seen you display anything I'd call cunning! You're certainly not subtle! And I don't think you have any ambition beyond strutting around like a peacock flaunting the wealth and privilege you've gotten from an inheritance that you've done _nothing_ to earn. And you _talk _like one of those Muggle dolls that spouts prerecorded messages if you pull a string out of its back. It's all '_Mudblood-This' _and _'Blood Traitor-That'_ and _'Wait till my father hears.'_ It's pathetic!"

"Why you filthy little Halfblood...!" Draco furiously started fumbling for his wand.

Harry's eyes lit up almost deliriously. "_Finally!_" he thought. He'd gotten his wand and his holster on July 31st, and spent thirty minutes every night for the next month practicing how to quick draw it because he'd foolishly thought that such things were a factor in wand usage. When he got to Hogwarts, however, he discovered that, outside of aurors and professional duelists, wizards didn't seem to care about such things. In fact, he was the only First Year who'd actually paid for one of Ollivander's overpriced wand holsters instead of just tucking his wand away in the pocket of his robes like everyone else. He still kept practicing with the holster for several minutes each day though ... _for this exact moment._

Harry flicked his wrist down, and his wand shot out of his holster with a soft "_snikt"_and landed in the palm of his hand. Instantly, he snapped it back up directly into Malfoy's face, nearly touching the tip of his nose. The entire maneuver had taken half a second, not even one of Harry's better times, but it was lightning fast compared to his opponent who was still fumbling for his wand. Malfoy froze in surprise, while Crabbe and Goyle backed away nervously. There were gasps all around at Harry's effortless speed. Few of the young Slytherins watching had ever been exposed to real dueling, and from their limited experience, Harry's reflexes appeared superhumanly fast.

"You know," said Harry easily. "My friend, the Mudblood Granger, taught me this neat fireworks spell. I bet at this range it would _really_ hurt."

At that, Rodney Montague finally stepped forward. "Potter, that's enough. Stand down."

"It's okay, Mr. Montague. We're fine. We're all fine here. Aren't we fine, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco looked up from the tip of the wand to peer into Harry's eyes. And like James Potter before him, he suddenly realized that Harry's eyes were the _exact same color_ as the Killing Curse. "Yes, Montague," he said with a dry swallow. "We're ... we're all fine here."

"Yes, perfectly fine. By the way, I mentioned that I won fifteen house points but forgot to say what for. You see, the Mudblood Granger and the Blood Traitor Squib Longbottom and little old Blood Traitor Halfblood me, well, we found that mountain troll that caused Professor Quirrell to faint like a little girl. And then ... we beat it into a coma."

There were even more gasps at that, and Zabini exclaimed "No way!" in a surprisingly Muggle manner. Harry made a mental note to look into that.

"Yes way!" he replied with a grin. "I, with the help of two other First Years that most of you look down on as dirt beneath your feet, took down a fully grown troll by ourselves. So, Mr. Malfoy, I invite you to consider whether or not I should be intimidated by your weak magic and your father's money and your two henchmen. Because the correct answer is... I'm not."

Then, he took two steps back and raised his wand. With a subtle flick of his wrist, the wand snapped back into its holster with an audible "zip" that made half the Slytherins in the room flinch. "Now then, I'm tired, I've had a long day, and I think I have troll blood in my hair. So, I'm going to take a hot shower and then go to bed. If you want to continue this discussion at some point in the future, Malfoy, I'd be happy to oblige. But before then, I think you should sit down with a piece of parchment, write down all your assets, and then write down what you think my assets are. And then, double the points you put down in my column, because I promise you haven't seen half of what I can do. And _then_, Malfoy? If you still want to take me on, go for it. We'll see who rusts first."

Finally, he broke eye contact with the visibly shaken Draco to look around the room. Some were intimidated while others merely looked thoughtful. But _everyone_ had been transfixed by Harry's performance. He smiled. "Good night, Slytherins," he said mildly as he walked around Goyle towards the dorms. As he left, he was alternately whistling and humming a strange tune that the Slytherin students found at once both unnerving and unearthly. Had there been any Muggleborns in the house, they would have instantly recognized it as the theme from "The Good, The Bad and The Ugly."

Over in the corner, out of everyone's view, Theo Nott watched as his first friend strolled away. And for possibly the first time in his life, Theo grinned from ear to ear.

**The next update is scheduled for Friday, May 29, between 4 and 6 pm. **


	15. HP&POS 15: Meet the Longbottoms (pt 1)

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

**CHAPTER 15: Meet the Longbottoms (pt 1) **

_**AN: Possible Trigger Warning. **__This chapter and the next are fairly dark compared to what's come before, with some scenes involving violence directed at a small child. No one is actually injured, but it may be disturbing for some readers._

**_Updated 8/15/2015:_** _Because saying "Neville ... fell on his fanny" means something **very** different if you're British. _

* * *

_**When Neville Longbottom was two years old**_**...**

Algie Longbottom was annoyed.

When his children had been young, it had fallen to his late wife, Wendy, to tend to them while he worked long hours building his meager inheritance into a small fortune. Well, to be fair, "meager" and "small" were relative terms. Algie was rather prosperous compared to most wizards, and his inheritance had given him a substantial leg-up in the world. Still, his holdings were nothing compared to the Longbottom estate that went to his older brother, the late Lord Archimedes Francisco "Archie" Longbottom. But that wasn't what annoyed Algie.

Archie married Augusta Crouch ("Gussie" within the family) in 1953. Their son, Frank, was born in December of '57 and displayed his first bit of accidental magic at eighteen months. And that was that as far as Algie was concerned. Archie and Gussie had their Heir Presumptive, so barring mishap, Algie was on his own. With children of his own to feed, he put his nose to the grindstone to build up something for himself and his family, all the while knowing that Little Frank's life was assured. But that wasn't what annoyed Algie.

In 1972, there was a particularly nasty Dragon Pox outbreak that claimed Wendy and Archie both. Due to Frank's age at the time, there was a three month period in which Algie had been called to serve as Regent Longbottom until the boy turned fifteen and could provisionally claim his Lordship. Upon doing so, Lord Francisco Claudius Longbottom shook his uncle's hand warmly and gave him a small brass plaque. "To Algernon Longbottom. In appreciation for services rendered," it read. From that day to the present, the two would talk no more than a dozen times, the last of which was when Frank politely but firmly denied a request to sponsor Algie's son into the Ministry because "his grades just aren't high enough." But that wasn't what annoyed Algie.

In 1981, Death Eaters attacked Longbottom Manor and placed both its Lord and its Lady under the Cruciatus Curse for so long that both of them were driven mad and had to be committed to St. Mungo's. Augusta was named as the custodial guardian to their infant son, Neville, but Wizengamot law decreed that Algie would be the Longbottom Regent. It seemed that arrogant fool Frank hadn't bothered to make a will, and so the Wizengamot had exercised its discretion to appoint Algie as regent because if the boy was a squib or for some reason didn't make it to his fifteenth birthday, Algie was next in line of succession and so should be acquainted with the House's affairs. The most likely scenario, however, was that Algie was now committed to fifteen years of thankless drudgery managing someone else's estates while his own languished. He stoically accepted the regency and then turned control of most of his own businesses over to his son, Reginald, who he hoped was up to the challenge. But that wasn't what annoyed Algie.

What annoyed Algie was that the Brat wouldn't stop _crying_! He'd grudgingly agreed to take the boy for today because Gussie wanted to visit Frank and Alice in St. Mungo's and felt Neville was too young to go. Unfortunately, Neville was asleep when she dropped him off and so she did not realize that she had left "Ebby" behind. Algie didn't know who or what "Ebby" was and didn't much care, but it was apparently so essential to the Brat's happiness that he'd started crying immediately upon waking up in his playpen and seeing that "Ebby" wasn't there to greet him. And he had been crying for ever an hour now, despite the best efforts of Algie's house elves to entertain him, wailing over and over "Want Ebby!" while Algie tried to ignore the noise and get back to balancing the books for one of the farms he was now managing on the Brat's account.

Then, suddenly, there was a soft pop, and Neville's wailing abruptly ceased. Curious, Algie went down the hall to the living room where Neville and his playpen had been deposited. The boy was still there, giggling softly while clutching a soft black teddy bear with baby blue glass eyes. Neville looked up at Algie and smiled. "Ebby!" he exclaimed.

Algie looked at the bear and then to Neville and then back again. "Naturally," he said quietly. "Lubby, did you or any of the other elves summon that bear?"

"No, Master Algie! Little Master Neville wish really hard for his Ebby and it just come to him!"

"Naturally," said Algie again. "Return to your other duties, all of you. You're not needed here." The three house elves nodded and popped away. Algie stared at the stuffed animal. He remembered it well, of course. Its name wasn't "Ebby." That was just the child's way of saying "Elby," or more accurately "L.B." for Longbottom. Archie Longbottom had owned L.B. when he'd been a child as had his father and grandfather before him. When Archie had turned seven, he decided he was too old for a stuffed bear and gave it to Algie as a birthday present. And when Algie had gotten a little older, he too had put it aside. But even as a child, he hoped he someday he might gift it to children of his own, just as it had been gifted to him.

That hope ended the day Archie had popped in "for a visit" and idly asked if he could get L.B. back as a present for Frank. Algie explained that he'd already given it to his own newborn son, Reginald. Archie replied that, as a newborn, Reginald would hardly miss it. Algie pointedly reminded Archie that he himself had given it to Algie as a _birthday gift._ Archie answered that it had been a gift he'd made at the age of seven before he'd realized it was something to pass from father to son. Algie answered rather coldly that he hadn't realized that a particular children's toy was somehow magically entailed as part of the Lordship's bounty. Things quickly escalated to shouting on both sides before Algie finally stormed up to his son's nursery, snatched up L.B. and practically threw it at his brother, telling him to get out and he hoped his little monster choked on one of L.B.'s glass eyes. Shocked, Archie left quickly, and the two brothers didn't speak again until the following Christmas, when Archie sent a veritable flock of stuffed animals for both Reginald and his newborn sister Enid (but not L.B., of course) and a letter of apology to Algie.

For the sake of his children, who he thought might someday need the support of the Lord of House Longbottom, Algie accepted the apology, and his relations with Archie mostly mended. But he never forgot the incident and what it meant. That he would always be the second brother, entitled to nothing from the Longbottom name save a lump sum financial payment left to him purely out of a vague sense of parental obligation. No estates. No trust vaults. No heirlooms. Not even a stuffed teddy bear to pass on to his son.

And now, the final insult – Neville was indisputably a wizard. And Algie was the witness for it. Because he'd just seen the Brat summon L.B. through accidental magic, presumably all the way from Longbottom Manor in Lancashire. Neville was a wizard, and so Neville was the Heir Presumptive, and thus Algie's lot in life now was to manage Neville's estates and assets until the Brat was old enough to claim them for himself, at which point he would probably give Algie a brass plaque to match the other one Frank had given him years before.

Algie stared for a long time at the adorable infant and his stuffed bear. And then, something inside him snapped like a twig in a heavy ice storm. "No. No, you little brat, it won't be that easy for you. And I certainly won't let you beat me with the help of _that_ thing. _**EVANESCO!**_" There was a flash as the teddy bear vanished out of Neville's arms, startling the child. But before he could start crying again, Algie's wand flashed a second time. "_**OBLIVIATE!**_ You will forget about Ebby. You will forget that you ever had a bear that looked anything like Ebby." He paused as a vicious gleam came into his eyes. "But you _will_ remember that there was once something you loved that you have now lost forever. And you will remember that the _reason_ you lost it because _you wished for it too hard!_"

Little Neville shook his head for a few seconds and then crawled over to play with some blocks, with a strange look on his face, as if he were sad but didn't know why. Later, when Augusta returned, Algie told her that Neville had been a perfect angel and that she shouldn't hesitate to ask him to babysit whenever she needed a break. He also reminded her to be on the lookout for signs of accidental magic because Neville was getting to that age.

The next day, Algie went to Flourish &amp; Botts and purchased several books on squibs and the latest theories about what caused them.

_**When Neville was three years old ...**_

Algie had been visiting Longbottom Manor for a week, as was his right as Longbottom Regent. On the fourth day there, he was in a sitting room reading the _Daily Prophet_ when he felt a small hand tug on his pants leg. It was the Brat.

"Well, hello there, little Neville!" Algie said with false kindness. "What can I do for you?"

"Will you read Baba Rab to me, Unca Algie?"

"Babbity Rabbit, you mean? Well where is it, Neville?"

"Baba Rab on da shelf in lie-berry," the child replied.

"Why don't you show me?" Algie asked.

And with that, the toddler led his great-uncle to the nearby library, where Neville pointed to a book on a middle shelf. Algie noted that the bookshelf was freestanding instead of mounted to the wall, and his eyes gleamed.

"Oh, that's not too high, Neville. You can reach it. Show me how big and brave you are, just like your dad was." Algie smiled at Neville, who looked back up at the tall shelf nervously. Then, he waddled over and, after a bit of hesitation, tried to climb up to the third shelf. Just he reached the edge where the Babbity Rabbit book was, Algie pulled out his wand.

"This is for you, Reginald," he whispered as he cast a spell at the heavy bookcase, which suddenly tipped over onto Neville. The toddler fell to the floor with the bookcase poised to crush him ... when suddenly it froze in mid-fall and then tipped back into place, with all the books and knick-knacks that had been on it snapping back into place as if they'd never moved. All except the Babbity Rabbit book which Neville proudly clutched in his hands.

Algie stared at Neville with his eyes wide in astonishment. Then, from some distance away, he heard Augusta call out. "Algie, what was that noise? Is Neville getting into mischief."

"It was nothing, Gussie." Then, he hissed out a strong Memory Charm to make Neville forget what had just happened, followed maliciously by a mild Stinging Hex on the boy's bottom. Neville soon began crying. Just as Algie put his wand away, Augusta came around the corner. "It looks like Neville tried to climb up the bookshelf to get his Babbity Rabbit book and then fell on his bum. No harm done."

Augusta swept into the room and picked the child up off the floor to console him. "Neville, I've told you! Don't try to climb the furniture! You could have pulled the whole thing down on your head! Get someone to hand you things you can't reach!"

"Or perhaps even _summon _them to you with magic," said Algie brightly, but Augusta just gave him a dirty look, while Neville sobbed softly. "Oh, don't give me that look, Gussie. The boy's three. Frank had toys flying around the room at that age. Has he shown any signs of accidental magic at all?"

She hesitated. "No, but he's still a child, Algie."

"Well, he won't be one forever, Augusta. If he hasn't shown any magic by the time he's four, we may need to..." He hesitated as Augusta gave him a nearly homicidal glare and then smiled winningly at the child and his guardian. "Well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it, I suppose."

_**When Neville was four years old ...**_

It was a beautiful spring day as little Neville Longbottom dashed across a sunlight field in pursuit of a brilliant colorful butterfly. It was no ordinary butterfly, however. Indeed, it was no butterfly at all, but an illusion created and controlled by Algie, who watched from a distance as the butterfly construct danced and wove just out of Neville's reach. Step by step, the butterfly led Neville closer and closer to Greenhouse 4. The whole Longbottom family had come for a weekend getaway at the summer home in Wales which was situated on a working farm where various magical plants and animals were raised. Greenhouse 4 was a large secured structure where the dangerous plants were housed, plants that were poisonous, carnivorous or both. Normally, Greenhouse 4 was kept locked down, but unfortunately, Catesby, the Chief Gardener, was getting on in years and didn't always remember to lock up completely. Particularly not after he had been hit with a Confundus Curse, which was why the door was currently wide open.

The magical butterfly continued its flight, leading little Neville straight into Greenhouse 4. Algie took a deep breath and braced himself for the screams. "It's all for you, Reginald," he whispered. But the screams never came. Instead, he could barely hear a soft, childish ... giggling? Swiftly, he ran to Greenhouse 4 and through the doorway. Inside, he was stunned by the scene, as Neville was laughing in delight while two _Devil's Snares_ tossed him back and forth and caught him as if they were playing a game! And in the background, an entire row of Venomous Tentacula were brushing their vines back and forth against each other as if they were ... _clapping?!_

Algie wiped his eyes as though he might be hallucinating. Then, he drew Neville to his arms with a Summoning Charm. At that point, the plants of Greenhouse 4 registered their disapproval by lashing out towards Algie with a dozen deadly vines. He slammed the door shut and then hit it with his strongest locking spell as the aggressive plants bashed against the door repeatedly.

"That was fun!" said Neville gleefully. Algie looked down at his excited nephew who seemed no worse the wear for his time spent surrounded by some of the deadliest plants in the world. He snarled at the boy.

"_**OBLIVIATE!**_"

_**When Neville Longbottom was seven...**_

Algie watched from a distance through his omnoculars as Augusta led her grandson down the Blackpool Promenade. His birthday had coincided with a weekend, so she had taken the boy to Blackpool to see the Muggle zoo and amusement park and to reminisce about days gone by. Her first date with Archie was to Blackpool Tower the summer after their Fifth Year. Decades later, Frank had carried Alice to Blackpool for their honeymoon.

It had been a long hot day, so Augusta and Neville stopped off at a malt shop and then sat down at a table outside to drink their milkshakes. After a few seconds, Augusta leaned over to her grandson. "Neville, I need to step into the lady's powder room for just a few minutes. Can I trust you to wait right here till I get back?"

"Yes, Gran," he said respectfully.

Wrapped up in Notice-Me-Not and Muggle-Repelling Charms, Algie glided through the Muggle crowd like a shark until he was standing behind the oblivious Neville. He placed his wand just behind the boy's head. "_**OBLIVIATE,**_" he whispered. "Your grandmother has stepped away for a while but she said to wait for your Uncle Algie to come for you." Neville's head wavered back and forth for a few seconds. Then, Algie tapped him on the shoulder, and the boy jerked in surprise and then looked up at his great-uncle and regent.

"Un...uncle Algie! I ... didn't see you there," the boy said timidly. Algie smiled. If nothing else, all the Memory Charms were wrecking the boy's confidence.

"Quite alright, my boy. But we need to move along now. We're in a bit of a hurry."

"But Gran..."

"She knows where we're going and will catch us up. Now don't dawdle!"

With that, the boy stood up and took Algie's hand. The older wizard led the boy away quickly before his grandmother could return. A few minutes later, they were walking down Blackpool Pier taking in the sights. At the end of the pier, Algie put up some stronger Muggle-Repelling Charms to keep anyone from interfering.

"Now, Neville, I've brought you here for a very important reason. Can you guess what it is?"

The boy shook his head no.

"Well, today is your seventh birthday, and that's a very important magical number. You see, it's very unusual and very troubling that you haven't shown any magic yet. Your Gran is afraid that you might be a squib, and as your regent, that's something I have to be concerned about. Do you know what a squib is, Neville?"

The boy nodded sadly. "It's a wizarding child with no magic. Does ... does Gran really think I'm a squib?"

"Yes, Neville, she's told me so many times. But if you're very brave, we can prove her wrong. Can you be brave for me? Just like your mum and dad were?"

The boy nodded again, this time urgently. "I'll do whatever you say if it will show I have magic, Uncle Algie."

"Good, good. Now, one last question, Neville. Can you swim?"

The boy barely had time shake his head no before Algie snatched him up and threw him off the pier. Neville hit the water with a loud splash and immediately cried out, but with the charms Algie had set up, no one could hear him.

"It's all right, Neville, don't panic. Just relax and let the magic happen." Algie smiled at the drowning boy. That was, of course, the worst possible advice to give to a drowning wizarding child, as accidental magic was most likely to occur while the child was in a state of panic. Of course, it was unlikely the boy could even hear Algie over the pounding surf washing over him, filling his mouth and nose with sea water. Neville's head went under water once, twice, thrice ... and then suddenly, his whole body rose out of the water, lifted on a swirling water spout. Neville coughed out some sea water and then looked around in amazement.

"I'm doing it, Uncle Algie! I'm doing magic!" he cried out joyfully.

"Naturally," muttered Algie. Then, he gave a casual flick of his wand and whispered the word "_**LACERO,**_" and a Cutting Curse sliced clean through the bottom of the water spout, disrupting it. Neville yelled in a panic as he plunged back into the churning waters of the Irish Sea. He bobbed back up after a few seconds, coughing up sea water once more.

"Uncle Algie! Help!"

"It's alright, lad. You're doing fine!" He wasn't, of course. The boy was clearly on the verge of drowning. Then, to Algie's consternation, the boy started rising up out of the water _again!_ Algie prepared another Cutting Curse, when he was distracted by a woman's voice screaming Neville's name. He turned around and saw Augusta running as fast as she could towards the end of the pier her wand already out. The wizard cursed her timing. He could destroy the second waterspout, but there was no way the boy would drown before Gussie arrived to save him. He turned back to Neville and instead hit him with a Memory Charm just strong enough to erase the last few minutes. Then, he loudly exclaimed "_**ACCIO NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM!**_" The dazed child shot up out of the collapsing water spout into his arms, where he rested for barely a second before a furious Augusta tore Neville away from him.

"WHAT IN MERLIN'S NAME DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!" she screamed at Algie.

"Calm yourself, Gussie, I had the situation perfectly under control," said Algie smoothly.

"Under control?! You were trying to drown him!"

"I was placing the boy in an admittedly threatening situation but under controlled circumstances in the hopes that he would call upon his magic to save himself. Several of my friends growing up first revealed their magic from being thrown into the deep end, as it were. It's as good a way to learn to swim as any, I think. Sadly, it's been seven years and not even the threat of drowning has made his magic manifest. I know you're the boy's guardian and you care for him a great deal, as do I. But I am the Regent Longbottom. I have responsibilities to the entire family that trump my feelings for one little boy who is tragically disabled."

"I don't want you anywhere near Neville ever again, Algie," Augusta said coldly.

"I don't think that's your decision to make, Gussie. Not unless you wish to challenge my regency before the Wizengamot, and I don't think they're likely to take the side of a seven-year-old with no magic." He took a step towards her as she hugged the shivering boy. "You forget who you're speaking to, Gussie. And you forget by whose grace you're allowed to remain at Longbottom Manor."

"Sometimes, _Regent_, I don't think you're that concerned about _the family_ at all. Sometimes, I think you're still just holding a childish grudge over Archie's old teddy bear."

Algie's eyes flashed dangerously. Then, he smiled. "If you disapprove of my methods of getting the boy to show his magic, then come up with your own. After all," he continued mercilessly while staring right into Neville's eyes, "you think he's a squib as much as I do. Now, I suggest you take the boy home for some dry clothes. He'll catch his death out here like this." Algie smiled once more and then apparated away.

**The next update will post sometime between 4pm and 6 pm on Monday, June 1, 2015.**


	16. HP&POS 16: Meet the Longbottoms (pt 2)

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

**CHAPTER 16: Meet the Longbottoms (pt 2) **

_**AN: Possible Trigger Warning. **__This chapter contains scenes involving violence directed at a child. No one is actually injured, but it may be disturbing for some readers._

_**When Neville Longbottom was eight...**_

"Hello, Neville."

Neville jumped up out of his chair at the sound of Algie's voice. "Oh... Uncle Algie! I... didn't know you were here today."

"It's your birthday, Neville. Surely you didn't think I would skip it. Here, I brought you a plate of meringues." Algie took one off the platter and bit into it. "They're delicious. Your cousin Enid made them."

Neville looked at the platter of meringues for a few seconds without touching them. "Gran says I shouldn't stay in a room alone with you," he finally said in a quiet voice.

"Why not?"

"She says you may try to hurt me in order to make me use my magic."

"Yes, Neville, I very well might. Tell me, Neville. What do you think will happen if it turns out you are a squib?"

"I dunno. I guess I won't go to Hogwarts."

"That's right. Hogwarts doesn't take squibs. But that's three years from now. Three years of not knowing. Of wondering every day if you're worthy of the name Longbottom. And even if you get a letter, it might be that you have just barely enough magic to get in, but not enough to pass your OWLS. And if you fail those, you'll be judged a squib just as surely as if you'd never gotten a letter at all. That's another _five_ years of wondering and waiting and worrying. Eight years total - that's as long as you've been alive so far. Another eight years total of looking in the mirror every day and seeing a failure. Another eight years of visiting your parents every holiday wondering if you're unworthy to be their son."

Neville didn't answer at first, but he shivered and blinked his eyes furiously at Algie's words. "Why are you saying these things?" he asked finally.

"Because your parents were great wizards and heroes to our society, and I think that if I were in your shoes, I'd rather die than embarrass them by being a worthless squib. And for that reason, I've come to make this offer. If you let me test your magic one more time, I promise it will be the last, one way or another. If you succeed and show your magic, no one will be prouder than me and I will support you with everything I have. But if you refuse me this test and are later judged a squib after dragging things out for years and years, I will hold it against you. When I am Lord Longbottom, I will expel you from the family and leave you with nothing. Whether you're eleven or sixteen, you'll be out on the street, homeless with no prospects and no education. And not just you. I'll send your grandmother packing as well. If you're not a Longbottom, then _she_ has no further right to this house. She'll get her dowry, of course. That will be enough for a small flat in some tiny magical village and basic living expenses, I suppose. But if you take my test, whatever the result, I promise you that she'll be taken care of in the manner to which she's become accustomed."

"What if I take the test and fail?"

"Well," said Algie kindly, "at least you won't have to live with shaming your parents anymore."

Neville swallowed and looked down at the floor. He wiped at his eyes and then looked back up at the man who was supposed to watch over and protect him. "What do you want me to do?"

"It's a simple test, Neville. We're on the fourth floor of the Manor. There's a window right behind you. Just step out of the window. If magic saves you, you're a wizard. If it doesn't, you're free of guilt and shame and worry, and your Gran gets taken care of. Nothing simpler."

Neville backed away from Algie and towards the open window. Honestly, it was true what Algie had said. People had been waiting on him to show magic for so long, and it never came. He heard the whispers of his cousins and their friends – "_Squib._" Even at the age of eight, he'd been taught that without magic, he was a blight on the Longbottom line and a disgrace to his parents. He looked down from the window and felt dizzy for a moment. It was a long way down to the cobblestones below.

Behind him, Algie stood with bated breath. His research into squibs finally gave him this new and monstrous idea. Accidental magic usually activated when the child was afraid for his life, but it likely would not if the child knowingly and deliberately placed himself in danger, nor was it likely to manifest if the child's will to live was weak. Neville had defied Algie before, but if he voluntarily jumped out of that window, there would be no freak magical outburst to save him this time.

Neville slipped one leg over the threshold, but before he could put the other over, he looked down again and saw his grandmother in the distance, walking the grounds with one of her friends. Neville knew she thought he was a squib. He guessed that she probably thought he was an embarrassment to his parents' memory. But above all, Neville knew she loved him and that she would not want him to do this. He turned back to Algie.

"You said if I do this you'll look after Gran. Why should I believe you? If I die, no one will remember your promise."

"Neville, my boy. When have I ever lied to you?"

Neville stared at Algie as if seeing him for the very first time. Then, he felt something stir deep in the pit of his stomach, something that, three years later, a wise old hat would recognize as Gryffindor courage. "I think you're lying to me right now. I don't think you want me to show magic at all. I think you just want me to die." Then, he turned the other way and began screaming. "GRAN! GRAN! UNCLE ALGIE IS HERE! HE'S TRYING..."

"_**OBLIVIATE!"**_ Neville rocked back and forth in a daze, half in and half out of the window. Algie rushed forward, grabbed him by the leg, and shoved him forward until he was dangling out the window, held aloft by nothing but Algie's tight grasp. In the distance, Augusta ran forward, screaming Neville's name while her companion followed behind. Neville shook off his momentary confusion and looked up at his uncle, who merely smiled at him.

"I do wish you would have tried at least one of Cousin Enid's meringues before it came to this. They really are quite delicious." Then, he let go.

Neville dropped like a stone. In the distance, Augusta screamed in horror, but she was too far to cast a spell. The boy looked down at the approaching cobblestone driveway and braced for the end. Instead, there was a slight shudder ... and then, he was airborne again, spinning madly through the air. He came down again some distance away and felt another shudder. This time he didn't fly so high, and the confused boy finally realized that he was ... _bouncing?_ His third and final bounce brought him down near his grandmother who used a charm to catch him safely.

Algie watched the entire scene with a crazed grin on his face. He'd gone for broke, but the Brat survived. Even from the fourth floor, Algie could tell that Augusta was glaring up at him with a look of vicious triumph. Worse, as she and her companion drew closer, he could see that the other woman was Griselda Marchbanks, an old friend of Augusta's and an esteemed member of the Wizengamot ... and now an impartial and irreproachable witness to Neville showing accidental magic. "Naturally," Algie said, before he started giggling to himself. Still laughing, he moved back to the table and picked up a few meringues to munch on. He looked around Neville's room wildly as he chewed the confectionaries before he finally snatched up the plate and threw it against the wall.

"Alright, _Brat! _You may be _Heir Presumptive, _but I'm not done with you yet!" He took a few moments to compose himself. Then, Algie went downstairs to congratulate Neville on his tremendous feat of magic and to let Madame Marchbanks know how grateful he was that someone of her stature was on hand to serve as witness. By then, other guests had come out to see what had happened, and he took the lead in announcing that Neville had finally showed accidental magic and was now the Heir Presumptive. He doubted Augusta had bought his routine, but he didn't much care. He still had three years before Neville's Hogwarts letter came, and that meant he still had one card left to play.

_**When Neville Longbottom was eleven...**_

In the three years since Neville's "official" demonstration of magic, Algie had worked ceaselessly to reassure the boy and his grandmother that he supported Neville as Heir Presumptive, that his only concern had been about the boy's magic, and that he certainly harbored no homicidal intentions. He had showered the boy with gifts and "grandfatherly advice" and given every appearance of being a doting regent who looked forward to handing over the Longbottom estates to Neville just as soon as his OWLS came back.

The truth, of course, was that Algie was playing a waiting game. Neville's OWLS were his last chance. If the boy failed to pass at least one of his three wand-based exams – Charms, Transfiguration or DADA – Algie had grounds to petition the Wizengamot that he met the technical definition of squib even though he'd been magical enough for a Hogwarts letter. So with that in mind, Algie set himself to the task of figuring out how to ensure that Neville failed academically. The wand classes were the ones that mattered, and so the wand was where Algie focused his attention.

As Neville's eleventh birthday approached, he and Augusta corresponded about when to pick up Neville's school supplies, and Algie pointed out that, as regent, he was the one with the key to the vault, which he should really show Neville anyway. Augusta acquiesced but also asked if Algie would pick up the family Rememberall for Neville. She was worried about him going to school with so many children of Death Eaters.

When the two arrived in Diagon Alley, the boy was most eager to get his wand – he'd talked of nothing else ever since his letter came – so Algie carried him first to Ollivander's. The old man remembered Algie instantly, as well as his wand from all those years ago. Surprisingly, given Ollivander's reputation, Neville found his own wand almost immediately. This, according to the wand seller, was because he'd been supplying Longbottoms with their wands for ages, and he knew the family's preferences from experience. Neville's wand was thirteen inches and cherry, with a unicorn hair core. "Exactly like your father before you," he said.

Algie crooked an eyebrow. "Exactly? Does that mean he could use his father's own wand?" He looked down at the boy. "I mean, we can certainly afford a new wand, but it might be a way to show respect for his father if he could use Frank's old one."

Ollivander looked horrified. "Certainly not! A wand chooses the wizard, not the wizard's family. And besides, unicorn hair wands are intensely loyal. A unicorn wand that had chosen one wizard would likely never work as well for another, not even a family member. And while the father is still alive? That could even be dangerous for the boy's magic. He might as well try to shove his magic through a brick!"

"Ah! Well, never mind then," said Algie jovially, as though he had not been researching the topic of incompatible wands for three years. "We certainly wouldn't want _that!_"

Algie paid for the wand and then pocketed it. "You can see it when we get home, Neville. You're not supposed to use it now anyway, and I won't have you embarrassing the family with underage magic," he said to the disappointed boy. Then, he escorted Neville to Flourish &amp; Botts, to Madame Malkin's, and eventually to Gringotts. There, he led Neville first to his trust vault, which he linked up to a moleskin pouch so that the boy would have a small weekly allowance while at school. Then, he took the boy down further to where the family vaults lay. Once inside the Longbottom family vault, he took care to point out certain interesting features and then told Neville to look around but not touch anything, as it might take him a few minutes to find the Rememberall.

In fact, he knew perfectly well that Frank's old Remembarall was not in the vault, as he'd disposed of it earlier. Instead, Algie spent those minutes at a small display case which contained the wands of dozens of deceased Longbottom scions each with a small placard denoting the name, date, and manner of the wand owner's death (or in Frank's case, incapacity). Frank's wand was near the top, and he snatched it up and compared it to Neville's. They looked nearly identical. He put Frank's wand in one pocket and Neville's in another.

"Oh, damn. The blasted thing's not here! Ah well, let's head on. I'll send the house elves to search for it at the Manor." Neville, who did not especially care about the Rememberall, was fine with that, and the two left to finish their shopping before a delightful lunch at Summerisle's, capped with a truly gigantic slice of chocolate cake with a candle on top for Neville's birthday. Then, he took the boy home and let him show off his new presents, including his wand, to Augusta. He also informed Augusta that there was no Rememberall in the vault and suggested it must be in the Manor somewhere.

Soon, September 1st had arrived, and Algie returned to Longbottom Manor bright and early. Augusta grilled him briefly about the Rememberall, but he assured her it wasn't in the vault. He even offered to swear an oath, but she told him to stop being silly and then left to see to their transportation to the rail station. Had it come down to it, Algie _could_ have sworn an oath that there was no Rememberall in the vault because he'd already removed it. He could even swear he didn't know where it was, since he'd thrown it into the Thames and had no clue where the current would take it.

Algie headed upstairs to Neville's room, donning a pair of gloves as he went. The door was open, and Neville was inside finishing up his packing. "Neville, my boy. Have you got everything ready for Hogwarts?"

The boy jumped slightly. "Oh, you startled me, Uncle Algie! Yes, sir, I'm nearly ready." The boy was still a bit nervous around Algie and probably always would be, but he tried not to show it.

"Good, good. And you've got your wand?" Algie asked. The boy smiled and pulled it out for his uncle to see. "Excellent. And before we leave, I've got a special treat for you – a pet to keep you company at Hogwarts. His name... is Trevor." He reached into a pocket of his overcoat with a gloved hand and produced a fairly large toad wriggling furiously in his grasp.

Neville's eyes had lit up when Algie mentioned a treat, but he was less enthused by the struggling amphibian that this uncle was holding out to him. With a smile but a bit of reluctance, Neville reached out and took the slimy creature, which nearly slipped out of his grasp.

"Better use both hands until he gets used to you, Neville." The boy nodded, turned and set his wand down so that he could hold Trevor in one hand and stroke him with the other in a futile effort to calm the toad down. While he was distracted, Algie pulled out his own wand and took a deep breath before casting the strongest and most complicated Memory Charm he had used to date. More than a mere Obliviate, it also incorporated elements of a Confundus Curse. Neville's knees shook and nearly buckled, but he didn't fall. Algie reached over to take the boy's wand and hold it in front of his face.

"Listen carefully, Neville. You will forget this wand. You've never seen it before. We didn't go to Ollivander's and get you a new wand." Algie pocketed Neville's wand and then produced the one that had belonged to Frank. "_This_ is your wand, as it was your father's before you. Your Gran _insisted_ that you use your father's wand as a way to honor him. You made her _cry for hours _when you even suggested that you wanted a wand of your own, and you promised you would never ask her again. And now, you will take this wand, and use it as best you can. If it doesn't work well for you, it's because your magic is weak and you'll just have to try harder. In fact, you will push yourself until it hurts if that's what it takes to get magic out of this wand. Nod, if you understand." Neville nodded in a daze.

"You will also want to keep Trevor with you at all times. If you lose him, you will be very upset until you get him back. You will want to hold him whenever possible." Trevor was a late addition to Algie's scheme – the toad was from a South American species that was mildly poisonous. Not enough to make Neville sick – well, not unless he decided to lick the thing – but long term exposure would interfere with both the boy's memory and magic. The whole scheme was a desperate gamble, but it only had to work for five years, less if the boy got so frustrated he flunked out of Hogwarts ... or killed himself by trying to force his magic through an incompatible wand.

"Finally, you will forget everything your grandmother ever mentioned about Rememberalls. It's a useless thing to help stupid forgetful boys remember what they've forgotten. Don't pay it any mind." That last command was an afterthought, just in case Neville somehow came across someone else's Rememberall at school, as unlikely as that seemed. His work done, Algie stepped back and put his wand away. After a few seconds, Neville blinked a few times and looked up at Algie. "I'm sorry, Uncle... What were we talking about?"

"About how you'll be writing to me every week, Neville, to let me know how you're doing." Algie smiled. "I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward hearing about all your successes."

_**When Neville Longbottom was eleven... and three months...**_

They came just before dawn. Algie was sound asleep, curled up on the left side of his bed (after all these years, he still left Wendy's side untouched), when Lubby, his chief house elf, woke him with a few gentle coughs.

"Begging master's pardon, sir, but there be three aurors at the door who wish to speak with you. They says they has warrant for your arrest. Something to do with young master Neville."

"Oh. I see. Naturally," said Algie in a tight voice. "Well, tell them I'll be down just as soon as I get dressed."

Lubby nodded and disappeared with a pop. Algie rubbed his eyes and picked his wand up off the bedside table. Idly, he wondered why the Aurors were being so considerate as to send a house elf to retrieve him instead of kicking down door. Then, with a thought, he reached out to feel the status of his wards. Ah! The defensive wards were all down, and in their place were anti-apparation and anti-portkey wards. Also, the Floo connection was inactive. They could afford to politely wait because they knew he wasn't going anywhere. And, he supposed, they had chosen to wait in hopes that he would save them all a lot of paperwork by doing "The Honorable Thing."

Algie closed his eyes and slowly lifted the wand to his temple. Then, he tried to summon enough hate to use the Killing Curse on himself. But for all the attempted murders he'd made over the last nine years, he didn't really have any hatred for Neville or anyone else, just a pitiful selfish jealousy mixed with a bitter self-loathing, neither of which was enough to fuel the Killing Curse. When the Aurors finally got tired of waiting and came for him, they found Algernon Longbottom still in bed, in a fetal position, weeping like a child.

**The next update will be posted between 4 and 6 pm on June 5, 2015.**


	17. HP&POS 17: Interlude by the Lake Shore

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

_When the Aurors finally got tired of waiting and came for him, they found Algernon Longbottom still in bed, in a fetal position, weeping like a child._

**CHAPTER 17: Interlude by the Lake Shore  
**

_**4 November 1991**_

Harry could only stare at Neville in barely-concealed horror as other boy calmly recounted the various incidents in which his uncle had tampered with his memories, usually in the aftermath of a failed murder attempt. The two were sitting together on the bank of the Black Lake just after lunch on the afternoon of Neville's return to school. Amazingly, the truth had only come out by sheer dumb luck: Augusta Longbottom, annoyed at the apparent loss of the Longbottom family Rememberall, wrote to her cousin Barty Crouch Sr. and asked if she could borrow his old one for Neville's use (hence its old-fashioned design). Crouch Sr. had no surviving heirs of his own, and in light of the **_reason_ **he had no surviving heirs, he could hardly refuse Augusta's request to borrow the expensive but no longer useful antique. Algie had no idea that Neville had acquired a Rememberall until the aurors came for him. He blustered a bit at first, but when he learned that Neville had supplied certified pensieve copies of his recovered memories, he broke down and confessed.

"So, what's going to happen to him?" asked Harry. "Will there be a trial?"

Neville shook his head. "Gran and I ... spent a lot of time talking about it. She wanted him dragged before the Wizengamot in chains."

"But not you."

He sighed. "After everything, I don't really ... hate Uncle Algie. I'm... disgusted by him, but I'm not going to waste the effort of hatred. And besides, his children and grandchildren didn't know anything about what he'd been doing. He confirmed that under Veritaserum. Reginald and Enid are both fine people with families of their own, and they've always been very good to me. They love their father and don't deserve to be publicly shamed with a scandal like that. Plus, what he did would have been worth twenty years in Azkaban at least, and at his age, he wouldn't have lasted six months. I don't think I could ever face them if I'd sent their father to die a miserable slow death at the hands of Dementors."

Harry looked away for a few seconds. He had no idea what it was like to have family worth caring about ... or one that cared about him. It was ... baffling. "So what _will_ happen," he asked.

"We have a plea agreement that is magically sanctioned and under seal with the DMLE. He steps down as my regent in favor of Gran. He turns all of his British and continental business interests over to his children, and he swears a Unbreakable Vow that he will never again directly or indirectly try to harm me or anyone under my protection or otherwise try to interfere with the affairs of House Longbottom. Then, he will retire to manage a mandrake farm in the Australian Outback with a single house elf and a small monthly stipend. And if he ever sets foot on British soil again, he gets prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. Which, in light of his confession, will probably be a Dementor's Kiss."

"No offense, Neville," said Harry, "but you're taking this awfully well."

"Says the guy who laughed at a Howler in front of the whole school," he replied with a chuckle. "I know I should be furious, and, I dunno, maybe at some point it will hit me. But right now... All my life, I thought I was nothing, a squib, a disgrace to my parents' memory. I hated myself so much I nearly let Algie talk me into suicide when I was _eight_. But to find out that it wasn't _me_, that I could do magic the whole time, but I was being ... sabotaged. Honestly, the sheer relief is just crowding everything else."

He grinned almost infectiously and pulled out his wand – _his_ wand, the one the aurors had recovered from the Longbottom vault where Algie had hidden it – and pointed it at a nearby rock. "_**WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!**_" he intoned. The rock shot off like a cannon, emitting a trail of smoke and sparks behind it, and landed in the middle of the lake. Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise, while Neville coughed bashfully.

"Um, yeah, Professor Flitwick said to be careful about that. Apparently, two months of 'shoving my magic through a brick' as Ollivander put it means that I've gotten used to overpowering my spells. I'll have to dial everything back a bit and learn some finesse or I'll be setting things on fire all over the place."

The two laughed for a bit and then watched the lake in silence for a bit. In the distance, the Giant Squid raised a lazy tentacle as if waving at them and then submerged.

"I envy you, Neville."

Neville's head jerked around in shock.

Harry continued without taking his eyes off the lake. "I know it was awful what your uncle did to you. But your Gran loves you and will look after you. And it sounds like all those cousins are decent folk, and you still like them. You've got a family that you don't hate. I envy you that more than I can say."

"Do you ... do you think that you could ever forgive the Potters for what they did?"

"No," he said instantly. "And it wouldn't matter if I could, because none of them even realize they did something that needs forgiveness. James is still trying to strip me of my heir status. Jim thinks I'm a future Dark Lord. And Lily just completely ignores me." He was quiet for a moment. "And besides, sometimes I think I need the hate to keep me going. I'm ... not as good as you are."

Neville made a face. "Now what does _that _mean?! You're the smartest bloke I know, you helped save me from a troll, and you're making plans for taking over the Wizengamot at the age of eleven. I'd be useless if it weren't for you, if not dead."

"Well, first off, Hermione's a lot smarter than either of us. Second, we all saved each other from the troll. And third, our Wizengamot seats are a long way off." Harry looked down at the ground and rocked back and forth slightly as if weighing a decision. Then, he pulled out his wand.

"_**MUFFLIATO.**_"

"What was ...?"

"Privacy charm. Hermione found it somewhere." Harry scratched behind his ear nervously, while Neville waited patiently. "When I say I'm not as good as you, I'm not talking about magic or schoolwork or any of that. I'm talking about ..." He paused and shook his head. Then, he laid back on the grass and looked up at the sky while struggling to express himself. "When I was little, I used to imagine my parents. The Dursleys said they'd died, and I accepted that. People die and leave their children as orphans. It happens. But they also said my parents were worthless horrible people, and I just refused to believe that bit. I liked to imagine that my mother was beautiful and my father was brave and, I dunno, that they both died heroically saving my life or something, and that one day, I'd do something great and prove to the world that their sacrifice wasn't in vain. But that was when I was a little kid. Over time, I had all that beaten out of me, literally and figuratively."

He looked over at Neville. "I know what it's like to feel worthless, Neville. If my parents had really been dead and Dumbledore had sent someone else to fetch me, I'd have never believed that I could be something as incredible as a wizard. How could I be? I was just ... Harry. And I'd have accepted whatever rubbish I was fed about Hogwarts and my parents and I'd have probably gone into Gryffindor for all the wrong reasons and been a complete outsider. _And I certainly_ would not have spent a whole month cramming about etiquette and Wizengamot law in order to fit in around here. I'd just have shown up for the train and been completely hopeless."

His expression hardened.

"But ... they weren't dead. James showed up and told me everything _including_ the fact that I had an identical twin who they'd put on a pedestal while throwing me into the gutter. And I was just so ... angry! Because it felt like everything I'd been through had been for no reason at all. Like a big joke. So I decided then and there that I would not be 'just Harry.' That whatever it took, I would _make_ James and Lily Potter realize that they picked to wrong son to throw out with the garbage."

"You know," said Neville softly. "It's not very Slytherin of you to reveal such personal details, especially to a Gryffindor."

Harry snorted. "Oh, I _am _definitely a Slytherin, Neville. Meek earnest insecure 'just Harry' is gone for good. Sytherin Harry is cunning, he's ambitious, and he's a bit ruthless and manipulative and occasionally even cruel. And it's been hatred for the Potters that's turned me into him. But ... I don't want that hatred to eat me up, like it did your Uncle. I don't want to end up ... evil, like a Dark Lord or something ridiculous like that. I need... I need a compass."

Neville crooked his head. "A compass?"

Harry looked deeply into his friend's eyes. "A moral compass, Neville. When I said I wasn't as good as you, I meant ... that I'm not as good a person as you are." Neville tried to interrupt but Harry stopped him. "No, seriously, I _mean_ it. You had someone who had tried to _kill you _completely at your mercy. If I'd been in your shoes, Algernon Longbottom would be in a cell waiting for his Dementor's Kiss, and I'd have insisted on a front row seat to watch it! But instead, you took pity on a would-be murderer because you felt sorry for his kids and grandkids, and you gave him a house in another country and a job and even money to retire on. This may not seem like it means much because most of the people in my life have been completely awful, but ... you're easily the best human being I've ever known. And that's why I need you to be my friend, Neville. Because I want you to watch after me. And if I ever start to fall into real darkness..."

"You'll have me there to catch you and pull you back," replied Neville simply.

Harry relaxed and smiled. The two looked back towards the lake at the sound of some more antics from the Squid. "Mind you, I _am_ still planning on making the Potters pay for what they did to me," said Harry after a long pause.

"No death, dismemberment or permanent injuries," Neville replied with mock sternness.

"What about public humiliation and financial ruin?" Harry asked.

"Oh, that's fine. I'll even help with that," Neville said genially.

The two laughed as the waters of Black Lake lapped against the shore.

**The next update will be posted WITHIN THE NEXT FIFTEEN MINUTES! SURPRISE! This update was a little shorter than most, and while I love it dearly, it's a character piece with no action. Anyway, I've also made good progress on the rest of the story. (It's startling to realize that the "date" at the top of this chapter is only November 4th when I'm currently writing about events just after the Easter Break.) So I've decided to celebrate breaking 200 reviews and 300 faves (and nearly 500 follows) with a DOUBLE-UPDATE. **

**Also******, some reviewers have been crying out for bloody vengeance against Algie Longbottom and may be disappointed with his fate, so consider this a gift to make up for it. :) **Don't expect this regularly - I'm about to start a new job, so I'm not sure if I'll even be able to maintain the normal twice-a-week schedule. We'll see how it goes, and I'll announce it if my update schedule changes. The next chapter has Quidditch and Hagrid and Blaise Zabini and a snarkier than usual Harry. Enjoy. **


	18. HP&POS 18: Quidditch and Mayhem

_**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**_

_**AN: This is the second chapter of a double-update. If you have not read Chapter 17 which posted about an hour ago, go back and read it first or risk confusion and unanswered questions.**_

**CHAPTER 18: Quidditch and Mayhem  
**

**_15 November 1991_**

The first Quidditch match of the season looked to be even more dramatic than Harry had expected what with the traditional rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin _plus _the involvement of the Git-Who-Lived and the drama which always surrounded him. The rival captains, Oliver Wood for the Lions and Marcus Flint for the Snakes, hated each other with a violent passion. The Gryffs had better teamwork but an untested Seeker. The Slytherins had stronger individual players but poor coordination and a strong preference for brute force over efficient game play. Terence Higgs was a highly competent and experienced Seventh Year Seeker who had been undefeated the previous two seasons, but Flint (in his first year as captain) literally had to be beg him to come back and play during his NEWTS year. The Chasers were Flint and Pucey (both talented veterans), plus Graham Montague, Rodney's little brother who was a Second Year new to the team. Keeper Miles Bletchley was also a Second Year and equally inexperienced. Overall, while the team had dominated the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup for the last several seasons, this would probably be a rebuilding year. The battle plan, as Harry understood it, was to bully the Gryffs and keep them off balance and then let Higgs find the Snitch while Jim was still trying to figure out which end of the broom was the front.

For the first fifteen minutes or so, the Snakes dominated 40-10 when there was a sudden commotion centered on Jim. The boy seemed to have lost control of his broom, which was shaking madly as if it were trying to throw him off. Harry watched his brother through a set of omnoculars with ... not concern so much as curiosity, as if he couldn't quite divine the purpose of what he was seeing.

"It looks like someone has hexed Potter's broom!" exclaimed Theo. "I didn't think that was possible!"

"It shouldn't be," said Blaise Zabini who was sitting nearby. "Granted, whoever is doing it is an idiot. All they're doing is shaking Potter's broom hard. You'd think they'd just turn off the broom's enchantments and let him fall."

"No," said Harry calmly. "The person responsible is exceptionally powerful and cunning. He's just facing unexpected opposition." Harry had turned his omnoculars away from his brother's plight towards that section of the stands where the faculty and guests were seated. His birth parents were both there, as James had come to Hogwarts for his son's inaugural performance which now looked to be a disaster in the making. He, Lily and several other teachers already had their wands out ready to catch Jim if he fell. Behind them all, Harry could see his prime suspect, Quirrell, whose eyes were fixed and unblinking as he subvocalized some spell. Snape sat a few rows behind him, doing the same. Clearly, one was jinxing Jim's broom and the other was casting a counter-jinx.

Suddenly, to Harry's surprise, Hermione showed up in the faculty-visitor stands, forcefully pushing her way through the crowd. At one point, she bumped into Quirrell, practically bowling the man over. Harry spared a glance back up at Jim and saw that his broom stabilized almost instantly. Then, he looked back at the faculty stands in time to see Hermione dart down the tunnel just past where Snape was still sitting. A few seconds later, the Potions Master jumped up in alarm, as the hem of his robes had somehow caught fire.

Harry laughed. "Oh, that's my girl. That is priceless! Comedy gold!" He looked back at Quirrell who was distracted by both Snape's efforts to stamp out the fire and the resultant jostling of the crowd. Finally, shouts from the Slytherins around him brought his attention back to the match. The Git had apparently seen the Snitch and gone into a power dive. Unfortunately, Higgs was on the far side of the stadium when Potter made his move, and though he desperately skillfully winded his way through the other players to catch up with Potter, it was too late. Near the ground, Jim lost control of his broom and crashed into the ground, which would have been hilarious if the Git hadn't managed to nearly swallow the Snitch while tumbling across the turf. Flint was almost berserk as, according to him, the rules clearly called for the Snitch to be caught by hand and not by mouth. Madame Hooch, who had little love for the Slytherins' style of game play, disagreed and called the game in favor of the Gryffindors.

Leaving the pitch, Harry noticed in the distance that the Potters were with Dumbledore gesturing angrily at the old man, while Snape followed close behind walking with as much dignity as he could muster with smoldering robes. Closer by, Harry saw the groundskeeper, Hagrid, escorting an injured Jim to his hut, with Hermione, Neville and Ron following behind. Harry headed towards that direction but soon realized that Theo and, to his surprise, Blaise Zabini, were following him. Theo was expected, but Zabini was a new development.

"Can I help you, Mr. Zabini?"

The other boy smiled. "I hope so, Mr. Potter. A few weeks back, you invited me to join Miss Granger's study sessions. I declined at the time, but I find myself disappointed with my progress in several classes. I was wondering if your invitation was still open?"

Harry, who knew perfectly well that Blaise was one of his closest academic rivals in Slytherin House and that he didn't need the least bit of tutoring, raised his chin and crooked an eyebrow. "Can you resist the temptation to insult anyone's parentage for several hours at a time?" he said archly.

"If everyone can go that long without insulting my own parentage, then certainly," he replied evenly.

Harry stared at the boy for several seconds, almost long enough to make it uncomfortable for all concerned. One thing he'd learned since his Sorting was that there were two kinds of Slytherins: the ones with bigotries ... and the ones with agendas. He strongly suspected Zabini of being the latter, but wasn't sure what sort of agenda it was. So he decided to test a theory he'd been developing since Halloween.

"Then let us agree ... to be excellent to each other, Mr. Zabini" he said.

The other boy inhaled sharply, as if Harry Potter had just publicly exposed one of Zabini's deepest, darkest secrets, one that he had never shared with another living soul. Then, he composed himself ... and smiled warmly.

"Party on, Mr. Potter," he replied as the two reached out and shook hands.

Theo looked back and forth between the two during the odd exchange. "Was ... was that ... a _code _of some kind?" he asked in confusion.

"Of a sort," said Harry. "By the way, I do hope you will call me Harry from now on, Mr. Zabini."

"Only if you will both call me Blaise."

"Certainly. I'll discuss the matter with Hermione, but I doubt it will be a problem. We meet on Tuesdays after last period and Fridays after lunch," said Harry.

"I look forward to it," said Blaise before offering a slight bow and heading towards the castle. Harry watched him go with a bemused expression before heading on to Hagrid's hut – Theo following behind somewhat nervously – where he knocked boldly on the door. After a second, the huge man opened the door and looked down at the two Slytherins in surprise.

"Mr. Hagrid!" exclaimed Harry cheerfully. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I don't think we've been formally introduced. I'm Harry Potter, Jim's older brother. This is my friend, Theodore Nott. I noticed that one of my other friends, Hermione Granger, was headed this way. Is she still here by any chance?"

"Um, well, ah," Hagrid stammered before Hermione called out. "It's alright, Hagrid, you can let them in." He reluctantly stepped out of the way, and the two boys entered the small hut, which was becoming crowded with two Slytherins, four Gryffindors, a half-giant and what looked like a large boar-hound snoring loudly off in a corner.

Jim, who was sitting at a table with an ice pack held against his forehead, said angrily, "What do you and your snake friend want?"

"Good question. A better one is '_why are you getting medical treatment from the groundskeeper when we have a fully stocked infirmary staffed by a professional mediwitch_?' Then again, forget I asked. I'm sure the answer is ridiculous. Anyway, Little Brother," Jim practically snarled at that, "we're here because Theo and I noticed that you were having problems with your broom, and we were curious at to Hermione's thoughts as to the cause." He looked directly at Hermione and smirked. "I'm practically _burning_ with curiosity."

Hermione crossed her arms and huffed at him in annoyance, while Neville pretended to cough to cover up his laugh. It was Ron who answered, though.

"I'm surprised you don't know, snake! It was that greasy git, Snape! He hexed Jim's broom!"

"Here now," said Hagrid, who was busy setting out a pot of tea and looking about for some extra cups. "Tha's jus' nonsense. Snape's a Hogwart's perfessor. Why would he want to harm Jim?"

"Quite right, Hagrid," said Harry cheerfully, as he picked up one of the cups, inspected it briefly, and began to wipe it clean with the hem of his robe. "It's ridiculous to think that Professor Snape would do such a thing."

"Harry," said Hermione regretfully, "I know he's your Head of House, but it's true. I saw him. The whole time Jim's broom was being jinxed, Professor Snape was staring at him without blinking and muttering to himself. You have to maintain constant concentration to maintain a jinx against the protective wards on a Quidditch broom."

"Oh, I know that full well, Hermione," Harry said amiably as he poured tea for everyone. "After _Daddy_ sent that Nimbus 2000 to Jim in the front of the whole school during breakfast last month, I took an avid interest in brooms and especially in how susceptible they might be to jinxes, hexes and curses. Just personal curiosity, you understand." Jim and Ron looked at Harry as if he'd just confessed to plotting murder. Hermione merely rolled her eyes while Neville shook his head.

"Dammit, Harry, you promised!" said Neville reproachfully.

"We agreed no death, dismemberment or permanent injuries, Neville. I was simply investigating whether it was possible to hex a Nimbus so that the rider's clothes would vanish if he ever got near a Snitch."

"You son of a bitch!" exclaimed Jim furiously.

"_Jim_!" exclaimed Harry. "That's our _mother _you're insulting! Anyway, such magic is currently beyond me. For the moment, at least." He smiled evilly at his brother. "The defensive spells on a Nimbus 2000 are state-of-the-art and so strong that only someone skilled in the most obscure of Dark Arts would be able to jinx one at all, let alone in a truly dangerous way."

"Das' very true, Harry," said Hagrid. "Rock cake?" The huge man held a plate of dark brown ... things out to Harry and Theo. Behind him, Hermione and Neville frantically started waving their hands back and forth while mouthing "_No_!"

"You're very kind, Hagrid," Harry said smoothly, "but dinner will start soon, and Theo and I shouldn't spoil our appetites." Hagrid looked disappointed but then shrugged and bit into one of the cakes himself with a frightening crunch.

"Be that as it may," continued Hermione, "if anyone at Hogwarts is capable of such Dark Arts, it's probably Professor Snape."

"Yes," said Harry, "unless it's, oh I don't know, the _Defense Against the Dark Arts_ instructor, maybe? Who, by the way, was also maintaining unblinking eye contact and muttering the whole time Jim's broom was bucking like a bronco, at least until you knocked him over en route to your little arson attempt."

Hermione sniffed in annoyance. "Honestly, Harry. It was just Bluebell Flames. There was no danger of actually burning Professor Snape. You make me sound like a pyromaniac or something."

Jim interrupted at that point. "Hang on, forget about the blasted Bluebell Flames. You're saying _Quirrell_ was the one who tried to kill me?"

"I'm quite certain of it. Hermione, you were distracted by your focus on Professor Snape, but from my vantage point, I could see the whole thing. As soon as you knocked Professor Quirrell over, the interference with Jim's broom stopped immediately." He considered for a moment. "You know, looking back on it, it was very fortunate that the two were seated as they were. It would have been just ... _tragic_ if you could have gotten to Snape without passing by Quirrell first. You might have distracted the man casting the counter-jinx, leaving the actual jinx in place, in which case Little Brother here would be a gory splat all over the Quidditch field turf."

Hermione blanched, while Jim raised his chin defiantly. "I'd have survived. There were plenty of wizards who could have caught me if I'd fallen."

"That's a good point, actually," said Neville. "Whether it was Snape or Quirrell, what did he hope to gain by making Jim fall off his broom in front of nearly a thousand witnesses, any number of whom could have easily caught him with a Levitation Charm?"

Harry took a sip of tea and then shook his head. "Oh, I'm sure that wasn't the plan. Professor Quirrell was actually quite clever, but he didn't anticipate someone noticing him and blocking his jinx. I imagine his goal was to take direct control of the broom and then just fly it into the ground at its maximum speed, thereby splattering Jim all over the turf like a sack of overripe tomatoes." The Gryffindors looked varying shades of green at his casual description. "Everyone would have assumed that Jim had thought he'd seen the Snitch and flown after it too fast, only to lose control. There is a _reason_ after all, that the school doesn't _normally_ allow First Years to even keep brooms on campus, let alone play on house teams while riding top-of-the-line racing models designed for professional matches. The Boy-Who-Lived would be dead or critically injured in a tragic but perfectly foreseeable Quidditch mishap. So sad. So very, very sad," Harry said in a tone that did not suggest the tiniest bit of sadness. "And then, most likely, the Headmaster would have been blamed for bending the rules to let Jim play at all and probably even be forced out of his position, thereby leaving whatever the Cerberus is guarding more vulnerable."

"How do you know about that?!" exclaimed Ron. Harry gave him an almost pitying look.

"Yeah, how d'yer know 'bout Fluffy?" asked Hagrid in agitation. Behind him, Neville mouthed in astonishment "_Fluffy?!"_

"Purely by second hand knowledge, I assure you," said Harry evenly. "I only bring it up to show that Quirrell is much more dangerous than he appears. And I want you and you," he said pointing at Hermione and Neville, "to stay _away _from him." Then, he looked over at Jim. "You, on the other hand, can go poke him with a stick for all I care."

Jim just made a face at his brother as Hagrid spoke up. "Well, all of ya's stay away from that corridor and from Fluffy. What he's guardin' is no concern o' yers! It's strictly between Perfessor Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel! ... _I shouldn't ha' said tha'!_"

Harry inhaled sharply, closed his eyes and started massaging his temples as Hermione's eyes lit up in excitement. "_Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn!_" he thought. "_She's got a __**research **__**project **__now! I've got a few months at most before she puzzles out who this Flamel bloke is, and then ..."_

"What, _the _Nicholas Flamel?" piped up a surprised Theo, who had been sitting quietly all this time. "The alchemist? The one who made the Philosopher's Stone?"

"**GAAAAAAH!**"

**The next update will post on Monday, June 8th, between 4 and 6 pm (CST). It will be Snape-centric for those who've been looking forward to that. Be warned. He might be sarcastic at some point.**


	19. HP&POS 19: Parent-Teacher Conference

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

**CHAPTER 19: The Parent-Teacher Conference**

_**Meanwhile...**_

From the east window of the Headmaster's Office, Severus Snape watched as Harry stormed out of Hagrid's hut in an uncharacteristic fury, followed soon after by three friends and two enemies. Snape's face had a curious expression as he saw the Granger girl run after Potter – something oddly halfway between a smile and a sneer. Truthfully, he wanted to give the girl points with one hand and take them away with the other. It had taxed his skill with the Dark Arts to their limit to prevent Quirrell from slaying The Other Potter. Then, the girl had solved the problem elegantly (if accidentally) simply by knocking Quirrell over to break his line of sight and then by creating a distraction with her Bluebell Flame Charm. Of course, she had used the Bluebell Flames against _him_, but luckily, the magical flames generally could not harm living things and merely inflicted some minor scorching to the hem of Snape's robes. The Potions Master assumed that she had mistakenly thought him the cause of The Other Potter's trials instead of being the one trying to save him, but he suspected that The Sensible Potter had already set her to rights on the matter. Or perhaps not – from the looks of his uncharacteristic shouting, something had clearly happened to infuriate the boy.

Snape's ruminations on the First Year children and their activities served to block out the idiotic ravings of The Worst Potter, but a sudden lull in the level of general stupidity behind him caused him to realize he'd been asked a question.

"I beg your pardon, Headmaster. I was lost in thought."

"I asked, Severus, if you had any idea why Professor Quirrell might target Jim Potter under these circumstances? He has made no move against the boy so far. Why now?"

"Frankly, I suspect it is because of the ill-considered decision to let the boy play as Seeker despite his youth and inexperience," said Snape, unwittingly echoing Harry's own theory. "The whole thing has smacked of favoritism and pandering from the start, and if he'd died in his first match, it is likely you would have been blamed for allowing him to play. At a minimum, you would have faced a possible suspension by the Board of Governors. Lucius Malfoy, I'm sure, would happily use the boy's death against you. With you out of Hogwarts, Quirrell would have had a clear shot at the Stone ... which is almost amusing considering the Stone isn't even in position yet."

Dumbledore sighed. "Yes, it has been exasperating. The Mirror of Erised should have been prepared and in place before September 1st, but the difficulties of acquiring it from the Department of Mysteries without attracting undue attention were greater than I anticipated. It will be delivered within the week, and I will spend the month of December attuning it to the castle's wards. We should be ready for Quirrell by the start of second term in January, though I suspect he will wait until later in the year before he makes his move."

"A whole month for attunement, Albus?" said a surprised Lily Potter.

"It is a _very_ Dark artifact, Lily. One I would not normally let come within hundred miles of this school if the need were not so great. As it is, I will have to deactivate several of the school's protective wards designed to detect and block the intrusion of dark artifacts just to allow its entry, and it may take years before those wards become fully functional again. I wish it weren't necessary, but we all know what is at stake here both for Jim and for the wizarding world."

Severus sniffed. At this point in his life, he cared little for the wizarding world, and even less for The Other Potter. He simply wanted to see the last vestige of the Dark Lord destroyed forever. Then, all his old debts repaid, he could finally start searching for some new life for himself. Brazil, perhaps.

"It is gratifying to know that we all have our priorities in order," he said disdainfully. "Jim Potter first, and the rest of the world second. Oh, but, I forget. I suppose Harry Potter comes third once everyone else on the planet has been attended to."

"Why does it not surprise me, Snivellus, to know that you've taken Harry under your wing. No wonder he's gone bad," said James with a sneer. Snape rolled his eyes, but McGonagall was incensed.

"JAMES CHARLUS POTTER! While I respect your status both as auror and Lord of the Wizengamot, I tell you here and now that if I _EVER _hear that vile nickname again I WILL TRANSFIGURE YOU INTO A MOUSE AND _LEAVE YOU FOR MRS. NORRIS TO FIND!_"

Potter swallowed. "Sorry, Professor McGonagall."

"Don't apologize to me! Apologize to the man who, to my shame, I allowed you to bully and harass for seven years! And while you're at it, apologize to your other son, the one whom you assume has 'gone bad' merely for his placement in Slytherin despite the extraordinary heroism he has already shown in coming to the aid of the Longbottom Heir. And need I remind you, it is your _Gryffindor_ son who felt the need to use the word 'Mudblood' against a fellow house-mate!"

"Minerva," interrupted Lily, "no one was more embarrassed by that than me, and the same goes for that ridiculous Howler which James and I have ... discussed at length. And we both deeply regret the circumstances under which Harry was raised. But given his Sorting and his relationship to Jim, I agree with James that we have grounds to be concerned about Harry and the possibility of him becoming attracted to ... darker ideologies."

"Then kindly allow me to put those ludicrous concerns to rest, Lady Potter," said Snape contemptuously. "Harry's two best friends are, respectively, a Muggleborn and the third potential candidate identified in the Prophecy. He has consistently rejected enticements to friendship from the children of Death Eaters with the exception of Theodore Nott, another abused child with whom he has bonded and whose father he unabashedly loathes. His relationship with the Malfoy Heir is one of overt hostility. He is one of the prime movers behind a study group consisting of the top students of every house, yet he is so far the only Slytherin involved. He _immediately_ deduced that Quirrell was behind the troll incident and then _immediately_ brought his suspicions to me. _Nothing _in his conduct to date evinces antisocial behavior. If Harry Potter _ever_ becomes a dark wizard, it is because _you two_ have driven him to it with your own actions. In addition to your decade long abandonment of him to abusive Muggles, he is well aware of Lord Potter's continued efforts to disinherit him, and he is completely justified is assuming the worst about your plans for his continued health and survival should he lose the protections afforded by his Heir status."

"Severus, please," said Dumbledore. "We are all upset and concerned by how Harry was treated by the Dursley's. But you make it sound almost as though James is ... plotting Harry's death!"

Snape stared coldly at the Headmaster for several seconds. Then, he drew his wand and summoned a file from his office to Dumbledore's desk. "The boy's medical records. We have no idea of the full extent of his mistreatment, as wizarding children are more resistant to malnutrition than Muggle children and they also heal bruises more quickly. However, the boy was carried to hospital on three separate occasions for serious injuries inflicted by his relatives. _Curiously_," he said sarcastically, "at no point did any of the attending physicians forward the incident reports to the relevant Muggle authorities, despite reporting laws that make it a crime for them to fail so to do. If I were prone to conspiracy theories, I _might _wonder if someone had spent time Obliviating all the doctors and nurses so that the Muggle authorities would not look too closely into Harry Potter's living arrangements."

"Are you _seriously_ suggesting that we _knew_ Harry was being physically abused and actively covered it up?" asked James incredulously.

Snape examined his fingernails in apparent boredom. "I'm not suggesting anything at all, Lord Potter, as I've been rather busy here at Hogwarts and have not had opportunity to investigate the matter to my satisfaction. When time permits, I _will_ take the opportunity to interview his former teachers as well as any medical personnel who examined the boy after his injuries. And if I _do_ find signs of memory tampering, I _will_ be contacting Wizarding Child Services." He turned to face the Headmaster with an icy glare. "And I will also be ... reevaluating my association with this school. It has a history of ignoring the criminality of certain favored students that I had hoped was over and done with."

"How dare you...!" James started before Dumbledore sharply interrupted him. The old man looked almost stricken at Snape's insinuations, particularly those about the school which everyone present knew to be true. His own bias towards Gryffindor and against Slytherin had enabled the Marauders' bullying of young Snape for years and ultimately allowed Sirius Black to evade criminal prosecution for what, in retrospect, was likely a deliberate attempt on Snape's life. That leniency nearly led to disastrous results just a few years later when Black turned and betrayed the Potters.

"Severus," he said, "if it will satisfy your concerns, you have leave to spend as much time as you want next summer to investigate young Harry's upbringing and home life to your satisfaction. As the one who originally identified Harry as a probable squib and also the one who advised the Potters to place him with Muggle relatives, I am willing to accept a great deal of the blame for his suffering. _But_ I do not believe you will find that it was intentional on the part of anyone here. Nor do I think you will find anything as sinister as a plot to actively conceal his mistreatment."

"I certainly hope not, Headmaster. But I distrust coincidences, especially when the stakes are so high. Harry Potter and Neville Longbotton are the two alternative candidates who are capable of fulfilling the Prophecy if the Boy-Who-Lived falters. And not only were both of them subjected to abusive behavior by relatives, they were both also mistakenly identified as squibs despite demonstrating considerable magical power that the entire wizarding world somehow missed. Among Longbottom's recovered memories is one indicating he summoned a favorite toy from a distance of over fifty miles, an extraordinary feat. And in Harry Potter's case, his disciplinary file describes an incident suggesting that he once evaded his cousin's gang of bullying hoodlums by apparating to the top of a building over a half-mile away."

"That's impossible," said James flatly.

"No, just incredibly rare. Fewer than one-percent of wizarding children have verified incidents of either accidental apparation or long-range summoning. And in most of the confirmed cases, the child grows up to be an exceptionally powerful witch or wizard."

"How is the boy doing academically, Severus? I know he's the top student among the Slytherins in Transfiguration," said McGonagall.

"He is easily the top Slytherin student in his year and consistently among the top five among all First Years. The Granger girl dominates every class she's in except for Herbology, where Longbottom arguably has an unfair advantage due to his family history, but no one else consistently outscores Harry in every class. He had a rough start in some classes, of course, primarily due to being Muggle-raised. I'm certain he'd have done better initially had he been given the kind of early preparation that wizarding children take for granted." James stiffened at the implied insult. "I did notice an interesting detail in his academic files. When Harry was in his third year of Muggle primary, he was given an intelligence test that estimated his IQ to be at least 140. The school sent a letter to the Dursleys offering the boy the chance to participate in an accelerated learning program for gifted students. The Dursleys declined ... after keeping the boy out of school for a whole week allegedly due to illness. After he returned, his grades dropped precipitously, and for the remainder of his primary school days, by the end of each year, he consistently finished _exactly _one-half a letter grade below his underachieving cousin Dudley."

McGonagall closed her eyes and hissed. "A highly intelligent boy, abused by his relatives and likely threatened with worse if he ever showed up their slow-witted son academically. It's a miracle he never blew up his home or school with accidental magic."

"Which raises yet another question," said Snape. "My understanding has always been that Harry was placed with his Muggle relatives because he was believed to be a squib. I would like very much to know how that determination was made considering the placement was made at eighteen months when accidental magic is still rare. Even a casual reading of his school records indicates at least two other incidents suggesting accidental magic besides the one already mentioned, and we have no idea how often it happened at home."

Dumbledore sighed. "I have no answer for that, Severus. Several tests were performed at St. Mungo's immediately after Voldemort's attack that indicated that his magical core was nearly nonexistent. At first, Jim's was just as weak, but it quickly rebounded within days. Harry's did not, or at least, not during the several months he was kept under observation." The old man hesitated. "I must be honest with you. Part of the reason that I thought it wise to separate the two boys was that I was afraid that Jim had somehow drained Harry of his magic through the twin-bond they shared when he repelled Voldemort's attack. Sibling rivalry between a famous, powerful wizard and his squib brother would have been bad enough, but if it turned out that Harry was actually a squib _because_ of Jim, I can't imagine what feelings of hatred it would have engendered in him."

"The issue of whether Harry Potter is a squib or not has been decided. He is well on his way to becoming a formidable wizard." Snape turned to Lily and James. "You should move on to the question of whether you want him to be a part of your family again or instead wish to pursue your current and senseless antagonism. I have little optimism on that score, particularly if you insist on leaving him with the Dursleys. Personally, in Harry's place, I would hate you until my dying days for such an insult. But at the very least, stop trying to steal the boy's inheritance."

"No Slytherin has ever held the Potter Seat," said James with a quiet anger. "And no Slytherin ever will."

"Then you were unwise to have abandoned your future heir for ten years to an environment in which only Slytherin values could have helped him to survive," replied Snape contemptuously.

"We seem stuck in a rut, Albus," said McGonagall. "Is there anything else to discuss? If not, I should like to return to my quarters," she looked over at James with an icy expression, "and brood over my failures as a teacher." Potter's ears turned red at the rebuke.

It turned out that there was nothing left to say, and the other four left Dumbledore alone with his thoughts. Severus Snape had nearly made it to the dungeon when a voice from behind called out to him. It was Lily.

"What can I do for you, Lady Potter?" he said tiredly.

"You can start by calling me Lily, Severus. Whatever our past differences, we are colleagues now and can at least be civil to one another."

Snape sighed. Oddly, he found he couldn't even work up the effort to sneer properly. "We have not been on civil speaking terms since 1976, _Lily_. I find it interesting that you now seek rapprochement only after your son was caught insulting a Muggleborn in a moment of anger using the same bigoted slur that cost me my first real friendship."

"Yes, alright. Jim lashed out in anger and said the worst, most hateful thing he could think of. Just as you did. And I'm a hypocrite for trying to be understanding of Jim when I washed my hands of you over it. And ... I'm sorry. I know that doesn't mean much now. But I understand the pressures you were under as a Slytherin and also the sacrifices you've made for my family, even if James is too stubborn to see them. I'm sorry and ... I miss my friend."

He stared at her for several seconds. "You'll get over it," he finally said with cold finality. "Now, why are you really here?"

She swallowed. "When you look into Harry's ... situation with Petunia, please let me know what you find. I know you think I'm either a fool or a monster for leaving Harry with her, but I didn't think it would be like that."

"You didn't...?! Lily, do you remember when we were eight years old and Petunia called us _freaks_ because we could turn dandelions into butterflies? That's what Harry thought his _name_ was until he was six – Freak! How could you possibly have thought it acceptable to leave him with that creature?!"

"I thought she'd changed!" Lily exclaimed. "I didn't just dump him on her doorstep in the night, Severus! After I graduated, I wrote to her and we reconciled! We even corresponded during the whole time we were both pregnant. I personally went to her house and put wards on it after Dudley was born just in case some Death Eater found out she was related to me. When we brought Harry to them, her husband wasn't happy about it and she was obviously still uncomfortable with magic, but she _willingly agreed _to take Harry. I handed him over myself, and she _promised _to look after him." She took a few steps closer. Severus resisted the urge to step away from her. "Severus, find out what happened. Find out what made her act so cruelly towards my son."

"I ... Anything I discover which I share with the Headmaster I will also share with you." She nodded. After a hesitation, he spoke once more. "Answer me one question, though, Lily. If you had to choose, right now, between Harry and Jim, knowing how one has been cruelly mistreated and the other spoiled almost to the point of ruin, what choice would you make today?"

The color drained from her face, and when she spoke, it was with complete resignation. "There is no choice, Severus, and you know it. Jim is the Boy-Who-Lived, the Child of Prophecy. And if he fails, then the whole world will fall to the Dark Lord. I would have died myself to spare my sons from what happened that night, but that wasn't an option I was given. So yes, I would sacrifice Harry if I had to in order to help Jim reach the end of his journey. Just as I may eventually sacrifice Jim if that's where his destiny leads. I haven't had any real choices to make where either of my sons were concerned since 1981."

He looked at her and chuckled darkly. "No, I suppose not. Although I must say, Lily, I can see one positive benefit arising from how Harry Potter has been treated for the last decade."

"Oh?" she said almost hopefully.

"Yes. It has been twenty years since you and I were sorted into different houses. And at long last, I can finally and truthfully say ... I'm over you."

And with that, he turned and walked away.

* * *

**This was originally only part of a 6000 word chapter which I decided was a bit too cumbersome. The second half (which, naturally, will be called "Student-Teacher Conference") will be a special update to be posted on Wednesday, June 10, 2015 between 4 and 6 pm. It features the aftermath of Harry's "GAAAAAAH!" In other news, I finally noticed the button for making horizontal lines!  
**


	20. HP&POS 20: Student-Teacher Conference

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

**CHAPTER 20: The Student-Teacher Conference**

_Minutes later_...

To his mild surprise, Snape found Harry sitting in his usual chair in the Potions lab, softly banging his head against his desk. He sighed. "Mr. Potter. I don't believe that you have any detentions assigned to me, so I assume you have some information to share which you think is too vital to wait until Monday. Out with it."

The boy stopped banging his head but didn't lift it up from the desk. "Beneath the trap door guarded by Fluffy the Cerberus lay a series of rooms, each with a trap designed by one of the Hogwarts professors. Specifically and in order, by Sprout, Flitwick, McGongall, Quirrell, and yourself. And in the last room is Nicholas Flamel's fabled Philosopher's Stone which Professor Quirrell wants to steal." He finally raised his head and looked dully at Snape. "And _The Git-Who-Lived_ knows all about it."

Snape shook his head in resignation and sat down at his desk. "How?"

"Hagrid. A few details from Theo that only hastened the inevitable, but mainly Hagrid. He. Just. Would. Not. Shut. Up! I'm surprised he's not up in the Astronomy Tower right now with a megaphone, blaring out the secret of how to get past the Cerberus!"

Snape leaned forward. "Did he ...?"

"No, but only because I made a big scene and stormed out in such a way that everyone followed me. I'm sure Jim and Ron will go back and get it out of him later. Mind you, I don't even see how getting past Fluffy is any big deal to begin with."

The Potions Master raised an eyebrow. "Indeed. So have _you _figured out the secret for neutralizing the Cerberus?"

"No, but unlike some people I could name, I'm not a powerful homicidal wizard who has infiltrated Hogwarts in order to steal the Philosopher's Stone. If I were, I'm pretty sure I would just use the Killing Curse on Fluffy and then get on with it."

"Ah, the direct approach. Unfortunately for us, Potter, the enemy is more knowledgeable than you. Hogwarts' wards would instantly detect a Killing Curse cast within the castle and alert not only every faculty member to the location where it was used, but also the DMLE. The beast is highly magic resistant, and no spell less potent than the Killing Curse would easily kill it. There is only one way to overcome the hellhound and reach the trapdoor without sounding the alarm and only Hagrid and the Headmaster know what it is."

"Have you considered Obliviating Hagrid?"

"One point deducted for your cheek, Potter. Do not mock the Hogwarts staff, not even Hagrid. We all have our roles to play."

"Well, I'm sorry, sir, but I'm a bit upset, as I have friends who I now feel are in genuine danger. I was willing to ignore the troll as a simple diversion that got out of hand, but Quirrell has just demonstrated his willingness to murder a student in front of several thousand witnesses. Granted, it was _Jim Potter_, but he's still a Hogwarts student. And while I may not care about the Git's fate, two of my best friends are caught up in his orbit and are potential victims if they get drawn into his ... _adventures_," Harry's voice dripped with contempt on the last word.

"You are not responsible for the fate of those who will not listen to your reasoned advice, Potter. If it is any comfort, that was a hard lesson for me to learn as well. Encourage your friends to avoid Quirrell and to resist being drawn into the Other Potter's foolishness. That is all you can reasonably hope to achieve."

"Sir, I might be more confident about this whole situation if I could see any sense to it. Why even hide the Stone in a school in the first place? I'm _eleven_ and I can think of better protections for the Philosopher's Stone sticking in Hogwarts behind a gauntlet of traps."

"Really, Potter?" sneered the Potions Master. "You actually think yourself more clever and intelligent than the entire Hogwarts faculty put together? Such hubris is unbecoming of you."

The boy grimaced and shook his head. "I don't think anything of the sort, Professor Snape. But I have read the reports about the defeat of You-Know-Who and the role Sirius Black played in it. Consequently, I am _also_ aware of a little thing called the Fidelius Charm which provides _absolute protection _so long as you aren't stupid enough to share the secret of what you're hiding with your enemy. If Nicholas Flamel had really wanted the Stone protected, he'd have hidden it at the bottom of his sock drawer, cast the Fidelius with his wife as Secret Keeper, and let that be the end of it."

Snape did not respond. The silence in the room barely lasted barely three seconds, but it seemed like an eternity before the boy finally spoke again.

"Which is, _of course_, exactly what he _did!_" Harry said with rising annoyance. "The _true_ Stone is hidden away under a Fidelius while the Headmaster makes a grand show of constructing elaborate traps around a convincing fake. He even announces what room it's in at the Opening Feast while standing ten feet away from Quirrell, since exposing Quirrell is actually the entire point of this whole exercise!" Harry exhaled in visible anger. "Professor Snape, who _is _this man? The upper year students remember Quirrell as a likeable and well-spoken Muggle Studies professor and certainly not a stammering cold-blooded killer. Is it some imposter impersonating Quirrell or has he... been ..."

The boy trailed off, his eyes slowly widening. The Potions Master had let Harry talk out of curiosity as to how much he could deduce on his own. Snape had submitted to Dumbledore's orders that he not warn his Slytherins of the true nature of the threat stalking the halls of Hogwarts, but nothing in his vow prevented him from subtly confirming or denying the hypotheses of his more intelligent students. After nearly ten seconds, however, he became mildly concerned at the boy's seeming paralysis and so exercised a power he rarely used, despite what the more paranoid Hogwarts parents might believe: Legilimency. The results were unexpected, as Snape had never before encountered someone who outwardly wore a masque of calm tranquility while screaming hysterically on the inside.

"_**OH GOD! IT'S VOLDEMORT! VOLDEMORT'S NOT DEAD! VOLDEMORT'S POSSESSING THE DADA INSTRUCTOR! THAT'S WHY HIS PERSONALITY HAS CHANGED! VOLDEMORT IS TRYING TO STEAL THE STONE TO GET A NEW BODY AND HAS POSSESSED QUIRRELL TO GET IT! THAT'S WHY JIM AND I HURT WHEN QUIRRELL TURNS AROUND – BECAUSE VOLDEMORT IS PROBABLY STARING AT US OUT OF THE BACK OF QUIRRELL'S HEAD LIKE AN EVIL PUSTULE OF DOOM AND QUIRRELL WEARS A TURBAN TO HIDE HIS DOOM PIMPLE AND HE TRIED TO KILL JIM OUT OF REVENGE FOR 1981 AND HE'LL TRY TO KILL ME BECAUSE I ALREADY PROVED I CAN TAKE DOWN A TROLL AND ALSO JIM AND I LOOK ALIKE AND VOLDEMORT'S AN EVIL INSANE MORON WHO WON'T BE ABLE TO TELL US APART AND ...!"**_

"POTTER!" barked Snape. "Get a hold of yourself!"

Harry abruptly shook his head and blinked several times, as Snape rose and moved to where the boy sat. The Professor reached into his voluminous robes and pulled out a potion, which he handed to Harry. "Drink this. It's a Calming Draught."

Harry took the potion cautiously and looked up at his professor. "I wasn't aware I needed calming, sir," he said shakily.

"Indeed, Potter. I've never before seen someone demonstrate such external composure while having an internal panic attack. Drink."

Harry pulled the stopper and downed the potion in one gulp. Then, he frowned as he considered the implications of what Snape had just said. "You can read my thoughts," he said. It was neither a question nor an accusation, merely an observation.

"Yes," Snape said after some hesitation, "when necessary. It is an obscure and difficult skill known as Legilimency. I would reassure you that I only rarely use it on students, though since you have no means of detecting it or even defending against it save through completely avoiding eye contact, you would be foolish and naive to believe me."

"Right. And who else can do this ... Legilimency?"

"I really couldn't say."

Harry looked Snape _directly_ in the eye and _thought_ as clearly as he could. _"Because you don't know? Or because you're under an oath not to reveal?"_

Snape's mouth twisted into something that was almost but not quite a smile. "Both," he said aloud. "I can say that, as far as I know, Professor Quirrell lacks this ability, _but_ if he should turn his back to you, it might be wise to avoid looking directly at the back of his head. Or, indeed, in his general direction."

"Oookay. Is there any better defense to Legilimency than that?"

Snape regarded the boy for a moment. Then, without another word, he turned and left through the door to his office, returning a moment latter with a small leather bound book which he handed to Harry. The boy crooked an eyebrow as he regarded the cover.

"_**Great Potion Masters of the Holy Roman Empire**_?" he read in confusion.

Snape gave him a '_don't be stupid'_ look. "The cover is transfigured, Potter, as it is not something you should be seen reading by the casual observer. Though not illegal, the mystic art known as Occlumency is frowned upon by most authority figures since a Master Occlumens can potentially overcome the effects of Veritaserum and other magical techniques for discerning the truth in a court of law."

Harry nodded and opened the book. The title page read **Occlumency: The Moste Hidden Arte**. "Occlumency. And that will help me to shield my thoughts against Professor Quirrell?"

"No," Snape said bluntly. "It is fantastically unlikely that you will be able to develop even the most rudimentary Occlumency shields before the Quirrell situation resolves itself one way or another. Consider this more of a long term self-enrichment project. While the text will be immediately useful in improving memory and defending against some more obvious psychic attacks, it will likely take you a minimum of two to three years of consistent study and practice before you can reliably defend yourself against any competent Legilimens."

"Two ... to three ... years. Great. No shortcuts at all?"

Snape looked thoughtful. "There is one rather ... extreme alternative approach." Then, he shrugged. "Sometimes, it even works."

"Sometimes?"

"Yes. Approximately one out of every twelve or so wizards is able to spontaneously develop a form of natural Occlumency often in as little as a month or two in response to regular exposure to high level Legilimency attacks. That is actually how I was first introduced to the discipline as I am one of those rare individuals."

Harry nodded. "And the other eleven or so?"

"They waste their time writhing around on the floor clutching their heads in agony while simultaneously being forced to relive their most painful and humiliating memories."

The boy blinked a few times. "I'll try the book first."

"A wise decision. And remember, what you have deduced cannot be shared with others, lest the enemy have a greater pool of unprotected minds from which he can learn of our plans for him. Do not speak of it. To the extent possible, do not even think upon it."

Harry nodded solemnly. He knew what was at stake now. "_Voldemort is alive – well, for some definitions of 'alive.' Voldemort is possessing a Hogwarts professor. Voldemort is after the Philosopher's Stone. And Dumbledore and most of the staff __**know**__ about it and have a __**plan**__ for dealing with him, hopefully for good. So all I have to do is keep a bunch of hyperactive Gryff's from interfering and cocking things up. No problem._" Harry resisted the impulse to start banging his head on his desk again in despair.

Later that night, Harry was alone in the common room reviewing the book Snape had given him. When asked, he told the other Slytherins that it was an extra credit assignment for Binns because he was worried about his inability to stay awake in the ghost's History class. Having made his way through the first six chapters, Harry decided to call it a night and put the book away when he noticed something unusual in his book bag: a folded and wax-sealed piece of parchment he had never seen before but which had his name printed on the outside. The lettering was in a plain generic script and appeared to have been engraved through magic rather than handwritten. He cast the few diagnostic spells he knew on it, and all of them came up negative. Which, of course, merely meant that if the paper was cursed, it had been done by someone higher than a First Year. Harry exhaled. Paranoia had been getting to him, but there were obviously easier ways to hex him than via a mysterious letter stuffed into his book bag.

With a shrug, he sliced through the wax seal with his wand and opened the letter. On the inside were six words in the same bland script followed by a question mark, words that meant nothing to him but definitely piqued his curiosity. And immediately after Harry read the question, the paper disintegrated in flash of green fire, without even leaving any ash or residue behind. Just a six-word question now stuck in Harry's mind:

"_**Who Is The Prince of Slytherin?**_"

* * *

**And finally, the title drops. The next update is scheduled for Friday, June 12, 2015 between 4 and 6 pm CST. Among other things, Augusta Longbottom will be completely awesome.  
**

**AN: Someone reviewed under "Guest" with some issues about Hermione's intelligence, and Hermione and Harry's respective power levels, with the implication that both were two powerful for First Years. I can't respond directly to anonymous reviews, but I thought I'd say a bit about Hermione here to answer any general concerns. First, I see Hermione as a genuine prodigy. As in, if she'd stayed in the Muggle world, she'd have been one of those kids who had their doctorate at 18. There is simply no other explanation for how an eleven-year-old could have read (and nearly memorized) all her books in their entirety in the month before the first day of class or consistently displayed knowledge of spells years above grade level throughout the series or brewed a NEWT level potion in a disused lavatory.**

**Second, Harry didn't use an invisibility spell in Chapter 12. She was surprised at the idea that any 1st Year could do an invisibility spell because of the raw magical power required for it. The incantation and wand movements for such a spell may well be within her ability, but the physical power and concentration required are both things she and Harry will have to grow into. She failed to realize that Harry used a magical item rather than a spell, hence her confusion. The approach I'm taking for magic is this: if you are sufficiently intelligent, most spells are easy to learn. That doesn't mean that most spells are easy to _cast_ because some spells require a high level of innate magical power (like summoning a broomstick from far away) while others have esoteric requirements (like the Patronus's requirement that you maintain a happy thought while casting even as Dementors are attacking you).**

**But while learning the words and movements for any particular spell are easy, there's only so many hours in a day and the teachers have dozens of students to deal with in each class. So they teach specific spells in class either because they're particularly useful (Wingardium Leviosa) or for pedagogical reasons (learning to transfigure a matchstick into a needle makes it easier to later learn transfiguring a button into a beetle, compared to doing it the other way around). My assumption is that most spells are learned through self-study once the basic principles are taught, as there's not enough time in the day for Flitwick to teach every Charm to every student. He teaches certain Charms to illustrate concepts and then students learn other related Charms on their own. And prodigies like Hermione can take those concepts farther than slackers like Crabbe and Goyle.**

**Also, it's amusing to hear people suggest these characters are overpowered. While they're both doing well academically, I've only had them use Wingardium Leviosa, Accio (at short ranges), Lumos, Bluebell Charms, and the Switching Charm (Hermione only, and IIRC, she demonstrated knowledge of that spell in either Book 1 or Book 2). So far, Harry's been dangerous because he uses low level spells creatively, not because he's using anything from the later books. I hope this answers any concerns.**


	21. HP&POS 21: The Christmas Feast

**Harry Potter and all associated charaters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

**CHAPTER 21: Christmas Dinner**

_**25 December 1991**_

Surprisingly, it had been a quiet seven weeks since the infamous Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match. Quirrell had made no more murder attempts on Jim or anyone else. The Gryffindors had taken no further action to investigate the Third Floor corridor or to "protect" the Philosopher's Stone from Quirrell ... or from Snape, as the Git and the Weasel were convinced that he was the true villain and it had been Quirrell who saved Jim from falling. Harry chose to let them believe that in the hopes that they'd do something stupid in Snape's class and get enough detentions to keep them out of trouble. Today, on Christmas morning, he thought back over recent events as he got dressed.

True to his word, Blaise had joined the study group, and he had been remarkably polite to those of less than immaculate blood purity. More than polite, in fact. He'd been almost flirtatious with all of the female members, including Hermione, a fact which troubled both Harry and Neville for reasons neither of them could articulate. Initially, Blaise had been a bit cagey around Harry after the latter had guessed correctly about his interest in Muggle culture, but soon, he made something of a game of letting Harry guess just how integrated into Muggle society he actually was. In addition to casual familiarity with _Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure_, he'd also let slip a few _Simpsons _references and even looked sadly sympathetic when Hermione bemoaned the cancellation of _Doctor Who. _They were also both fans of something called _Press Gang._ Harry himself was vaguely aware of the latter two shows and had actually seen several episodes of _The Simpsons_ on occasions when the Dursleys left him with Mrs. Figg while they were on holiday. Only a few, though, as the older lady preferred American Westerns for some odd reason. Ironically, Harry had never actually seen _Bill &amp; Ted _at all, but he'd _heard _it a dozen times, as it was one of Dudley's favorite videos and the television was next to his cupboard.

One big hint about Zabini came when Harry learned that the boy would be spending the Christmas holidays at his mother's mansion in Manhattan. A wealthy woman, Madame Zabini (_Countess_ Zabini, to be precise, though Blaise claimed he didn't like "to brag") had a dozen homes around the world, but she preferred to celebrate the holidays in New York, due to a fondness for the city's legendary Times Square New Year's festivities. Blaise mentioned that Manhattan did not have a concentrated magical community comparable to Diagon Alley, and so the wizards of New York took things like subways and cable television for granted. He also joked that he sometimes felt like the wizarding equivalent of _The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air_, a reference that was completely lost on Harry as it was not the sort of show the Dursleys would ever watch.

Theo had also joined the study session, Harry was pleased to see, although he remained shy and quiet. Neville made a point of taking Nott under his wing and giving the boy encouragement, especially when Harry wasn't around to do so. As far as Neville was concerned, Theo, by showing him how to unlock his suppressed memories, had helped save Longbottom's life just as much as Harry and Hermione, and he was determined to do what he could to repay the favor. After a few weeks, Theo's class performance had improved noticeably, though he had to put up with snide comments from some of the older Purebloods suggesting that Harry was leading him to consort with "undesirables." The first time he successfully performed a Transfiguration before Draco Malfoy made it all worthwhile, however.

When not preparing for end of term exams, Harry had divided his time between his ongoing legal dramas with the Potters and searching the school for any references to the elusive Prince of Slytherin. Both matters seemed to be at an impasse. For the moment, James Potter had no authority to disinherit him, but he would certainly keep looking. Harry, for his part, was looking into backup plans in case his birth-father ever succeeded, but according to the law, it would require hiring Gringotts to perform a few blood tests. Since Harry had no intention of sending samples of his blood via owl post, that meant he would have to wait for the summer.

Furthermore and to Harry's consternation, _none_ of the snakes of Hogwarts would answer any questions about the Prince of Slytherin. They all knew _exactly _what the term meant but were either unwilling or unable to answer Harry's questions about it. The best he could get was advice to _not _ask fellow students or any faculty members, as both would be at best a waste of time and at worst a possible invitation to assassination. The bluntness with which some of the snakes talked about the danger inherent in the information was startling. The only practical piece of advice Harry got was from Egbert, who, after days of prodding, finally advised Harry to seek "the Sentinel" who could be found "past the nests where the lesser powers dwelt" which meant absolutely nothing to Harry.

In early December, Snape passed around a sign-up sheet for those who would be staying at Hogwarts over the Christmas holidays. In Slytherin House, that consisted solely of Harry and Theo. Draco made an insulting remark over Harry not having a family that wanted him for Christmas. Harry just smiled and rubbed his fingers, as if they were itching to hold a wand, and the boy paled and walked away.

For two days now, Harry and Theo had the entire Slytherin dorms to themselves, which actually surprised Harry a bit. He'd assumed that more of the Slytherins would seize the opportunity to avoid their families over Christmas break, but apparently most Slytherin households were not as ... difficult as House Nott. Harry, of course, had no desire to return to the Dursleys, but he was somewhat annoyed to learn that Jim and Lily would remain at the castle over the break and that James would be joining them for the Christmas Feast. He wondered if he could get special permission to eat in the kitchens with the house elves.

The various Weasleys also stayed over Christmas break. Ronald avoided him like the plague, apparently afraid he would get Slytherin cooties or something, but Harry had several amiable conversations with the Twins as well as a thoroughly enjoyable snowball fight in which Theo also took part. Unfortunately, it ended prematurely when Quirrell walked by and the Twins tried to knock his turban off his head. Harry made an excuse to break things off in case the two succeeded and provoked some lethal reprisal. He also had several interesting conversations with Percy Weasley. Well, not _interesting_ as such – several of them were, in fact, excruciatingly dull. The older Weasley was happy to discuss such topics as the system for selecting prefects, what job opportunities there were post-graduation, and after he'd opened up a bit, his opinions on the six Slytherin prefects. Harry had also dropped a few hints warning Percy about Ron's association with Jim and about how they'd both displayed far too much interest in the Third Floor corridor. Harry didn't know if it would help, but it couldn't hurt to have another pair of eyes watching the two.

Harry's Christmas morning started off on an upbeat note, as he had received gifts from Neville, Hermione and several members of the study group. Oh, and a gift-wrapped toilet set from the Twins. The most interesting gift, however, was a nicely wrapped box with no card containing a VHS copy of _Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure_. Inside, however, was a blank tape. Harry wondered for a bit where he could possibly play it at Hogwarts. Then, on impulse, he cast a Finite Incantatem on the tape, and it transfigured itself into the form of a small book bearing the title **Pathways of the Mind**. Inside was a handwritten note that simply read "_You may find these exercises more helpful than those in your regular Occlumency reading. Also, Mom wants to meet you sometime_." It was, of course, unsigned. Laughing at how easily Blaise simultaneously combined obfuscation with theatricality, Harry transfigured the book back into a VHS tape and put it away. From the Dursleys, he received a one-pound note. He didn't get anything at all from the Potters. Theo received mountains of candy from his brother Alex, from Neville, and of course from Harry, but nothing from his father, for which he actually seemed somewhat relieved.

Around lunchtime, Theo and Harry made their way down to the Great Hall for the Christmas Feast. The Hall was filled with dozens of trees all wondrously decorated. The normal four House tables were gone, as was the raised dais and the faculty table that normally sat upon it. Instead, there was one long table in the center of the room, filled to the creaking with food. By tradition, everyone who remained in the castle at Christmas ate together. The two Slytherins made their way down to the far end of the table and took their seats next to a few upper-year Ravenclaws who they didn't know, but introductions were quickly made. The four Weasley brothers, Lily and Jim sat at the opposite end, although the Twins and Percy all waved to Harry as he sat. Those faculty members who remained at the castle sat in the middle.

Just as the Feast was starting, James Potter entered, kissed his wife, presented the Git with a big box in gold foil and sat down, all without ever looking even once in Harry's direction, a feat which actually required obvious and deliberate effort on his part. Harry just shook his head in amusement. A few minutes later, the doors burst open again, and, to Harry's pleasant surprise, Neville came in, accompanied by his grandmother. And still in her stuffed vulture hat! The two stopped off to wish Dumbledore and the other faculty members a Merry Christmas and then made their way to the far end where Harry and Theo sat. Neville gave the two a big hug and then introduced them to the deeply intimidating Augusta Longbottom. She explained that in light of "recent events," she had thought it diplomatic to dispense with the usual Longbottom Family Christmas they customarily shared with Algie's children and grandchildren. Both Harry and Theo bowed respectfully and kissed the woman's knuckles in the traditional manner. She registered her approval and then eyed Theo somewhat severely.

"You are the son of Tiberius Nott, I take it?" she said imperiously.

He swallowed deeply. "I am his younger son, yes, ma'am."

"I must confess, Master Nott, that I do not approve of your father."

He grimaced but did not lower his gaze. "If you will forgive the impertinence, ma'am, I don't much approve of him either."

The old woman fixed him with a gimlet eye ... and then she smiled. "My grandson informs me that the House of Longbottom owes you a debt. I wish you to understand that this debt is owed to _you_ and not to the House of Nott. Furthermore, should circumstances ever warrant it, the House of Longbottom offers you sanctuary." She turned to include Harry. "That offer extends to you as well, Harry Potter."

The two boys bowed respectfully and offered their thanks. Privately, Harry hoped that things wouldn't degenerate to the point that he'd need sanctuary with the Longbottoms, but who knew what the future held. Anyway, it was good to know that Theo had a safe house if necessary. Harry also noticed that, at the far end of the table, James was finally unable to ignore them any longer, and he was visibly upset to see Madame Longbottom and her grandson merrily eating Christmas dinner with two Slytherins while ignoring the Potters completely.

At the end of the feast, the Longbottoms said their goodbyes – they were heading to St. Mungo's to visit Neville's parents as was their Christmas tradition – and made for the door. Harry was surprised to see James and Lily following after her, dragging an annoyed Jim behind them. He was half tempted to follow, but he assumed Neville would owl him later with a rundown if anything interesting was said. He did notice that Professor McGonnagal was staring after them with a fairly venomous look in her eye. In the foyer of the Great Hall, the Potters caught up with Madame Longbottom and her grandson.

"Madame Longbottom! Sorry, I just didn't want you and your grandson to leave without wishing you a Happy Christmas!" said James jovially. "I don't know that we've ever been formally introduced. I'm James Potter and this is my wife Lily. And of course, this is our son, Jim Potter. Lily and I were great friends with Frank and Alice."

"Really? I wasn't aware, Lord Potter. I do recall that Frank had mentioned you in passing during his school days, though you were a few years behind him. And my recollection was that Alice was to be the godmother of your twins while Lady Potter was to be the godmother of little Neville. But then, I never heard from either of you after Frank and Alice were injured. And, of course, when you felt the need to send your young heir away, you never inquired as to whether he might be welcome in the House of Longbottom rather than being sent off to live with Muggles. So, _naturally_, I assumed that I must have been mistaken on the matter."

James coughed and adjusted his collar which suddenly seemed too tight, while Lily looked stricken. "Madame Longbottom," James said. "I apologize for any offense we have given you through our failure to maintain contact. As for Harry, we made what we thought was the best decision at the time. Regarding Neville, it is true that we should have been more proactive with Lily's role as godmother, but no paperwork had ever been filed making her role official, and we felt it inappropriate to intrude after the Wizengamot had already made its decision about regency and guardianship. That said, we would like to make it up to the House of Longbottom now and hopefully construct a new alliance with you. We're hosting a New Year's Eve party next week, and we would be honored if you and Neville could attend. Several of Neville's schoolmates will be there."

"Is Harry coming?" asked Neville mildly.

James's eye twitched. Jim actually snorted and started to say something when Lily dug her fingernails so hard into his shoulder that he nearly hissed in pain. "Harry has ... decided to stay at the castle for the entire holidays rather than coming home," she said. Neville's expression darkened a bit at that. He knew that Potter Manor had never even been offered as an option for Harry. It was Hogwarts or the Dursleys.

"Oh, that is a pity," said Augusta. "In any case, I believe that Neville and I have other plans for New Year's. Perhaps another time."

"I hope so." James took Augusta's hand (which she proffered rather stiffly) and kissed it, before turning to leave.

"Oh, Lord Potter?" He turned back to the old woman who stepped in very close to him, as if to whisper a secret for his ears only. "My son Frank... never liked you," she said quietly and dangerously. "He thought you were spoiled and arrogant, and he was incensed that neither McGonagall nor Dumbledore would do anything to rein in you and that gang of bullying thugs with whom you surrounded yourself. Alice practically had to drag him to your wedding, and Alice herself was utterly baffled as to why her sensible and intelligent friend would ever agree to marry you in the first place. I just thought you should know all that before you embarrass yourself further by asserting a close friendship with people who can no longer speak for themselves."

And with that, Augusta Longbottom turned and led a beaming Neville away from a humiliated James Potter and his family. Once they were through the doors, Neville spoke. "Have I mentioned lately how awesome you are, Gran?"

"Tosh, Neville. I've gotten entirely too soft in my old age. Twenty years ago, I'd have hexed his bits off."

* * *

**The next update is scheduled for Monday, June 15, 2015. After twenty-one chapters, Dark!Harry finally makes an appearance.**


	22. HP&POS 22: The Mirror of Erised

**Harry Potter and all associated charaters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

**CHAPTER 22: The Mirror of Erised**

**_26 December 1991_**

"_Harry!"_ whispered Theo urgently. Harry grunted and rolled over to see his friend standing next to his bed, though why he was whispering in an otherwise empty room was a mystery.

"What is it, Theo?" asked Harry grumpily, still half-asleep. "And what time is it?"

"Never mind that now," the other boy said at a more normal volume. "I found something... something strange. And ... I really need you to take a look at it and tell me what it means. Please?"

Harry felt around in this dark for his glasses and wand and then cast a Lumos and Tempus. "Theo! It's nearly 3 o'clock in the morning!" he said irritably. "What could you want me to see that can't at least wait until dawn?"

"It can't wait, Harry. Please, just come with me." It was at that point by the dim light of the Lumos spell that Harry realized his friend had been crying.

"Theo, what's happened? Tell me what's going on?" he asked, suddenly alert and wary.

"I can't just explain it – you wouldn't believe me. That's why I want you to come see for yourself. It's ... I think it's _possible_ that I've gone crazy, so I want someone ... sensible ... someone I trust to back me up and tell me if what I found is real or not." Theo could see Harry's hesitation in the gloom. "Harry, in all the time we've been friends, I've never asked you for anything. But I'm asking you now, please come with me."

Harry studied his friend. It was true that Theo, shy as he was, had never made any demands on Harry's friendship. Not even after the loan of his Notice-Me-Not ring to aid in rescuing Neville at Halloween. At the time, Harry had not fully appreciated how precious a gift that was. The ring was a Nott family heirloom. It was _supposed_ to be with Theo's brother Alexander at Durmstrang, but Alex was intensely if discretely protective of his younger brother and secretly gave him the ring, a Rememberall and several other magical items which Tiberius Nott had intended for his Heir Presumptive. The elder Nott would be furious to know that Theo had the ring at all, and Harry shuddered at the thought of his reaction if he ever learned that Theo had given it to a Potter in order to help rescue a Longbottom.

"Do I at least have time to get dressed?" he asked wearily. Apparently not, as seconds later, the two exited the dungeon in pajamas, robes and slippers, though Harry insisted on donning his wand holster. Five minutes later, Theo led Harry into an empty dust-covered classroom in an unused wing of the school. In the middle of the room was a large and rather ornate free-standing mirror, standing about four-feet wide and twice as tall. Theo pointed at it excitedly and started in that direction, but Harry quickly grabbed him by the shoulder. "No. I've followed you here after curfew, but I'm not going near that thing until you tell me what's going on. How did you even find this room?"

Theo looked embarrassed. "Well, I was feeling a bit hungry during the night – you know I have trouble sleeping – so I sneaked over to the kitchens for a snack. One of the upper years who's friends with Alex told me how to find it and how to get in. On my way back, Mrs. Norris saw me, and I thought Filch might catch me, so I ran. I got turned around, and when I thought I heard them behind me, I ducked in here. That's when I found her."

"Her?"

Theo nodded excitedly and pulled free of Harry's grasp. He ran across the room to stand in front of the mirror with a rapturous expression on his face. Cautiously, Harry followed him more slowly into the gloomy, dust-covered room. About halfway across the room, he jumped at the sound of the door creaking behind him. He'd forgotten that he'd left it open partially. Slowly, he turned back towards Theo and moved to join his friend, waving away the dust and cobwebs while mentally steeling himself for whatever image the mirror showed.

"Isn't she beautiful," Theo said softly. And she was, with her brilliant red hair and dazzling green eyes only a shade darker than Harry's own. His only question was why Theo was so entranced by Lily Potter. Well, that and why Theo was ignoring the other three figures in the mirror – James Potter, Jim Potter, and Harry himself. But then Harry had never seen a reflection of himself like this one: healthy, happy and thrilled to be in the company of the other Potters. He still wore Slytherin robes, just as Jim wore the colors of Gryffindor, but there was no hint of animosity over it on the part of either twin. The brothers each had an arm over the other's shoulder as if they were the best of friends. James, in his auror's robes, affectionately rubbed his fingers through Harry's hair, mussing the perfect Sleekeasy hairstyle, but Harry only laughed as if used to it. And Lily looked back and forth at her three boys (for James's easy laugh made him look like an overgrown boy playing dress-up as an auror) in the very picture of maternal love. Theo was right – she was beautiful.

"_This is what it should have been. This is the life we all should have had,"_ Harry thought in wonderment.

Then, Theo spoke again, almost dreamily. "So beautiful. Why did she have to die, Harry?"

Theo's words sliced through the train of Harry's thoughts like a jagged knife, and out of sheer reflex, Harry initiated the basic self-diagnostic techniques that had comprised the first lesson of his introductory Occlumency training. "_Wait, what? Lily's still alive. So what is Theo talking about? Some other woman? Of course. He sees someone else in the mirror, someone he loves as much as I love my family. So we see different things. I see that my family loves me, and he sees that someone he loves who died. But ... that means that what he's seeing isn't real. And if he is seeing something impossible then ... what I see ... is impossible too. They look like they love me. Impossible. They look like they accept me. Impossible. I look like I love them. Impossible. It's all a lie. Nothing but IMPOSSIBLE LIES!"_

With a low guttural cry like a wounded animal, Harry turned his face from the mirror and staggered a few steps away, dropping to his hands and knees as he fought the urge to vomit. And it _hurt_! It had been physically painful to rip himself out of the comforting fantasy that beckoned within the mirror. Even now that he knew it was a deception, he _still wanted_ to go back and look at it again. From somewhere behind him, he thought he heard a movement and in a flash, his wand was out panning the room. But there was nothing there – just his imagination playing tricks, the pounding of his heart making him jumpy.

As he retracted his wand, he suddenly noticed that his hands were shaking, and from his side vantage point, he dared another look at the mirror. It seemed safe now. Well, safe to him – Theo had also fallen to his knees and was staring in awe at the image it held, tears streaming down his face even as he grinned in delight. Apparently, its powers only affected those who looked directly into it. Harry marveled at what sort of stupidity would lead to something as monstrous as this being placed in a school. Then, he remembered what _else_ had been placed in the school and understood. This was a _trap_, one meant for _Voldemort himself_. And some fool had left it in an unlocked room over the Christmas break. Harry shook his head. Then, he thought back to what he'd felt when he looked into the mirror and let out a shuddering breath. He had nearly been ensnared by a trap intended for Voldemort. Would it have driven him mad? Sucked out his soul? Or merely left him inert and helpless until someone else came along? Almost certainly, he would never have broken free on his own if he hadn't begun a study of Occlumency, and even then, he'd needed Theo to say something to trigger his primitive defenses. He thanked whatever gods wizards were supposed to worship that Theo himself had broken free long enough to come to him instead of staying here alone all night.

Harry rose and edged around slowly, avoiding a direct reflection. At the top of the mirror, he noticed, was some lettering. It was an archaic script but clearly English letters, though it didn't look like the English language (or indeed, any language Harry had ever encountered). "ERISED STRA EHRU OYT UBE CAFRU OYT ON WOHSI," it said. Harry studied the words for a moment and then rolled his eyes. "_Wizards,"_ he thought contemptuously. He hoped Voldemort didn't take the time to read the instruction manual someone had helpfully placed atop the mirror before looking within, or Dumbledore's little game would be all for nothing.

"_So, the mirror shows images of whatever one subconsciously wants to see the most, which in Theo's case, is the image of a dead woman,"_ thought Harry. "_Probably his mother who, according to Neville, died in a vaguely suspicious accident in 1985. Theo would have been four or five." _Harry focused on whatever was going on in Theo's bewitched head, brutally pushing aside for the moment any thoughts on what he himself had seen within the mirror. He wasn't big on self-reflection at the best of times, and with Theo ensnared, this was certainly not the best of times.

"Theo, why did you bring me here?" he asked mildly.

"You're so much cleverer than me. I could see her, but I can't get her to speak. I knew if I showed her to you, you could find a way to let her communicate, and she could tell everyone the truth about how she died. Then, she could be at peace. We both could."

Harry closed his eyes and again silently cursed whoever left the mirror here. He assumed it was Dumbledore, but there seemed to be no shortage of idiots at Hogwarts. "Who, Theo? Who do you see in the mirror?".

"It's ... it's my mother," he confirmed without taking his eyes from the mirror. "Can't you see her?"

"No, Theo. The mirror shows something different to whoever looks into it. Tell me about her. What does she look like?"

"Like I said – beautiful. Her eyes are ice-blue and her hair is the color of fresh straw. And she loves me even though ..." Theo's eyes blinked rapidly. Harry took a step towards him and readied himself, careful to avoid looking into the mirror himself.

"Even though ... what?" Harry asked gently.

Theo's mouth began to crinkle. "It was because of me. Father wanted a girl. He had his male heir to carry on the line, and he wanted a daughter Draco's age to get a marriage contract with the Malfoys. He made Mother take an illegal potion to increase the chances of a female child. But it didn't work and it made her sick and I almost died as a baby. I was sickly for years ... another reason for him to hate me. And when I was three, he made her try again. That baby was stillborn, and after that she couldn't have any more children." Theo's eyes started to blink rapidly, as Harry tensed. "He was angry all the time after that. At her. At both of us. Drunk a lot, too ... he would say ... '_what's the point of a wife who can't even breed properly?_" And ... that if only they'd found out earlier ... that I'd been a mistake... she could have _aborted_ me and started over earlier."

Then, Theo broke out into wracking sobs, his head bowing and his eyes squeezing shut, and Harry made his move while the visual connection was broken. He darted forward to Theo, twisted the boy around by the shoulders to turn him away from the mirror, and placed his hands on either side of the boys head so he couldn't turn back in its direction. Then, he leaned forward until the two boys were touching foreheads.

"Shhh, Theo. It's okay. I'm here. I told you I would be here for you if you ever needed me, and here I am. But I need you to stay strong and listen to me. And most of all, _I need you to focus on me. _Do _not_ look at the mirror."

"But, my mother ..." he said through his tears.

"_It's. Not. Her. _Theo. I'm so sorry but it's not really her. The mirror is a trap. The words over the mirror are backwards writing and they say "_I SHOW NOT YOUR FACE BUT YOUR HEART'S DESIRE._ And that's just an awful thing to show to someone who's hurting, because to show someone his heart's desire when he can't have it or even touch it is just the cruelest thing you can do to someone. Now _forget _the mirror and just focus on me. Go on with your story. What happened to your mum? I'll be here to listen and be with you and help you, but you have to stay focused on _me."_

The two slowly turned to sit on the floor with their backs to the mirror. It was still difficult though because somehow, even with his back to it, Harry swore he could _feel_ the image of his loving family still in the mirror calling out for his attention, and he was sure it was worse for Theo. Harry put his arm around his sobbing friend's shoulder and held him firmly.

Theo took a few seconds to collect himself. "When I was about five or so, I heard them arguing and poked my head out of my bedroom door. He was drunk again, and he'd just found out that the Malfoys had set up an arranged marriage between Draco and Pansy. He was furious, yelling about what a waste I was and what a failure she was. They argued and ... and he backhanded her hard. She was standing at the top of the stairs and ... she fell."

Theo broke down at that and wept for a moment, resting his head on Harry's shoulder. Not knowing what to say, Harry just held on tight to Theo's shoulder and waited for him to continue.

"After ... that happened, Father saw me and realized I'd seen everything. He grabbed me and said he'd kill me if I didn't go along with his story. When the auror's came, he told them that I'd bumped into her on accident while running down the hall and that's why she lost her balance and fell. I said it was true even though it must have been obvious I was lying. Not that it mattered. We're an Ancient and Noble House, so none of them wanted to look too closely at how the Lord's wife ended up dead. But Alex knew. That's why he gave me his Rememberall – in case Father ever tried to change my memories so that I _believed_ his story. Alex didn't want me to carry the guilt for what Father did, but he made me promise not to tell anyone because ... because Father would kill me." Theo laughed brokenly through his tears and wiped his sleeve across his face. "Father wants to kill me anyway. He's joked about it enough. He actually jokes at dinner about how he many different ways he could kill me and get away with it. I think he's just waiting for a good excuse. That's why ... when I saw ... I thought she was a ghost or a spirit or maybe the mirror let you talk to the dead. And if she could accuse him, maybe the Ministry would do ... _something!_"

Theo's whole body shook with silent tears as Harry rubbed his back while trying unsuccessfully to come up with something – anything – comforting to say. The boy's distress was so loud and heartfelt that Harry almost didn't hear the cough. _Almost_. He spared a quick glance over towards the entrance to the room and saw nothing. Then, he looked at the floor and noticed telltale footprints on the dusty floor. Two sets belonging to Theo and himself, and a third set that looked like prints from a pair of trainers that led to an alcove directly across the room where the boys were sitting.

"Theo?" Harry whispered. The boy slowly looked up into Harry's suddenly intense eyes. "I need you to keep very calm and still. Keep your eyes on me, and keep your back to that mirror, okay? Can you _promise _to do that?" Theo nodded slowly. And then, Harry _moved, _snapping out his wand and standing as he cast. "_**VENTUS!**_" He put as much power as he could into the air-generating spell and was rewarded with a powerful gust of wind that enveloped the intruder in a cloud of thick dust that had him coughing uncontrollably. But more than that, the wind also caused the edges of the invisibility cloak the other person was wearing to flap up, revealing the legs of a boy in Gryffindor robes wearing the same expensive new trainers that Harry's brother had shown off at Christmas dinner the previous day. Theo watched in surprise before stiffening in fear at what sounded like a feral beast somewhere nearby. Then, he realized it was Harry ... growling.

"_**ACCIO JIM POTTER!"**_

Jim yelped as his legs were pulled out from under him, and he banged his head as it hit the floor. The invisibility cloak fell away completely as the boy slid feet-first towards his brother. Disoriented, he tried to pull his wand out of his pocket, but Harry kicked at his hand and the wand went flying across the room. Then, Harry jumped on top of Jim, landing hard astride the other boy's stomach and weighing down his arms. Jim coughed in pain as the air was knocked out of him. Instantly, Harry had his left hand around Jim's throat with his thumb just below the Adam's apple and the tip of his wand sticking painfully into the flesh below Jim's chin.

"Hello, Little Brother_,_" Harry said through clenched teeth. "So _glad _you could join us." There was a terrible rasping edge to Harry's voice that Theo had never heard from him before. Jim froze. He couldn't move easily anyway, and from this position, Harry had his choice of crushing Jim's larynx or shooting a spell straight into his head. The Boy-Who-Lived looked up into his brother's deathly green eyes, and after four months of calling Harry a "dark wizard," Jim suddenly wondered just how dangerous his brother might really be. He wasn't the only one.

"Theo?" said Harry in a commanding voice without ever moving or breaking eye contact with Jim, "are you still looking at me and not the mirror?"

"Y-yes, Harry," said Theo. His own voice cracked in anxiety. When Harry had held Malfoy at wandpoint back on Halloween night, he'd talked in a light and playful manner even as he threatened to shoot Draco in the face with a fireworks spell. Looking back, it had been like a cat toying with a mouse it had caught. This was different, a much more dangerous predator who was not in any kind of playful mood.

"Good. Now, I want you to go out that door without looking back and return to the dorm. I'll be along shortly."

"N-no. I'm ... I won't leave you alone with him, Harry."

"It's okay, Theo. I can handle him."

Silence hung in the air. "I'm not worried about _him _hurting _you_, Harry," Theo said quietly.

With that, Harry smiled, still with his eyes locked on Jim, who swallowed at the sight. To him, Harry might as well be baring his fangs. "It's okay, Theo. I already promised Neville. No death, dismemberment or permanent injury. Now go on back to the dorm. Jim and I are just going to have a little chat. Brother to brother."

Slowly, Theo edged his way around the twins who seemed frozen in some violent tableau, like living statues of Cain and Abel. At the door, he almost turned around when Harry spoke again in that frightening voice Theo had never heard from him before tonight. "_Don't. Look. Back._" He was suddenly alarmed to realize how much Harry's voice reminded him of his father's voice during his darker rants. Theo took a deep breath and exited the room, pulling the door shut behind him and hoping that he wasn't leaving the scene of Jim Potter's imminent murder.

Harry neither moved nor relaxed his grip, and his eyes bored into Jim's. He spoke softly but with such coldness that the other boy shivered. "So, did you enjoy the show, Jim? One slimy Slytherin snake comforting another who was crying over his dead mother and his murderous Death Eater father. I'm impressed you could keep from laughing. I bet you can't wait to tell all your Gryffindor friends about it."

Jim coughed. "Harry, it's not..."

"_Shut. Up._ Don't even pretend with me. You followed us with your little invisibility cloak hoping to get us into trouble. Finding us weeping in front of Dumbledore's new toy was just gravy. You have no _idea_..." Harry shook for a second, his thumb digging just a little deeper into Jim's throat. Jim's eyes widened in fear.

"You Gryffindors ... with your games and your pranks and your ... _adventures_. You have no idea what it's like to be Theo Nott and live each day knowing that your own father might kill you on a drunken whim. Or what it's like to be Harry Potter and worry that you'll drop a plate while doing the dishes and get locked up in your boot cupboard for a day. Or maybe a _week_. This is not a game to us, Jim, because _Slytherins don't play games._ Theo and I are what we are because it's how we survive. Do you understand what I'm saying, Jim?"

"Y-yes, Harry. I understand."

"No. No, I don't think you do, Little Brother. So let me be a little more direct." Harry leaned forward without relaxing his grip or moving his wand, until his face was less than a foot from Jim's. "Since literally the day we first met, you have told nearly everyone who will listen that I am a dark wizard. So now, I want you to listen to what the dark wizard has to say and believe it with all of your tiny shriveled heart. If _any_ harm comes to Theo Nott and I trace it back to the Big Fat Mouth of the _Boy-Who-Lived_, I swear to you on the souls of the parents who abandoned me that you will learn to fear me more than you have _ever_ feared Voldemort. Do you understand _that_, Little Brother?"

Jim, unable to speak due to the pressure on his throat, nodded urgently. Slowly, Harry relaxed his hands and rose up, never taking his wand off Jim. Then, he turned and headed towards the door. "Nice cloak," he said casually as he passed by it. "I guess I know what _Daddy_ got his Number-One-Son for Christmas."

He had just put his hand to the door when Jim coughed out his name. "Harry...! Wait!" He hesitated, waiting for Jim to continue.

"What did you see ... in the mirror? What did you see?"

Harry turned back to his brother who was still resting on the floor. "You first," he replied coldly.

Jim swallowed again, steeled himself, and turned to face the mirror. Then, he gasped. Part of him was strangely unsurprised by the reflected image now that he knew what the mirror did, but Jim Potter would never have guessed in a million years how similar it was to what Harry had seen. James and Lily were there, and Harry and Jim were loving brothers, though this version of Harry had hair as unruly as Jim's own and wore identical Gryffindor robes. In fact, Jim couldn't tell which of the twins in the mirror was which, for neither of them had been marked with an identifying scar. It seemed that in the world of _his _heart's desire, Voldemort had never come to their house and torn the twins apart.

"_POTTER!"_ barked Harry after a few seconds. Jim's attention snapped away from the seductive image and back to the reality of an angry Slytherin glaring at him. "Well?"

Jim swallowed. "I saw Mom and Dad and myself and ..." The words died in his throat, a truth he could not bring himself to admit to any Slytherin but especially not this one. "And that's all. I'm an only child."

Harry snorted as if he'd expected that answer.

"And you?" Jim asked. "What did you see?"

"Just myself," Harry lied just as easily. "Which is all I've ever needed. I'm in my mid-twenties, I think, and wearing formal robes as I'm sworn into the Wizengamot as the new Lord Potter." He sneered hatefully at his twin. "Presumably because James Potter lies rotting in his grave." Then, he turned with a flourish and strode out of the room, leaving an angry and shaken Jim behind. After a moment's hesitation, Jim stood up slowly and walked out as well, snatching up his wand and his father's cloak as he left.

Seconds later, there was a shimmer in an archway in the far corner as Dumbledore allowed his invisibility spell to lapse. The archway itself led to a secret passageway that only the Headmaster could navigate – he'd come as quickly as he could once he sensed the mystic alarm indicating that the Mirror had ensnared a victim. Exhaling slowly, Dumbledore replaced his wand inside his robe. He'd kept it at the ready, just in case it was necessary to separate the Potter twins before violence erupted, but despite Harry's cold fury, the old wizard believed that there was no murder in the boy's heart, just a terrible wound that couldn't be healed. And so the old wizard stayed his hand as long as possible to watch invisibly. Still, it was ... unnerving to see Harry Potter instantly shift from the compassion and protectiveness he held for the Nott boy to the ruthless efficiency with which he disarmed and then threatened Jim.

Dumbledore looked back to the Mirror of Erised with revulsion. He'd been working on the modifying the mirror's enchantments all night and had only taken a break for an hour to review some notes on its history that he kept in his office. The door had to be remain unlocked while he was harmonizing the cursed mirror with the school's protective wards, but at 3 a.m. and with so few students in the castle, he felt sure it was safe. And yet _three_ students managed to find the wretched thing in under an hour! He grimaced at the implications. Had the Mirror of Erised itself somehow reached out for potential victims? Or was there some other force at work? Or perhaps Fate was just toying with the Potter Twins as it had for more than eleven years.

The Headmaster shook his head. He'd planned to spend another few days finishing his modifications, but now he was reluctant to leave the mirror for even one more hour than necessary where students might encounter it. He closed his eyes and sent a mental command for a house elf to fetch him a pot of strong coffee. He would finish his work tonight whatever it took and then move the mirror to the Third Floor. As he moved closer to the foul thing, Dumbledore ignored the images of dead and estranged family members waving to him from the other side of the mirror's glass. Attuned as he now was to the inner workings of the Mirror of Erised, its dark magic and the regrets they reflected held no purchase on him. He was more troubled by the images he'd seen reflected for the Potter Twins – two boys so much alike and with so much in common, but who now, it seemed, could only cause each other pain. With a heavy heart, Albus Dumbledore returned to his work.

* * *

**The next update will post on June 19, 2015, between 4 and 6 pm (CST).**


	23. HP&POS 23: The Sentinel

**Harry Potter and all associated charaters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

_**CHAPTER 23: The Sentinel**_

Harry found a relieved Theo waiting for him just ten feet down the corridor. After reassuring his friend that, yes, Jim Potter was still very much alive, the two returned to the Slytherin dungeons. There, Harry and Theo stayed up talking until well after the sun came up before crashing and sleeping until noon. At lunch, Harry briefly made eye contact with his brother – non-threateningly, Harry thought, though Jim still quailed at the sight of him – and it seemed clear that the Boy-Who-Lived had taken his words to heart. Ron glanced at Harry without interest and took no notice of Theo at all, so Harry assumed for the time being that Jim would not be gossiping to anyone about the previous night's scene.

The remainder of the Christmas holidays fell back into a normal routine save for a notable reversal of circumstances. Theo, who had previously suffered from fits of insomnia for years, now slept more soundly, presumably due to the catharsis of finally talking about his mother's death with someone he trusted. He was more relaxed during the days when talking to other students and he even helped the Twins prank Percy. He'd also gotten tired of listening to Ron's bragging and challenged the Gryffindor to a chess match. He lost, of course – the Weasel was a genuine prodigy at chess, surprising for such an otherwise mediocre student – but he'd lasted longer than anyone below Fifth Year who'd played Ron since the year began. Ron had even looked worried at several points, and after the game was over, he actually shook Theo's hand and asked if they could play again sometime.

Conversely, it was now Harry who'd developed difficulty sleeping. He was no more prone to nightmares than before, but now, those nightmares were broken up by strange dreams where he and the Potters lived together in familial bliss, including a few where he was somehow a Gryffindor with awful hair _of which he was inexplicably proud!_ Eventually, he was forced to acknowledge the truth – that there was some small, deeply buried part of him that, despite everything he'd been through, still wanted to be part of the Potter family. It was a ridiculous notion to be sure, particularly since the Git's "heart's desire" was that he'd never even been born. Harry had to admit that the Mirror would make a fiendish trap. If it could make him feel a longing for the love of the Potters, surely it could trap Voldemort in some equally absurd fantasy.

Having now added insomnia to his already lengthy list of personality quirks, Harry had taken to wandering the Slytherin dorms on those nights when sleep became impossible. He was searching mainly for snakes hidden in the artwork and architecture that he hadn't talked to yet, but he seemed to have found them all. The operative phrase being "_seemed to,_" as there were six rooms he had not yet entered – the six prefect bedrooms. Harry didn't know how the other houses worked, but in Slytherin, all six prefects resided in private bedrooms that doubled as offices, all of which could be found in a side corridor called Prefect's Row that branched off from the common room. Harry assumed that all of these rooms would be warded against intrusion, but unless there were concealed areas (which, admittedly, there probably were), the prefects' rooms were the only rooms in the whole dungeon he hadn't entered. And so it was, just past midnight on the last Saturday morning before the holidays ended, that Harry found himself nervously entering Prefect's Row, a place no First Year Slytherin ever wanted to be without permission.

Ahead of him was a dimly lit corridor about forty feet long. There were three equidistant doors on each side, with the male prefects on the left and the females on the right. He started with the closest on his left, Fifth Year Prefect Titus Mitchell, on the entirely baseless theory that Titus (as the youngest of the three males) might be less paranoid about security than any of the other prefects. Harry crept up to Mitchell's door, looked around nervously, and cast the Alohamora. The irony that he was using the "illegal lock-picking charm" for the same illicit purpose for which he had chided Hermione months before was not lost on him. In any case, the door did not open, which meant the youngest and least pragmatic of the six Slytherin prefects had more sense than whoever put Fluffy in his room on the Third Floor. On the bright side, there was no loud alarm nor any other sign that he'd been identified as a possible intruder. Privately, Harry decided that if he ever became a prefect, he'd Charm his room so that anyone who even tried to break in would end up with purple skin for a year.

With some trepidation, he tried the Alohamora on each of the other five doors, all to no effect. Annoyed and dejected, Harry turned back down towards the common room. In retrospect, it should have been obvious that a First Year, no matter how skilled, wouldn't be able to simply break into any prefect's private rooms. They wouldn't be prefects if they weren't, at a minimum, powerful enough to defend their own property. Then, suddenly, Harry stopped.

"_Powerful,"_ he thought. "_Prefects are powerful, relative to other students at least, and selected primarily __**for** __their power. Not just for academic achievement (which is, itself, one type of power, in a school at least), but for raw magical power and skill, for family reputation and financial backing, for popularity in the House and the charisma to build social alliances, and even for physical prowess. I mean, seriously, Marcus Flint is in danger of flunking half his classes but he's still the Sixth Year prefect due to family connections and Quidditch skills." _

Harry turned to look back down Prefect's Row as he recalled Egbert's cryptic words from weeks before. _"But the Prince of Slytherin, whoever or whatever he is, is presumably more powerful within Slytherin than a mere prefect. So in comparison, the six prefects are 'lesser powers,' and Prefect's Row would be 'the nests where the lesser powers dwelt.'" _

Carefully, Harry walked all the way back down the dark corridor, past all six bedrooms, until his path was blocked by a blank wall. Except it wasn't really a blank wall at all. It looked more like an archway that had been sealed over years or even centuries before with grey bricks. At some point, a large crack must have developed in the wall which had been patched over with a chalky white mortar, leaving the impression of a jagged scar several inches thick in places that ran all of the way from the top right corner to the bottom left. Harry paused.

"_Why would they repair a crack in a Hogwart's wall with mortar when they have magic?"_

He gingerly reached out to feel the crack and realized that it was not mortar at all. The "crack" had been carefully painted onto the stonework. Examining it more closely, he noticed a faint scale-like texture to the paint and realized the jagged crack was actually a very crudely drawn snake. But then, he saw that even its very crudeness was deliberate, as no casual viewer would have ever recognized it as a snake unless specifically looking for one. Harry cleared his throat.

"Ahem. Am I addressing the Sentinel?"

Instantly, the crack shifted on the wall, with the thicker piece at the bottom rising up to a point a foot above Harry's head and the rest dropping down towards a horizontal coil a few feet above the ground. It was now _definitely_ a snake, white with grey eyes, and a large cobra from the way its hood fanned out menacingly as it regarded the boy. It was, without a doubt, the most intimidating snake Harry had encountered since arriving at Hogwarts.

"_The Sentinel am I, charged by the Founder to guard the Prince's Lair. Who art thou, Speaker, to address me thus in the Founder's own sacred tongue?"_

Harry's eyebrows shot up. He'd met many very old snakes in the castle, but none so old that the actually sounded archaic.

"My name is Harry Potter, Sentinel. I seek knowledge about the one called the Prince of Slytherin. I was told that you might be able to help me."

The Sentinel hissed angrily. _"Thou art a child, ignorant and weak. Thou hast done nothing to earn passage save bleat entreaties in the Founder's tongue after prizing ill-gotten secrets from loose-tongued serpents. Thy humility marks thee as unworthy, and so, thy ... __**request**__ is denied. Begone!"_

Harry was shocked. He had never been spoken to rudely by _any_ snake he'd encountered, and way the Sentinel said "request" felt like sheer contempt. Harry took a step back and then stopped himself, thinking deeply about what the Sentinel said ... and what exactly the Sentinel's views on the topic of "worthiness" might be. Then, after taking a deep breath, Harry boldly stepped forward again.

"You are gravely mistaken, Sentinel, especially in your assumption that I was making any sort of ... _request_. And what you call humility was meant to be simple diplomacy which I now see was wasted, and so I will be more direct. I am Harry Potter, Heir Presumptive of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter. I am a Speaker of the Founder's Sacred Tongue. I have quested throughout this castle in search of you and earned the trust and respect of the wisest of Hogwarts' serpents. Though I am young, I am no child, for my childhood was burned away by cruel neglect and brutality as soon as I could walk. I am not ignorant, for I was cunning enough to lay low a mountain troll despite my youth. I am not weak, for I have already crossed wands with my greatest rival within the House of Slytherin and humbled him, instilling in all my peers a fear of my power. Like a shadow, I pass unnoticed beneath the gaze of the most dangerous dark lord of our time even as I proudly aid those who seek his ruin. I have seen my heart's desire reflected in the darkest of cursed objects, and my will was strong enough turn aside from it. So, Sentinel, if these are not enough to earn my passage, then you will tell me what more I must do to satisfy you. Otherwise, serpent, _you will obey my command and reveal to me the secrets of the Prince of Slytherin!"_

The Sentinel's angry hissing grew louder and more incoherent as Harry spoke, until finally, after Harry issued his final command, it grew silent and still. Then, without any further response, the Sentinel twisted itself back into its original shape and resumed the apparent form of a simple crack in the wall. Harry deflated, disappointed that his attempt at bluster had been unsuccessful, when he heard a very soft grinding sound coming from the wall. Suddenly, the bricks that made up the wall split along the crack, not collapsing so much as peeling away in a manner similar to the wall that marked the entrance to Diagon Alley. With seconds, where the brick wall had been, there was now an entryway into ... darkness.

Casting a Lumos with his wand, Harry stepped forward. He need not have bothered – a soon as he crossed the threshold, the darkness of the entryway gave way to a room brilliantly illuminated by glass chandeliers, each crystal reflecting the light of dozens of enchanted candles. And what a room the Prince's Lair was! The secret chamber looked to be twenty yards wide and twice as long with a twenty-foot vaulted ceiling. All of the walls were covered in oak paneling, with polished marble floors covered in elegant rugs. The wall to Harry's right was marked with a massive stone fireplace easily big enough for a man to walk through without ducking, and there appeared to be a fresh bucket of Floo powder next to it. On either side of the fireplace were several massive bookshelves full of tomes so old and mysterious-looking that Harry resolved never to tell Hermione Granger about this room, lest she tear the Slytherin dungeon apart stone by stone to get at them. The wall on the left bore what looked like forty to fifty small silver nameplates meticulously arranged with room still for dozens more. The far wall was completely dominated by a massive tapestry. Most of the writing was too small to read from across the room, but the words "HERE BE THE HEIRS OF SALAZAR SLYTHERIN" clearly indicated that it was the Founder's family tree.

In the middle of the Lair was a long mahogany table, with three chairs on each side, each also mahogany with emerald green upholstery. Rising up from the back of each chair were two matching brass finials elegantly cast into the shapes of adder heads. But it was the seventh chair that dominated Harry's attention, for even calling it a chair seemed so grossly inadequate as to be an insult. It was, without a doubt, the single most magnificent piece of furniture that Harry had ever seen. Shaking off his amazement, Harry stood tall and spoke out with confidence.

"Good evening to you all. My name is Harry Potter. I am honored to stand before you." The veritable _chorus_ of hisses that welcomed him to the room made him grin from ear to ear.

A few hours later, it was Harry's turn to rouse Theo from slumber and drag him off to a secret room containing an ancient and somewhat sinister magical artifact. Once he had the boy inside the Lair, Harry explained where they were, why they were there, what it all meant, and, oh by the way, he could talk to snakes. Understandably, Theodore Nott immediately fainted dead away.

* * *

**The next update will be uploaded on June 22, 2015 between 4 and 6 pm CST.**

**AUTHOR NOTE &amp; POLL QUESTIONS! I am presently working on the post-Quirrellmort epilogue to year one, which raises some issues. First of all, I'm a little behind on setting up year two, so unless I get on the stick, there may be a two to four week gap before Harry's second year begins. I have thus far maintained a 10-chapter cushion so that I have plenty of time to edit before publishing, but that may not be sustainable. We'll see how it goes. **

**Anyway, that leads me to my next question - Do you the readers think it would be better to continue this story as one long fic under the heading of "Harry Potter and the Prince of Slytherin"? Or would it be better to end this fic at the end of the year and start up a separate story for Year Two (and later years) called "Harry Potter and the Something of Something"? I'm agnostic, but was curious if the regular readers had any preferences. **


	24. HP&POS 24: Pairings

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

**CHAPTER 24: Pairings**

_**7 January 1992**_

Harry spent as much time as possible in the Lair over the last weekend of Christmas break, with Theo covering for him with the castle's other residents. The boy knew his time was short. It would be insanely risky for him to try to sneak past all six prefects to access the Lair once they'd returned to school, and even Theo's ring wouldn't help since he couldn't hold his breath while speaking the password to enter the Lair or close it behind him. Consequently, Harry needed to learn as much as possible as quickly as possible, both by interviewing the room's various serpent inhabitants about the Prince of Slytherin and by perusing the small number of rare books he was permitted to withdraw from the room for personal use. He very deliberately did _not _take any books which the faculty might deem "dark," although he soon learned to his annoyance just how ambiguous the term "dark" was according to the school's vague guidelines.

He also took the time to master the Gemino Charm which, in conjunction with Hermione's innovations with the Switching Charm, allowed him to make a small portable copy of Salazar Slytherin's family tree that he could take for later study. He used the same spells to copy the names and dates on the silver placards that covered one of the walls and assemble them into a single document full of names to research, the earliest of which dated back nearly to the time of the Founders. The next-to-last name on the list made him laugh out loud. No wonder Draco expected his father to be able to fix any problem! He now genuinely looked forward to meeting Lucius Malfoy, and he hoped Draco was on hand when he finally did.

The first Tuesday after classes resumed also meant the return of Hermione's study group. Initially, there were three absentees: Lavender Brown and the Patil sisters. A few minutes into the session, Padma Patil arrived with her book bag and sat in her usual seat. Then, with a somewhat affected bit of throat-clearing, she began what sounded like a prepared speech.

"I have been asked to inform you that Lavender and Parvati will no longer be attending this study group as it conflicts with a different study group which they have been asked to oversee. I have also been asked to convey to you all that this is in no way intended as a slight to any of you, least of all you Hermione, as you are all '_super-cool'_ and you, Hermione, in particularly are '_totally awesome._' However, loyalty to House Gryfindor and the sincerity of Jim Potter's pleas for academic assistance forced them to make this difficult choice. Lavender and Parvati sincerely hope that this will not affect their friendship with any of you and wish you all the best of luck on your exams and in all your future endeavors. That concludes their message."

Everyone stared at Padma for several seconds with varying degrees of confusion. Finally, Blaise spoke. "I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess that '_totally awesome_' and '_super-cool_' were the only words from that speech that were quoted verbatim."

"Correct. For clarity's sake, I did take the liberty of translating the message from Parvati-speak to the Queen's English," Padma said drily.

"Much appreciated," said Harry. "So to sum up, they wanted you to tell us that they can't join us because they'd prefer to attend a Gryffindor-only study session that Jim has deliberately scheduled at the same time as our own. Is that about the size of it?"

"Yes."

"Out of Gryffindor loyalty?!" spat Hermione in shocked disbelief. "She's been complaining about Jim almost as much as I have!"

Padma shrugged. "That's the message I was asked to convey ... minus some nonsense words which I assume came from _Teen Witch Weekly._"

"Uh-huh," said Blaise. "So what's the real reason?"

"I beg your pardon."

"What Blaise means," said Harry, "is that you pointedly described that as '_the message you were asked to convey_' which is not necessarily the same thing as '_the actual truth_.' So what do you think is their real reason for ditching us?"

"What makes you think I have any insights into their motivations?"

"You're the clever twin," Harry deadpanned.

Padma blinked ... and then laughed. "Honestly, if Slytherin had more people like you and Blaise and fewer Pansy Parkinsons, I might have considered your House. The short answer to your question is ... capitalism."

"What?" asked Hermione. "I don't understand."

"She means Jim Potter is paying the two of them to study with the Gryffindors instead of us," said Justin Finch-Fletchley. Everyone stared at him for a few seconds. Harry and Blaise actually looked impressed. "What? I may be a Hufflepuff, but I'm a Muggleborn from a wealthy family. Of _course_ I know what the word '_capitalism_' means."

"And to be fair," said Padma, "it's not like it's bribery. Apparently, the Boy-Who-Lived and his little entourage are all genuinely struggling in Potions which is Lavender's strongest area. So they're paying her two galleons per session to tutor Jim, Ron, Dean and Seamus in that subject."

"So why is Parvati there?" asked Hermione somewhat crossly.

Padma sniffed. "Because Lavender will be there, which is the only reason she ever came to _this_ group. My sister is ... not academically inclined. In any case, Hermione, I think that between you, me and Harry, we probably have Potions covered even without Lavender, so perhaps we should forget about them and get started reviewing?"

Hermione looked like she wanted to say something else, but Harry said, "I agree," before she could continue. She shot him a look at the interruption, and he shot her one right back which said "_we'll talk more later._" With that, the group got to work and spent a solid two hours reviewing the homework assignments that had been made before the Christmas break. At the end of the session, the group split up, but Harry nodded to Hermione, and the two of them went after Padma. They caught up with her before she left the library and pulled her aside with Hermione enacting a privacy spell.

"So," said Harry, "what was the long answer?"

"Excuse me?"

"You said the short answer was capitalism. What's the long answer you didn't want to give in front of the group?"

Padma shook her head and grimaced. "Slytherins," she said with a mild annoyance. Then, she looked back and forth between Harry and Hermione. "Okay, this isn't anything they've _said_. It's just my observations. So please don't go around repeating this." The other two nodded seriously. "First of all, Hermione, Lavender really does have a lot of respect for you and the way you've handled yourself as a Muggleborn who's new to our world and for how readily you've adapted to magical culture. But what I'm about to say may offend some of your ... well, your Muggle sensibilities, for lack of a better phrase, so please don't hold it against her or me."

Hermione stiffened a bit. "I'll do my best not to. Please proceed."

"As part of their agreement, Jim and the other boys are not just paying Lavender, they also had to promise to study hard, to be on their best behavior in class, to avoid losing House points, and to act like respectable young gentlemen, at least when she and Parvati are around. In short, I think Lavender sees this as a chance to spend time with Jim in a situation where she can influence his behavior and determine whether he might be ... suitable."

Hermione's eyes narrowed while Harry put a hand over his mouth. He had a feeling where this was all going. "Suitable for what?" Hermione asked slowly.

"Marriage, of course," replied Padma simply.

Harry struggled not to laugh at the look on Hermione's face. "Marriage?!" she spluttered. "They're eleven!"

"Hermione," Harry said with a chuckle, "Draco and Pansy have been engaged since they were _five._"

She actually choked at that. Harry laughed even louder and even Padma seemed amused.

"Marriage contracts ... at the age of _five!_ I guess I'll be an old maid if I'm not married before my teens! Please tell me that this is not something I need to be worried about!"

"It's not," Harry reassured her. "The vast majority of magicals get married just like Muggles do. They meet, fall in love, and decide to spend their lives together. Divorce can be a bit problematic because there are usually magical oaths involved at the marriage ceremony, but generally most wizards and witches don't use marriage contracts except maybe as the magical equivalent of prenuptial agreements."

"Yes," said Padma. "Things only get complicated and legalistic – well, in Britain, at least – when you're an heir to a Wizengamot family. If you are, marrying the wrong person can affect your inheritance rights and possibly even the status of your family's seat. In Lavender's case, she's the Heir Presumptive of the Noble House of Brown. And the _Noble _House of Brown would like very much to become the _Ancient and Noble_ House of Brown. But they need political support to get elevated. I think ... no, I'm _quite sure_ that Lavender believes that marrying the Boy-Who-Lived who is _also_ the second son of House Potter and – no offense, Harry – the _favored _son of House Potter will get them that support."

Even Harry was surprised at Padma's bluntness. "So being the Boy-Who-Lived trumps being the Potter Heir Presumptive?" he asked with some annoyance.

She shook her head. "No, there's more to it than that. You see, the Browns are a matrilineal family." She went on to explain for Hermione's benefit. "That is to say, pursuant to the family bylaws enacted when the Browns first joined the Wizengamot, Heirship passes exclusively to the eldest witch in the Brown line of succession. If Lavender wants to keep her Heir Presumptive status and eventually become the Lady Brown, anyone she marries has to be willing to change his last name to Brown or, at the very least, take a hyphenated name and accept that any children will be named Brown. Because the Potters are Ancient and Noble, that's not an option for _you_, Harry, at least not without sacrificing your right to become Lord Potter some day. You can marry whoever you want so long as your spouse takes Potter as her surname – or his, I guess, if that's your preference – but you can't change your name or add a name of lesser rank to your own without surrendering your Heirship. As second son, that's not an issue for Jim so long as you stand between him and becoming Heir himself."

Harry shook his head. "I swear, I have been poring over this crap for months, and there's still always some new bit of minutia for me to discover."

Padma shrugged. "It's not an issue that arises very often. There are only a few matrilineal families left, along with a few others that are strictly patrilineal. They were more common when the Wizengamot was founded, but by their very nature, such families are more likely to face line extinction because they're more selective about who can carry on the line than those houses that favor gender neutrality. Susan Bones' situation is the opposite of Lavender's, as the Bones are a patrilineal family whose only surviving members are women, Susan and her aunt Amelia. There won't be a Bones Heir and consequently there won't be a Bones Lord unless Susan gets married to some wizard willing to take her name and then produces a male wizarding child. Likewise, the Black family will probably lose its seat altogether when Sirius Black finally dies – there are no other living males descended from the Blacks who aren't disqualified because their surname is different. The family's money and estates will probably go to the nearest legal heirs, but the Black Wizengamot seat will remain vacant until some Noble family is elevated to take its place." She made a face at the mention of the notorious Black family. "No great loss there, of course. Anyway, the majority of Wizengamot families don't distinguish between male and female heirs, although surnames still sometimes remain an issue for witches."

"Hmm," said Hermione as she digested all this. "What about Parvati? Is she husband-hunting too?"

"Oh, no," said Padma easily. "She's been engaged since she was three."

Hermione started coughing uncontrollably. Padma smiled and looked at Harry. "I can see why you keep doing that to her. It's quite amusing."

"_Three!_" Hermione interrupted.

"Yes. The Kumar Pasha, the wealthiest and most powerful of India's wizards, had a son born a year before Parvati and me. He wanted to form a political and business alliance with the Patils, so he proposed a marriage contract to our father. I've meet the son, Sanjeev, a few times. He seems nice and looks like he'll grow up to be good looking, and anyway, he'll be absurdly rich."

"Hang on. You were three-year-old identical twins. How did they decide which of you would become engaged? Is Parvati the older twin?" asked Harry out of curiosity. Padma smiled at him again, but this time, it actually sent a shiver down his back. _This_ smile was what he imagined his own fake smiles used to look like to others back when he was still pretending to like the Potters.

"Age and birth status had nothing to do with it. Our eldest brother is the Patil Heir, and we have several older siblings besides him. No, as I understand it, my father literally flipped a coin, with one daughter guaranteed a life of wealth and privilege, complete with multiple palaces, jewels on every finger, and an army of servants to wait on her every need. The other daughter would have to study hard and get a job."

Padma paused and her brow furrowed. "Did that sound as bitter out loud as it did in my head?" The other two grimaced and then reluctantly nodded.

* * *

**AN: The title of this chapter ("Pairings") is blatantly trolling I couldn't resist, given how many people begged me to pair Harry with this person or that person for the first few weeks until I made it clear I wasn't going to. Obviously, not a lot of action in this chapter, but a nice introduction for our slightly embittered deadpan-snarker Padma Patil, an explanation for how Jim can still get Polyjuice Potion if for some reason he ever needs some (i.e. from Lav-Lav), an exploration of Wizengamot inheritance law which will be important for later, and some gentle poking at Hermione's "muggle sensibilities" (which, to me, are a perfectly reasonable response to arranged marriages). Also, our last pure humor chapter before the main plot starts to come to a boil.  
**

**With regard to the poll question from last week, the majority seems to want a single continuous story, but enough people want it broken up into smaller chunks to justify splitting the baby as it were. "Harry Potter and the Prince of Slytherin" will definitely cover Harry's first four years and will likely end with or shortly after the scene from the prologue in Chapter 1. As we get close to that, I'll ask the question again but will most likely end the story there and pick up with Years 5-7 under a new title.**

**AN2: Updated on 6/23/15 to correct the egregious misspelling of Padma Patil's name and also to correct the title of the story. AN3: And AGAIN the next morning because I got Parvati's name wrong too! Aaargh!**

**The next chapter will update on Friday, June 26, 2015. "Slytherin Maneuvers (pt 1)," in which Draco sows the wind and Harry is horrified to see what passes for cunning among Gryffindors.  
**


	25. HP&POS 25: Slytherin Maneuvers Pt 1

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

**CHAPTER 25: Slytherin Maneuvers (Pt. 1)**

_**14 April 1992**_

To Harry's amazement, and despite the presence of a homicidal dark lord and a Git-Who-Lived sharing the same school, second semester had been almost ... boring. Hermione's study group survived the loss of Lavender and Parvati, although there was almost a mutiny when she announced in the middle of March that she wanted to start revising for the end-of-term exams. The Gryffindor Four (as Jim, Ron, Dean and Seamus came to be known) improved dramatically in Potions class under Lavender's tutelage ... at least until Draco in a display of childishness began to sabotage Jim's potions on a regular basis. Jim could never prove it to Snape's satisfaction, not that Snape needed much of a reason to dock points from "The Other Potter," as the Potions Master insisted on calling Jim even to his face.

Practically the only excitement in the first three months had come during the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff Quidditch match back in February. Madame Hooch had apparently come down with some minor ailment and couldn't referee, and so Snape, inexplicably, was pressed into service as her replacement. Harry and Blaise privately concluded that he must have lost a bet to one of the other professors. The man's general disdain for Quiddich was well-known, and Harry was surprised that he even knew the rules well enough to officiate. In fact, many of the Slytherins were taking bets themselves on whether Snape would just start making up rules in order to penalize the Gryffindors. Apparently, the Lions were afraid of the same thing because Jim was so focused he caught the Snitch in under five minutes – a new school record – much to the embarrassment of the Badgers' somewhat cocky new Seeker, Third Year Cedric Diggory.

This early morning found Harry sitting in the Library reading the disguised Occlumency book Snape had given him. It was Tuesday, and classes were canceled, as most students would be leaving that afternoon for Easter Break and not returning until the next Monday evening. Unfortunately, quite a few more Slytherins were staying at school than had remained over the Christmas holidays. This annoyed Harry, as he'd hoped to spend time in the Lair when there were no students around, but both Seventh Year prefects were staying behind to study for their upcoming NEWTS, and their respective rooms were on either side of the Lair's entrance.

Hermione and Neville sat across the table from Harry studying when the door to the Library opened up and, to Harry's surprise, Hagrid entered. He'd had a few reasonably decent interactions with the half-giant, but they weren't on close terms. In fact, Hagrid actually seemed somewhat nervous around Harry, who assumed that Jim and Ron had poisoned the man against him with anti-Slytherin propaganda. Regardless, the spectacle of Hagrid in the Hogwarts Library was enough to catch Harry's interest. He was further intrigued when Hermione and Neville began watching Hagrid intently while trying (and failing) to be discreet about it. Hagrid himself was equally amusing as he sought to make his way stealthily through the Library to the section on Magical Creatures and then back out again with several books about dragon-breeding. It was like watching an elephant trying to tip-toe. As he left, Neville and Hermione followed him with their eyes. Then, they looked at each other and proceeded to exchange a series of truly remarkable glares and facial expressions with the (completely unsuccessful) intention of communicating with one another while keeping Harry out of the loop. The gist of it, he intuited easily, was that Neville wanted Hermione to tell Harry about what Hagrid was up to, presumably to get Harry's advice, but for some reason, she was reluctant. Finally, their efforts at Gryffindor "subtlety" became too excruciating to watch, so he put his book down and raised a privacy shield.

"So," he said brightly. "Hagrid's breeding dragons, I take it?"

They both looked at him in shock. "How did _you_ know that?" Hermione asked.

"I didn't. I guessed and you just confirmed it. How far along is he?"

Hermione wouldn't answer, so Neville finally said, "Little Norbert is supposed to hatch in another week or two."

"Norbert?! Of course. That's ... that's adorable. Plus, we've already reached the 'accessory before the fact' stage! Tell me, Hermione, have you looked up the sentence for illegal dragon-breeding yet?" Harry asked with a smirk.

The witch seemingly couldn't decide whether to be more annoyed with Harry or worried about Hagrid. "A minimum of three years in Azkaban," she finally said.

"Hmm. Well, I wouldn't worry. I'm sure that's just for grown-ups. Any minor accomplices will just be expelled. So, Neville, I'm guessing that you want sneaky Slytherin advice on how to resolve this calamity in the making, but I'm curious as to why Hermione here _doesn't_ want to involve me. Dare I hope it's because she cares enough about me to _not _want me to get a criminal record?" He wriggled his eyebrows at her.

Hermione scoffed. "No! I mean, I don't want _anyone_ to get a criminal record. It's just ... I know you're a Slytherin and we're Gryffindors but..." she turned to Neville in annoyance. "We shouldn't _have_ to ask Harry _every time _we need a cunning plan. Gryffindors can be cunning when we need to be!

Summoning incredible reserves of will, Harry did not laugh out loud. Neville just shook his head. "Hermione," he said despairingly. "Right now the closest thing we have to a cunning plan is the one _Ron_ came up with."

Harry did snicker at that, albeit apologetically. "Sorry. You're going with _the Weasel's plan_? Please tell me what it is. I need something to brighten my day."

The two Lions glared at him. "It's not _that_ bad," Hermione said in a huff. "Ronald's brother Charlie works at a dragon sanctuary in Romania. In a few weeks, after the dragon hatches and has grown a bit, some of his friends will fly over via broom from Romania and pick up the caged dragon from the Astronomy Tower. Then, they'll fly it back to the sanctuary."

Harry nodded at that and then started ticking off points one by one on his fingers. "A baby dragon. In a cage. Breathing fire. Transported on wooden broomsticks. Presumably flying in tandem. All the way from here to Romania." Harry shook his head. "And these are friends of Charlie Weasley's, you say? Are you quite sure they're not his enemies that he's scheming to destroy? You already know the penalty for unlicensed dragon breeding. Have you looked up the penalties for international dragon-smuggling? Because I bet they're a lot worse."

"Harry..." started Neville.

"What kind of dragon?" interrupted Harry.

The two looked at one another. "A Norwegian Ridgeback," said Hermione.

"Uh-huh. And has anyone pointed out to Hagrid that he lives in a wooden hut?"

"Repeatedly," sighed Neville.

"Right. The answer is no, I'm not getting involved. Not when grown men who should know better involve kids our age in criminal activities because 'it's _fun._' I bet every single person involved in this is a Gryffindor." He shook his head as he took in the ridiculousness of the situation. "Seriously, if you're worried about Hagrid getting into trouble, why don't you just tell McGonagall about it? Lord knows there's worse things at Hogwarts than an illicit baby dragon that the staff will merrily cover up."

"_Professor_ McGonagall, Harry," said Hermione, causing the Slytherin to close his eyes and quickly count to ten. "And I don't think that even she will overlook illegal dragon-breeding."

"Which only makes it even more obvious that it's not something First Years should be involved with. I have begged you not to get involved in Jim Potter's crazy schemes 'til I'm blue in the face, and now, you want to risk expulsion because_ a staff member _wants an illegal pet dragon! I don't know what else to say!"

"You don't have to say _anything_, Harry! If you'll recall, _I _didn't want to involve you anyway!" said Hermione angrily before getting up and walking away.

Neville sighed. "Nice going, Harry." He stood and followed his fellow Gryffindor out of the Library. Harry closed his eyes again and rubbed his temples. Too frustrated to return to Occlumency training (which was ironic, as Occlumency was supposed to _help_ with emotional control), he packed up his bags and returned to his dorm.

Unfortunately, if he had any hopes that the Slytherins were acting more sensibly than the Gryffindors, they were quickly dashed. Harry walked through the passage door just in time to see Theo hop three times in the direction of his wand which was lying on the floor before losing his balance and falling flat on his face. Nearby, Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle were laughing at him with their wands out when they noticed Harry come in. Rather foolishly, they hesitated for a second before targeting him, long enough for Harry to reflexively draw his own wand. Faced with three opponents, Harry ignored them all and pointed his wand behind them.

"_**ACCIO COFFEE TABLE!"**_ At Harry's command, the coffee table behind the boys slid quickly in his direction, knocking all off their legs out from under them and dumping the three to the ground. Off to one side, Pansy Parkinson tried to stealthily draw her own wand. Without even looking, Harry said, "I wouldn't, Pansy. You wouldn't look quite so fetching covered in boils." She froze, her eyes wide. Meanwhile, Theo recovered his wand, swiftly cast the counter-jinx to the Leg-Locker Curse that had been used on him, and jumped up to stand at Harry's side.

"So, you've been reduced to cravenly bullying your own fellow Slytherins in the Common Room, Malfoy? Your father would be so proud."

"Shut up, Halfblood!" snarled Draco as he climbed to his feet. "You're no more worthy to mention my father than you are to even be a Slytherin!"

Harry shook his head sadly. "Was Halloween that long ago, Malfoy, that you've already forgotten it? You're pretty brave when it's three on one. Do you want to try three on two?"

"Ahem!" said Blaise as he walked into the room twirling his wand. "Three on three, actually. Sorry, Theo. I was taking a nap and didn't hear the commotion."

Harry smiled and looked back at Draco. "Three on three it is, Malfoy. In your case, that's like being hopelessly outnumbered."

Draco's face was a mask of rage. But then, he focused on Theo and sneered. "And to think: the son of Lord Tiberius Nott, dependent on blood traitors, consorting with Mudbloods even. I wonder what your father would say if he knew."

Theo stiffened, but he refused to show fear. "Why don't you go tell him then, Draco? Running around, tattling on people like a spoiled child seems to be your forte."

Harry glanced at Theo with a measure of pride. Then, he looked back at Draco speculatively. "Malfoy, are you ... quite ... sure this is the route you want to take? Do you fully understand how much you're ... escalating things?"

Draco moved closer to the two with a superior expression. "Always target your enemy's greatest weakness. My father said that was one of the secrets of winning in Slytherin. _Your _greatest weakness is Theo Nott."

Harry crooked an eyebrow at that. _"So your father taught you that, eh, Draco?"_ he thought to himself. _"Interesting. I've read that book from the Prince's Lair, as well. The actual quote is 'Target your enemy's greatest weaknesses, but always from the shadows, lest you invite his strongest reprisal.' Do you know what sort of reprisal you're inviting right now?"_

He said none of that, however. "Our disagreement has become awfully public, Malfoy," he said instead, almost amiably. "Maybe we should take this to our dorm room for a more ... civilized discussion."

Draco smiled victoriously. "After you."

Harry put his wand away and confidently walked in the direction of the boys' dorm. Theo walked behind Harry to his right side, glaring at Malfoy and his lackeys as he went past. Blaise fell in behind Harry on the left alongside Theo as they ascended the stairs.

"Harry..." Theo started.

"It's alright, Theo," Harry interrupted calmly. "Everything's fine. I've got this." His voice was low and, while it not as frightening or dangerous as it was last Boxing Day, it nevertheless reminded Theo uncomfortably of how Harry talked that night with Jim Potter in the Mirror Room.

Minutes later, the six Slytherin First Years were in their dorm room facing each other.

"So, tell me, Malfoy. What exactly do you know about Tiberius Nott that you leads you to think your threats should bother us?"

"I know enough. I know he's a violent drunkard with no patience for blood traitors, particularly in his own family."

Harry nodded. "And despite that, you have no problem with trying to turn him against Theo, no matter what the outcome?"

Draco shrugged as if the question was irrelevant. "What outcome, Potter? Any unpleasantness can be avoided completely. All you have to do is make some ... appropriate gesture – in front of our peers, of course – to acknowledge that you know your place in the Slytherin hierarchy. Which, honestly, I still don't think you even _have_ a place in the Slytherin hierarchy, but I suppose you and your hangers-on might be able to play some menial role in the future. But anyway, whatever you choose to do, make it quick. Father might decide to ask Lord Nott over for dinner during the Easter break, and he might ask me questions about what his son was up to."

Draco took a few steps closer to Harry. "Your compassion for someone obviously beneath you is a weakness, Potter. A real Slytherin would have never made himself as vulnerable as you have."

"_Blackmail. And very crude, poorly conceived blackmail at that. And such pointless malice. As if he has no goals beyond just making everyone grovel before him, and he doesn't care how many enemies he makes in the process. Has Lucius Malfoy, for some reason, intentionally ruined his own son?_"

Harry and Draco engaged in a stare-off for a few seconds before Harry finally deflated and looked down, beaten and submissive. "Alright. You win. How's ... how's this for a gesture? Jim Potter has an invisibility cloak. A good one. In fact, I'm pretty sure, it's a Potter family heirloom. Just don't say anything to Theo's father over Easter break. Please. I'll get the cloak and give it to you when you come back. I'll even present it to you in the Common Room in front of everyone when you return. Just ... just don't do anything to get Theo hurt, okay?"

Draco smiled. Then, he actually reached up and patted Harry on the cheek, as if he were a small child. "Of course not, Potter. You have that cloak for me when I get back, and I'll make sure your little friend doesn't get spanked too hard by his father this summer." Then, he snickered cruelly and left the room, Crabbe and Goyle following close behind. Harry watched them as they left and continued to stare at the door after it closed.

"Harry!" said Theo after they were gone. "Have you gone mad? If you steal a family heirloom and give it to Malfoy, you'll lose your Heir status for sure! And it'll be for nothing, because Malfoy will probably rat me out to Father anyway!"

"More importantly," said Blaise dryly. "You've completely ruined my social standing. I thought I was picking the winner with you, Potter. Instead, you just roll over to that little ponce at the first real threat?"

Harry continued to stare at the door. "Roll. Over." He said the words slowly, rolling them around in his mouth as if they were foreign and alien. "Rooooll. Oooveer."

Then, he turned to face Blaise with an amused look on his face. "Is that really what you think just happened, Blaise? My acting must be pretty good if I fooled even you." He turned his burning gaze back to the door. "In just a few hours, Malfoy is leaving for Easter break. That's six days he'll be away from the castle. Six days beyond my reach. So, naturally, I _pretended_ to roll over and then promised him a gift suitable for his ego to ensure that he keeps his mouth shut until he gets back."

Blaise relaxed a bit at Harry's words. "So, you've got a plan?"

"No," said Harry casually, while still staring at the door, "but I _do_ have six days. God made the World in six days. Surely, I can come up with a plan for dealing with Little Lord Bad-Faith in that amount of time. And on the seventh day, we'll rest. And Draco Malfoy will never trouble us again."

Blaise and Theo both looked wide-eyed at Harry for a second and then turned to look at each other somewhat nervously. Neither of them spoke, as they were both afraid to broach the topic of whether or not it was a good thing for Harry Potter to compare himself to God.

* * *

**The next chapter will upload on Monday, June 26, 2015, sometime between 4 and 6 pm CST. "Slytherin Maneuvers Pt 2," in which Harry shows the Gryffindors how it's done, Jim gets nervous, and Rodney Montague has trouble sleeping.**

**AN 1: The books say there is an Easter Break, but doesn't say when it is, so I arbitrarily said students leave the day before Holy Wednesday and return on Easter Monday, mainly because it lets me use that "six days" line.**

**AN 2: FYI, last night (6/25/15), I finally completed the last chapter of "Harry Potter and the Prince of Slytherin (Year One)." The whole thing clocks in at 33 chapters and just over 100,000 words, about 30,000 more than "Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone." Whew! I'm giving myself the weekend off, and then diving into Year Two, which will continue within this fic but which is tentatively subtitled "Harry Potter and the Secret Enemy." I'm looking forward to my plans for Lockhart and Ginny, but have not decided what I'm going to do with Luna (who starts in Harry's second year even though she doesn't appear canonically until Book 5). If anyone has any strong feelings about Miss Lovegood, or any suggestions on a fresh approach to this somewhat vexing character, please put them in a review. I'm not promising anything, but I'll look for inspiration anywhere. **


	26. HP&POS 26: Slytherin Maneuvers Pt 2

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

CHAPTER 26: Slytherin Maneuvers (Pt. 2)

The majority of the student body left for the Hogsmeade train station that afternoon around one o'clock. Just after five, Harry sent Hermione a message via their enchanted parchments, apologizing for their earlier argument and asking that she and Neville bring Jim and Ron to meet with him as he had some new information about "Hagrid's little problem" as well as an idea for solving it that was better than Ron's proposal. She accepted the apology graciously, and just after dinner, Hermione and Neville physically dragged the obviously reluctant Jim and Ron into an empty classroom near the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. Harry was already waiting, sitting on the teacher's desk while twirling his wand absently.

Jim's face darkened angrily as soon as he saw Harry. "No. No way. We are not involving the snake. We don't need him."

"Oh, yes, you do, Little Brother. You do indeed." Harry jumped off the desk. "Because _your_ plan has already failed. Draco Malfoy knows about the dragon _and _your plan for smuggling it away from Hogwarts. The only reason he hasn't tattled already is that he wants to catch you in the act, as dragon smuggling, as I've already informed Hermione and Neville, is a much more serious crime than mere dragon breeding."

The Gryffindors all looked horrified at Harry's news. "How did Malfoy find out?" Hermione asked anxiously.

Harry shrugged. There was a small part of him that felt bad about how easy it was to lie to his best friends in order to get them to abandon Ron's foolish scheme. He consoled himself with the knowledge that he was also lying to Jim Potter and for a good cause to boot.

"No idea. I only know because he's an arrogant braggart and I overheard him gloating to Crabbe and Goyle. If you proceed with Ron's plan, then Hagrid and all of Charlie Weasley's friends from the dragon sanctuary will probably be arrested for dragon smuggling, and any of you who are discovered to be involved will risk expulsion. At the very least, you will suffer a catastrophic loss of House points, and I can't even imagine what sorts of fiendish detentions you'll get over it."

The four Gryffindors looked at one another unhappily. Finally, Jim spoke. "And you've got an alternative plan?"

"Yes. One that deals with the dragon problem without risk to anyone involved including the dragon itself. It's not illegal. It's not even unethical. Who knows – someone might even get House points out of it."

"Okay, so what's the plan?" Jim asked.

Harry folded his arms. "No," he said simply. "As you have reminded me repeatedly this year, I am a slimy Slytherin snake, and you don't get the benefits of my slimy Slytherin snakiness for free. I want something, something only you can give me."

"What is it?" Jim asked angrily.

"The cloak," said Harry. Then, he put up his hand as Jim's face quickly started to turn purple. "_Not _permanently. I only want to borrow it over the Easter break. I'll return it next Monday."

"No! Absolutely not!" Jim exclaimed.

"Harry!" Hermione interjected sharply, as if offended that the Slytherin would demand something in exchange for his help.

"What, Hermione?" he asked in obvious annoyance. "Is it wrong for me to ask for the temporary use of a Potter family heirloom in exchange for my help, but acceptable for Jim to selfishly refuse even though it's _his _friend we're saving?"

Then, he turned from her to address the other Lions. "Are you all that afraid of the awful threat posed by an invisible Slytherin? Would it help if I promised that while I have it I won't do anything illegal or criminal or even against school rules? If I promise that I won't use it against the Gryffindors or the other Houses? If I promise that I won't even use it outside the Slytherin dorms because I only need it to deal with an internal House matter? Because all of those things are true."

"What kind of internal House matter?" asked Jim suspiciously.

Harry glared at him. "One that should not be discussed with outsiders, Jim. Hence the word 'internal.' If you absolutely must know, it has to do with that same subject matter we discussed last Christmas. Beyond that, I can't say. So do we have a deal or not?"

Jim returned his glare and then looked pensive. If by _subject matter_ Harry meant Theo Nott, then it probably meant the other boy was in trouble, and Harry needed the cloak to protect him. "You promise to return it Monday?"

"I would swear on my family name and the honor of Slytherin House, but somehow I don't think you would take either of those seriously. But yes, I do promise to return it completely intact and undamaged on Monday."

After hesitating for some time, Jim signed in resignation. "Okay, I'll trust you ... but only for Hagrid's sake. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Jim left the room, leaving Ron, Hermione and Neville behind. Ron was openly disgusted by Harry, while Hermione seemed angry with him for having the temerity to demand something in exchange for his help. Harry resisted the temptation to ask her how many dental patients her parents treated for free. For his part, Neville didn't seem angry with him, merely somewhat disappointed.

Minutes later, Jim returned with his book bag, pulled the cloak out of it, and handed it over to his brother who folded it neatly and placed it into his own bag.

"Okay," said Jim. "What's your brilliant plan?"

"Well, it seems to me that the biggest problem for Hagrid – aside from the inherent silliness of raising a fire-breathing dragon in a wooden hut – is that he's acting without the legal right to either breed or raise a Class XXXXX creature. Luckily, there _is _someone around here who holds a Ministry license for both those things – namely, the school's Care of Magical Creatures instructor."

"Kettleburn!" exclaimed Hermione.

"_Professor _Kettleburn, Hermione," said Harry smugly. "Who, as it happens, worked for several years at a dragon sanctuary in Canada prior to coming to Hogwarts."

"That's it?!" said Jim angrily. "That's you're brilliant Slytherin plan? You want us to just tell a teacher?!"

"I don't want _you _to do anything at all, Little Brother._ I've_ already done it. I spoke to Professor Kettleburn this afternoon just after lunch."

The Gryffindors stared at Harry, shocked.

"You scumbag!" yelled Ron finally. "I can't believe you just ratted Hagrid out like that!"

Harry laughed. "Actually, Weasel, I didn't even get _the chance_ to rat Hagrid out. I got as far as asking to speak with Kettleburn in confidence and telling him that, hypothetically, I might know of someone who had acquired a dragon egg without understanding the legal issues that might result. At that point, he interrupted me to say, and I quote – _'Oh Sweet Morgana's tits, what has Hagrid done now?!' – _unquote. In other words, Hermione, I was completely correct this morning. This is actually something Hagrid does _routinely _and the staff just continually bails him out. Though to be honest, even Kettleburn was astonished he got hold of something like a Norwegian Ridgeback egg."

"Anyway," he continued, "Kettleburn said not to worry and that he'd take care of it. He has some friends in the Ministry who will backdate an authorization form allowing him to incubate a dragon egg that's been donated to the school until it hatches and then to raise it for a few months until it is old enough to be safely transported via apparation. Apparently, there's an 'educational purposes' exception to the normal rules on dragon-breeding. In a day or so, once the paperwork is complete, Kettleburn will take custody of the egg from Hagrid, who will still be allowed to assist the Professor and the NEWT-level CoMC students through the rest of the hatching process and then with raising it until after exams. Then, they will ship it to the sanctuary in Romania through perfectly standard and legal procedures sometime this summer."

He slung his book bag over his shoulder and headed for the door. "Oh, and I also won five points for Slytherin for bringing this to his attention and handling the matter with such discretion."

"Hang on a minute!" said Hermione angrily. He stopped and looked back at her with a bland expression. "You met with him this afternoon? That means you already had this whole situation resolved before you even contacted me!"

"Naturally. It would have been quite embarrassing to have presented a plan as simple as 'talk to a teacher' and it not actually work."

"So what would have happened if I refused to let you borrow the invisibility cloak?" Jim asked testily.

Harry looked thoughtful. "I suppose I would have done a good deed and helped Hagrid out of a very serious jam and then gotten nothing in exchange except a few House points and the satisfaction of knowing that I was a better person than the Boy-Who-Lived." And then, he turned and walked out, leaving four speechless Gryffindors behind him.

_**15 April 1992**_

The next day, Hermione watched the door of the Great Hall impatiently, but Harry never showed up for breakfast. She had sent him several parchment messages, but he never responded. By lunch, there was still no sign of him, though Ron would flinch every time he felt a breeze, convinced that Harry was sneaking up behind him invisibly for some nefarious purpose. Jim was not as paranoid, but he was continually anxious. Part of him was terrified that he'd lost forever the precious heirloom his father had entrusted to him. That afternoon, Hermione sent yet another parchment message while studying in the Gryffindor common room but then jumped when her parchment finally dinged in response. The message, however, was not one she was expecting.

"_Um, Hi, Hermione, this is Theo. Harry asked me to tell you that he's ... oh, damn, how did he put it... off doing sneaky, underhanded unethical things that he can't talk to you about and that you'd just disapprove of because __**'Gryffindor!'** __And also, he, um, has too much going on right now to worry about continually feeling like he's being judged for his lack of all-true-ism. No, I said __altruism!__ ... Merlin, this thing really needs some kind of edit function. Anyway, just between us, I think you hurt his feelings last night. Well, you and Neville, but mainly you. No offense. Sorry. He just says he doesn't want to talk about it while he's ... doing important Slytherin ... stuff... that he can't share with you because, once again ... __**'Gryffindor!'**__. Anyway, he'll see you next Tuesday after he's ... done with ... stuff. Now how do you send the bloody message again?..._"

Both concerned and chagrined, Hermione showed the parchment to Neville who just shrugged.

"What do you think it means? And why is Harry avoiding us?" she asked.

"Oh, I don't know, Hermione," Neville said somewhat dejectedly. "Maybe because he was one-hundred percent right about how to handle the dragon, and we completely ignored his advice because it wasn't exciting enough? Maybe because he probably has the same right to use that cloak as Jim and the fact that he has to use trickery to get it is a reminder of how badly his parents treat him? Maybe because we sometimes take way too much pride in being the House of Brash Heroism and act like we're superior to the House of Cunning Pragmatism even when they get the job done better than us?"

Hermione looked down for a few seconds. "It's so strange. I'm as close to Harry as I am anyone else in this school, but at the end of the day, Gryffindors and Slytherins are just ... different, aren't we?"

He nodded. "Yes, we are. I don't think we have to be enemies like Jim and Ron – and Draco, I guess – all believe. But we really do have different ways of thinking about things." Then, he smiled with mild embarrassment. "You know ... I actually felt a bit ... disappointed in Harry for making a demand of Jim in exchange for helping him, even though I wouldn't have thought twice about any other Slytherin doing the same, not even if they asked for a lot more than Harry did. Honestly, I wouldn't have thought it out of character for a _Ravenclaw_ to have asked for something in exchange for his help. I guess it is kind of unfair of us to expect Harry to act like he's a Gryffindor just because he's our friend. He's always going to be a Slytherin, so he's always going to have an angle, especially where the Potters are concerned."

"And yet ... he actually did help Hagrid, and more effectively than any of us could have, _before_ he made his demands."

"Yeah, that's our Harry. He's the most Gryffindorish Slytherin I know of."

"So should we be worried that he's now avoiding his Gryffindor friends for ... Slytherin stuff?"

Neville frowned. "Let me see that parchment. By the way, I really need to get one of these. Can you link multiple parchments?"

"Not yet, but I'm working on it," she said as she handed the paper over and explained how it worked.

Seconds later, in the Prince's Lair, the mate to Hermione's parchment dinged softly, and Theo picked it up and read it aloud.

"_Theo, it's Neville here. Please remind Harry that he can always call on me if he needs me for absolutely anything. And especially anything to do with what we talked about by the lake that afternoon when I came back after Halloween."_

Harry looked up from the stack of ancient texts he was perusing as he considered Neville's message. Then, he turned to Theo, who sat on the opposite side of the ancient mahogany table, picking at a chocolate frog. "Tell him... Tell him this exactly: _'Things are a bit shady, but there's no real darkness so far. And thanks.'"_

Theo crooked an eyebrow at the cryptic message and then relayed it as Harry wished.

_**18 April 1991**_

Rodney Montague angrily yanked open the door to his room and stepped out into the Prefect's Row, clad in nothing but an undershirt and black boxer shorts adorned with little green and silver snakes. It was the third night in a row that the Seventh Year Prefect had been awoken after midnight by what sounded like shifting gears and crumbling masonry just outside his door. And for the third night in a row, there was no sign of the source of the noise. Shaking his head in frustration, Rodney closed his door and returned to bed. He just hoped that he wouldn't be woken up again later by that godawful hissing sound that had recently started up at random intervals from some leaky pipes somewhere on the other side of his bedroom wall.

_**21 April 1992**_

Just before dawn on the last day of Easter Break, Blaise Zabini, whose mother had trained him to be a light sleeper, awoke to the soft sounds of the door opening and closing by itself. A few seconds later, Harry Potter materialized out of thin air, tossing the Potter invisibility cloak onto his bed. He looked as though he'd barely slept for days. This was probably because he'd barely slept for days.

"Well?" asked Blaise. "Are we good to go?" His voice woke Theo, who was also a light sleeper for different family-related reasons. The two boys sat up in their respective beds to get a better look at their friend as he shucked his outer clothes and fell onto his bed without even changing into pajamas.

"They went for it," he said through a haze of sleep deprivation. "The vote was 4-2 with one abstention, which was closer than I'd have liked, but it was enough. We'll do it tonight after dinner. Wake me before lunch, please. I have some errands to take care of this afternoon before ... Malfoy ... returns..." His voice grew faint, but Blaise had one more question.

"And you're sure you don't want us in there with you?"

"Mmmmm. No – _yawn_ – you two jus' stay out in ... Common Room ... observe reactions. Besides, might get – _yaaaaawn _– a lil' scary in there. I need to project total ... poise 'n confidence 'n stuff. Ruin effect if either of you gets ... jumpy ..."

Blaise scowled at the insinuation that he lacked poise and prepared a retort, when Theo interrupted him. "Let him sleep. Besides, he's right. You haven't been in there when they're all ... agitated." Theo shuddered visibly, and Blaise realized his friend probably had a point. Across the room, Harry started snoring softly.

Later that afternoon, as Jim was leaving the Great Hall, he saw Harry headed his way. He started to call out, but Harry glared and shook his head, and Jim's mouth snapped shut, as he was at this point terrified of doing anything to provoke his brother until he had the cloak back in his possession. Without saying a word, Harry walked past him, and at the last possible second, he smoothly pulled a small wrapped parcel out of his robe and passed it to Jim without slowing down, before proceeding on down the hallway. Jim looked back at his brother in confusion and then examined the package. As he turned it over, he saw a note with Harry's neat handwriting.

"_For pity's sake, open it in your room!  
Don't stand around gawking at it in front of people like an imbecile!"_

Jim blushed slightly and tucked the package away within his own robes. Then, he walked as quickly as propriety allowed back to Gryffindor Tower, barely resisting the impulse to run in the halls. Once inside, he abandoned all restraint and sprinted up to the currently empty First Year dorm room. He sat down on his bed, and, with trembling hands, he carefully opened the package and pulled out the shimmering fabric of his family's ancestral invisibility cloak.

Shimmering fabric which was now a _**VIVID SLYTHERIN** _**_GREEN_**. And as he spread the cloak out, Jim began to hyperventilate as he read the four-inch-wide silver lettering that had been embroidered on the back, relaying a proud message now permanently engraved onto his father's most prized possession:

"_**SLYTHERINS RULE.  
GRYFFINDORS DROOL."**_

Jim screamed in murderous fury. _"I'LL KILL HIM!"_ Then, he jumped up from his bed and ran to the door, enraged at his treacherous sibling. As he opened it, however, he nearly ran straight into Neville Longbottom, who looked at his fellow Gryffindor with concern.

"Whoa! Jim?" he asked. "Are you okay?"

Jim Potter just snarled at the other boy who he knew was friends with Harry. "Like you care, _Longbottom!_"

Neville rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Forget I asked. Anyway, Harry just asked me to deliver this to you." He held out a wrapped package to the other boy. It looked nearly identical to the one Jim had just opened save that it had no writing on it. Jim was paralyzed for several seconds, his mouth opening and closing like a fish, as he made a strange gurgling sound in the back of his throat. Then, he snatched the package out of Neville's grasp and tore it open. His hands, which had been trembling before, were now practically shaking. Inside the package was the true cloak, looking exactly as it did the night he lent it to Harry. Jim clutched the cloak to his chest as if he would never let it go again.

Neville eyed him suspiciously. "You really need to learn to calm down and not get so overexcited, Jim. I hear meditation is good for that." Then, he turned and left, shaking his head as he did. Jim ignored him and practically staggered back away from the door to fall onto his bed. After a moment or two, he looked over and noticed that there was now just a piece of parchment laying on the bed where he'd dropped the false green cloak. On the paper, there was a large smiley-face with a winking eye. Jim stared at the parchment as his frantic heart beat finally slowed to a safer rate.

"MY BROTHER IS A _BLOODY PSYCHOTIC!_" he finally bellowed to the empty room.

* * *

**The next update is scheduled for Friday, July 3, 2015 between 4:00 and 6:00 pm CST. "The Prince of Slytherin." Nuff' said.**


	27. HP&P 27: Who Is the Prince of Slytherin?

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

_**CHAPTER 27: Who Is the Prince of Slytherin?**_

At dinner that night, Harry and his two Slytherin friends sat on the far end of the dinner table away from Malfoy and his cronies. The two made eye contact at one point, with Draco crooking an eyebrow inquiringly at his defeated rival. Harry looked at him with a beaten expression and mouthed the words _"after dinner"_ to him. Draco nodded smugly and went back to talking with his friends. Harry, Theo and Blaise ate quietly. They didn't talk to one another. They'd already said everything they needed to say.

An hour later, the trio were standing together in a corner of the Common Room. Harry scanned the room, which was fairly crowded as the returning Slytherins talked about school work or what they'd done during their week-long break or what broom closets they'd be meeting in for after-curfew hookups. On one of the nearby sofas, Rodney Montague was engaged in some intense conversation with his fellow Seventh Year Prefect, Olivia Kolumbiko, an attractive dark-skinned girl whose family hailed from South Africa but who could trace her Pureblood ancestry back nearly three centuries. The two seemed to be debating some arcane point about Arithmancy relevant to their upcoming NEWTS. On the far side of the room, Marcus Flint held court over the Quidditch team as they discussed new plays for their upcoming match with Hufflepuff. Finally, Draco entered the Common Room triumphantly along with Crabbe and Goyle.

"Here they come," said Theo quietly.

"Alright then," replied Harry. "Time to put on a show."

The two groups of First Years met near the middle of the Common Room.

"Well, Potter? Did you get that cloak for me? I'm looking forward to trying it out."

"Actually, Malfoy," said Harry amiably. "I _had_ the cloak. Theo and Blaise will back me up – they've both seen it. But after having a week to think things through, I reconsidered and returned it to the Git. You see, I've decided that rather than give in to your petty blackmail, it would be more effective and practical and, honestly, more fun to simply _crush you._" He took a step closer to the boy, whose bodyguards tensed. "Like a bug. _Under. My. Foot._" And then, before Draco could say anything in response, Harry turned aside from him and moved to the center of the room.

"_Ladies and gentle-wizards of Slytherin House!_" Harry said loudly and confidently. "May I have your attention please?" The assembled Slytherins, who made up almost half of the house, grew quiet and attentive if somewhat bemused at the little firstie's presumption. "Thank you. As some of you are no doubt aware, there has been conflict within the First Year Slytherin class between myself and Draco Malfoy and our respective associates. Last Tuesday, just before the Break started, that disagreement boiled over into physical violence here in this very Common Room, and speaking for myself, I apologize for my role in such a vulgar display."

"Now as I see it," he continued, "this conflict between Mr. Malfoy and myself arises from his belief – about which he has droned _on and on for months_ – that because of my lineage, my connection to the Boy-Who-Lived, and my general views on certain political issues, I am unworthy to hold a place within Slytherin House. Well, I have something to say in response to that. Indeed, what I have to say will, I think, prove my right to a place in this House rather conclusively." He paused then, and his winning smile suddenly became rather cold. "_In fact_, and without intending disrespect to anyone here, what I have to say may well prove that I'm more fit to be a Slytherin than, well, nearly every Slytherin currently residing in this castle."

Some in the crowd, especially the most staunchly Pureblood upperclassmen, started to mutter darkly at that, but Harry continued as if unconcerned. "Unfortunately, what I have to say also concerns somewhat delicate matters that I don't think should be bandied about the Common Room for everyone to hear. Unlike Mr. Malfoy, I believe that discretion and subtlety are important, if underestimated, Slytherin values. So, when I speak my piece, I will do so in a place of privacy and only in front of a small group of respected House members. With that in mind, I would ask that Mr. Rodney Montague, Miss Olivia Kolumbiko and Mr. Marcus Flint accompany Mr. Malfoy and myself so that we can continue this discussion," Harry hesitated for just a second, "_in the conference room._" And with that, Harry turned on his heels and headed towards Prefect's Row.

Behind him, the assembled Slytherins began talking in confusion (and for some, in outrage) until Marcus Flint loudly called out, "Hang on! What conference room?!"

Harry stopped at the corridor entrance and looked back at him. "The one at the end of Prefect's Row, of course." Then, he turned and continued on down the hall.

Flint's brow furrowed in confusion. "There's no conference room at the end of Prefect's Row!" he exclaimed.

"Oh, yes there is," Harry's voice loudly echoed down the corridor. "A big one, too!"

Now even more confused, Flint looked over to the Seventh Year Prefects ... and did a double-take. Marcus had _heard_ the expression "the blood drained from his face," but he'd never actually _seen _it before. But at the moment, Rodney Montague honestly looked so pale he might as well have been drained by a vampire. For her part, Olivia looked little better as the two prefects slowly stood. Marcus moved towards them (past an utterly perplexed Draco Malfoy) in time to hear a shaken Olivia ask "Could it possibly be true, Rodney?"

Suddenly, Montague turned and practically ran towards Prefect's Row, emitting a trail of vulgarities that Marcus wouldn't have guessed the priggish Seventh Year even knew.

"Marcus, take Malfoy and follow Rodney," said Olivia firmly. Then, she turned and loudly addressed the rest of the confused Slytherins. "Everyone else, stay here! All other prefects, you will guard the entrance to Prefect's Row. _**No one **_is to enter until we return! If I catch anyone even looking down that hallway – including younger prefects – you can expect to be hexed so hard, they'll have to carry you to Madam Pomfrey in a bucket!" And with that, the young witch pulled her wand and followed the others down the hall.

As the room broke out into excited chatter, Crabbe and Goyle looked at each other and then towards Zabini and Nott. "Um, what's going on?" Goyle asked Harry's two friends.

"Your boss sowed the wind," said Theo calmly. "This might take a while. You guys know how to play Exploding Snap?" Crabbe and Goyle looked at each other again, shrugged, and started looking around for an open table.

Meanwhile, Olivia, Marcus and Draco had come to a stop behind Rodney, who was standing in front of an inky black portal where a brick wall used to be. "Okay," said Marcus, uneasily, "_that's_ never been there before!"

"Olivia," said Rodney in a shaky voice, "this looks _exactly _the way they described the entrance to us. Does this mean ...?"

"I don't know, Rodney," she said quietly.

"But if it _is, _does that mean that Potter is ... you know?"

"_I_ _don't know_, Rodney," she said again.

"What is all this? Some trick of Potter's?" said Draco irritably.

"Be quiet, Malfoy," Olivia said as she studied the door.

"Don't talk to me like that! My father – OWW!"

"Can it, sprog!" said Marcus angrily, after cuffing Malfoy hard on the back of his head.

Rodney and Olivia looked at each other and nodded before entering the passageway together with their wands drawn. Marcus and Draco followed. Once inside, Marcus was so impressed he didn't notice the soft grind of the door closing behind him. This was _definitely_ a conference room, albeit an unusual one. There was even a conference table, flanked on either side by fancy chairs with brass snake-head finials. But at the head of the table, there wasn't a chair.

There was a throne.

To be more precise, there was a massive black throne that looked to be carved out of a solid block of basalt inlaid with silver filigree and with thick green silk cushions to provide comfort. But the most impressive – and intimidating – thing about this throne was what sprang out from its back: a number of truly massive silver snake sculptures, each with huge emeralds for eyes. By far the dominant one was the silver basilisk in the center that curved over the throne almost protectively. Its body was as wide as a tree trunk, and it loomed at least fifteen-feet tall with emerald eyes the size of a man's fist. Flanking it were a python and a king cobra that were almost as tall if not so wide. On the right side of the throne (from Marcus's perspective) were three smaller but still over-sized snakes – representations of an ashwinder, a boomslang, and finally a blue krait, though this one was, of course, silver. On the left side was a large runespoor with three heads growing out of a single over-sized trunk. The whole thing looked like something out of antiquity or myth, the throne of some ancient pagan serpentine god-king.

And currently sitting on the throne - as if born to it - was Harry Potter.

"Thank you all for coming," he said reasonably. "Please take a seat."

Rodney pointed his wand towards Harry. "Get out of that chair," he growled in a mixture of rage and fear.

Harry leaned forward with an innocent expression on his face. "Why, Rodney? Is ... is this _your_ chair?"

"Dammit Potter...!" exclaimed Rodney. His wand hand was shaking and there were beads of sweat on his brow.

"Nah!" said Harry cheerfully. "I don't think this is your chair at all, Rodney. Nor yours, Olivia. Though, like every Seventh Year Prefect before you, I know you've been _told _by your predecessors about this chair ... and this room ... and what it probably means that I'm sitting here right now." He leaned back and turned his gaze to the other two Slytherins who were looking around the Lair in wonder. "Marcus? Draco? From the looks you're giving, I'll wager that neither of you know anything at all about this chair. Which is rather sad in your case, Draco. You see, not too long ago, your father sat where I'm sitting now. Lucius Malfoy claimed this seat when he was a student. His name is on one of those silver placards mounted over there on the wall." He pointed towards the next to last nameplate. _"'Lucius Malfoy. 1970-1972.' _But, I'm sorry to say that, no, this will never be your chair either."

Harry ignored Draco's look of confused petulance and addressed the whole group, raising his arms out to gesture around him. "This... is the Hydra Throne. It was crafted by Salazar Slytherin himself before he left Hogwarts to provide guidance to future generations of Slytherin students. This seat is reserved for the student who claims the mantle of ... the Prince of Slytherin."

"And that's you?" asked Rodney disbelievingly. Olivia had gently put her hand on his wand arm, which he slowly lowered.

Harry burst into laughter. "No, of course not! Don't be silly, Rodney! An eleven-year-old Prince? That would be laughable! Mind you, I do _plan_ to be the Prince of Slytherin, but I have years to go before I satisfy the requirements of the position. No, I'm just sitting here now because, well, I guess you could say I have special permission for one night only. A dispensation, so to speak. Which is a good thing, since the throne is perfectly capable of killing people who sit here _without_ permission. Now, as I said out in the Common Room, I have something important to say, but it's something I want kept quiet which is why we're here."

"You see," he continued, "there are reasons almost no one knows about this room or this chair or the whole 'Prince of Slytherin' deal. One reason is that the Prince himself is not someone who struts around bragging about his status. Or hers, for that matter – nearly half the Princes have been female. The Prince rules from the shadows, quietly shaping and guiding the House according to Salazar's vision instead of bullying others around like a spoiled child, an idea that is clearly beyond your comprehension, Draco. But the most important reason for the Prince's secrecy is, naturally, magic."

Harry gestured around the room. "This room – the Prince's Lair – carries a powerful enchantment, one that has preserved its secrets for eleven centuries. While this chair is occupied, whether long term or just temporarily, a magical contract covers the doorway, binding anyone who enters to an oath of secrecy. After we leave here, we'll all be completely incapable of discussing anything that's said in here tonight without the express permission of the Prince himself. And since I'm the acting-Prince, if for one night only, I'm confident we'll all be keeping our secrets. Whatever is discussed at this table, you won't be able to repeat to anyone else or even write down. You can't be made to reveal anything under Veritaserum or even the Imperius. And if a Legilimens tries to read you, all he'll find is inky blackness and silence where any memories about this room should be. All of which means I can say my piece without fear of gossip, and then, once you're satisfied with my Slytherin bona fides, we can move on to resolving my little conflict with Draco."

Draco made a face at Harry's familiarity, but inside, he was exceedingly nervous. He had never heard about this room or about any "_Prince of Slytherin_" and certainly didn't know that it was a title his own father had once held. Worse, he had the increasingly disturbing feeling that by pushing Harry Potter too far, he had unleashed something quite beyond his control. Something dangerous, perhaps even terrible. Following the lead of the older Slytherins, Draco sat down in one of the chairs nearest the door, opposite Flint. The two prefects sat on either side of the table in the middle chairs, leaving an open chair on either side of Potter. As they sat, Harry smiled warmly at them all, but Draco could see malice in those green eyes, and he shuddered slightly as he remembered Harry's promise to crush him like a bug.

"Alright, firstie," said Marcus somewhat irritably. He alone had absolutely no idea what was going on which, at the moment, put him in the odd position of being the one person in the room not afraid of Harry Potter. "We're here. What's so important that you have to say to us?"

Harry's smile actually broke out into a broad grin as he chuckled softly. "I am sorry, Marcus. I was a bit unclear. I said I had something to say that would prove my worthiness as a Slytherin. I never meant to imply that I would be speaking _to any of you_."

And then ... _**Harry Potter HISSED!**_

The other four had barely a fraction of a second to process the fact that _"Harry Potter, Heir to House Potter and Brother of the Boy-Who-Lived is a bloody Parselmouth!"_ when they were all startled by the movement and sounds which erupted all around them. Each of the six-inch brass adder-head finials on the chairs instantly stretched into three-foot-long writhing brass adders which then twisted themselves around and extended their fangs just a foot or so away each Slytherin's head. Simultaneously, each of the silver snakes attached to the throne also came to life, writhing and hissing at the group. The great basilisk in the center bent down to look directly at Olivia who screamed in mortal terror for nearly eight seconds before she finally realized that it wasn't a real basilisk and its gaze wasn't fatal. It was another ten seconds before the rest of the screams died down into a general hysterical mumbling and hyperventilation so that Harry could finally speak.

"So," he said easily, "do I have everyone's attention?"

After a few more seconds of looking around in panic, the four Slytherins all slowly nodded. Rodney was the first to speak.

"You ... you're a ... Parseltongue?"

"No, Rodney, I'm a _Parselmouth_," Harry said. "Parseltongue is the language. Parselmouth is the person who speaks it. It's a common mistake. It took me a while to get it straight myself."

"But ... you're a Potter! Potters hate Slytherins! It's been that way for at least two hundred years!"

"Really? I had no idea it went back _that _far. I do know my birth-father has an irrational hatred of Slytherins. He sent me a lovely note about it the day after my Sorting. As I recall, you were all there when it exploded. But fortunately, James Potter didn't raise me, and so I haven't absorbed any of his ancestral bigotries. The general topic of Parseltongue came up when we were visiting Diagon Alley last summer, and he mentioned his belief that being a Parselmouth is a sign of being a dark wizard, which is ignorant nonsense, but I thought it best to humor him and not reveal I had the talent. Of course, out there in the Muggle world, I can only talk to actual snakes, but Hogwarts is so permeated with magic that nearly everything that even looks like a snake is susceptible to Parseltongue." He looked around at all the snakes that surrounded him. "As you have no doubt noticed."

"Is Jim a Parselmouth?" asked Marcus.

Harry perked up in amusement and considered the matter. "That's a _very _insightful question, Marcus. I can see why the ashwinder likes you. Honestly, I've no idea. Circumstances have never contrived to put me and Jim together in a room that had a snake in it. I wouldn't be surprised if he were, since he's my twin and all. Of course, my birth-father's views on Parseltongue are hardly a secret, so I expect if Jim does have the gift, he's concealed it. Or maybe he's just never gotten close enough to a snake because of a childish belief that they're all slimy and evil." Harry snorted. "Wouldn't it be hilarious if the Boy-Who-Lived were a Parselmouth, and it got publicly revealed? James would have a stroke. I'll have to look into arranging that."

"Anyway," he continued. "It is true that no descendent of Salazar Slytherin has ever married into the Potter family. Which means that I could only have inherited this gift – and it _is _exclusive to descendants of Salazar Slytherin – from my mother's side."

"But, your mother's a Mud..." the adders on either side of Draco's head hissed loudly, "that is, a Muggleborn. How can she be descended from Salazar Slytherin?"

Harry shrugged. "Well, presumably, reports of her Muggleborn status are somewhat overstated. Let's just say I've been exploring her family tree for a while and expect to have some answers by the end of this summer. Next question?"

Olivia looked at him speculatively while trying to ignore the basilisk that loomed over his head. "If you're not the Prince of Slytherin, who is?"

"As I said, there's not one at the moment. To become the Prince, you have to be a student who's gained the approval of all seven of the serpents who comprise the Hydra Throne, each of whom represents a different characteristic that the Founder considered important for his students." Harry pointed up at the basilisk looming over him. "The big guy, Rajah, represents ambition, although he prefers to think of it as '_vision_.' For him, it's not enough to be personally ambitious, like wanting to get rich or famous. You need an ambition to shape the whole world to your will in some way. To Rajah's right is the python, Jormangand, named after the snake that encircled the world. He represents political acumen and the ability to form winning coalitions. For example, he is very supportive of my membership in an inter-house study group but is otherwise appalled at how insular the rest of the House has become over the last few decades. To Rajah's left is Ka the Cobra, who represents the Slytherin respect for intellect and academic excellence. Moving on down from him, we have Mara the Ashwinder, who represents cunning and cleverness. Next is Delilah the Boomslang, who represents the values of charm and subtlety which, as I've said, are greatly undervalued in the House nowadays."

He paused and looked over towards the boomslang. "In all honesty, I have to say Delilah's my favorite. She's a cutie." The boomslang twisted her body around until her head was near to Harry's. He hissed at her softly and then tickled under her chin, causing the silver snake to make a soft "ki-ki-ki" sound which the terrified Slytherin students all realized was the sound of a snake's laughter. Harry turned back to the group, focusing a suddenly grim expression towards Draco. "On the far right is the krait, Nidhogg, who represents ruthlessness," he said without elaboration. Draco swallowed. He suddenly noticed that the krait was staring at him intently and had been doing so for some time.

"Last but not least, on the opposite side, we have the runespoor, whose three heads are called Tisiphone, Megaera and Alecto. They collectively represent respect for wizarding traditions, which, I should point out, is _not_ synonymous with blood purity."

"That's a lie!" exclaimed Draco despite the angry hissing of the brass adders. "Salazar Slytherin wanted to purge the school of Mudbloods!"

Harry sighed, and then flicked his wand lazily towards a bookshelf. _**"ACCIO SLYTHERIN MEMOIRS VOLUMES 1, 2 and 3." **_

And with that, three large leather bound volumes flew off the shelf and landed on the table with a thud. "The long forgotten truth, Draco, is that Salazar Slytherin was opposed to Muggleborns attending Hogwarts, but not because they were inferior. It was because he thought they would be at an unfair disadvantage compared to the wizard-raised students. In the days of Hogwarts' founding, a Muggleborn most likely came from peasant stock, which meant he was illiterate, innumerate, highly superstitious, and probably never bathed. Salazar believed that Muggleborns should be removed from Muggle society as soon as their magic manifested and inducted into a special preparatory school so that they could be elevated to the same intellectual and cultural level as wizarding children and integrated fully into magical society before being allowed into Hogwarts. For a variety of political and ethical reasons, his idea was shot down by the other Founders as well as the wizarding government that existed at the time, and so Salazar grudgingly accepted the presence of Muggleborn peasant wizards and witches who were mainstreamed straight into the school. And despite his reservations, there were a small number of Muggleborns Sorted into Slytherin during his tenure, many of whom earned his respect for how hard they worked to fulfill their ambitions and assimilate into magical society. It has only been within the last three or four centuries that the House has become so hostile to Muggleborns that almost none of them are ever Sorted here."

"Oh, and before we get too far afield, no, there was never a big fight between him and Godric Gryffindor that led to him leaving Hogwarts in anger. His wife contracted dragon pox and had a very difficult recovery, and he took both her and their minor children back to his ancestral home in Spain for the warmer climate, remaining there for the rest of his life. Gryffindor himself actually died of natural causes several years before Slytherin's departure, an event that he wrote of with great sadness and regret. The final volume of his memoirs, however, contains reference to his continued friendly correspondence with the other two Founders over a twenty-year span between his departure and his eventual death. Anything you've heard about the man to the contrary is just propaganda spread by blood purists who came along centuries later. Next?"

"Does all that stuff you just said mean that you don't support the Dark Lord?" asked Marcus bluntly.

"I assume you're referring to the most recent Dark Lord, the one who got himself blown up by a baby eleven years ago, and the answer is, no, I don't. I may not like my Muggleborn mother very much, but she did give birth to me, and I'll be damned if I ever agree to a political philosophy which says I should have never been born! What's more, the Hydra _agrees _with me. Over the past century or so, it _has _appointed Princes who adhered to blood purity doctrines because it looked like blood purity extremists like Grindenwald and later Voldemort," the other four gasped and flinched, "_oh, for the love of_ ... okay, Grindenwald and _You-Know-Who_ were likely to win, and Slytherins generally support being on the winning team. But then, those two _lost_ rather decisively, and having had many years to consider the matter, the Hydra's consensus view is that blood purism has, on the whole, been damaging to Slytherin House, which is all the Hydra really cares about. Nowadays, people who by temperament and philosophy _should_ become Slytherins instead go under the Hat begging to go somewhere else because they don't want to be stuck for seven years with a bunch of violently bigoted terrorist sympathizers, far too many of whom show obvious signs of inbreeding. Instead, we've become like the dark mirror of Hufflepuff – we scoop up everyone who doesn't belong in any other House and is also _mean and prejudiced._"

There was a long pause as the Slytherins digested this. Finally, Olivia spoke. "Why did you bring us here?" she asked quietly.

Harry took a deep breath. "And now we come to the heart of the matter. Draco Malfoy came into this House expecting to be the child-tyrant of Slytherin whose every command must obeyed. I derailed him from that and he's been out to get me ever since. For the most part, he's only been annoying, but last Tuesday, he directly threatened someone important to me. Theo Nott is my friend and ally and someone who I think will rise in time to become of great value to this House. But Theo's _father_ is a psychopathic nutcase who should be in Azkaban and who's already gotten away with murdering Theo's mother right in front of him. And Malfoy basically told me that if I didn't do a good enough job of groveling before him, he'd tell Tiberius Nott that his son was hanging out with undesirables with the goal of getting Theo physically abused at best and murdered at worst. I found that ... unacceptable."

"And so, Olivia and Rodney," he continued, "I consulted with the Hydra for its advice. After several days of negotiation, the majority of serpents agreed that I could exercise limited authority as Prince tonight for the sole purpose of showing you two this room and allowing you access to some of the room's benefits in exchange for you helping me out with my Malfoy problem. In particular ..." He summoned another thick book from the shelves to land on next to Slytherin's memoirs. "This book is an auto-updating record of _every_ question asked on _every_ NEWTs exam over the last hundred years. It doesn't have the answers, but it does have references to where the answers can be found, as well as notations regarding questions which have been asked repeatedly and examples of spells and potions which, if demonstrated, confer extra points."

Olivia and Rodney looked at the book hungrily. "What do you want in exchange?" Rodney said.

"A way to keep Draco Malfoy from trying to hurt my friends. Permanently." Harry looked over towards Draco as if the boy were something he'd scrapped off a shoe. "Because _I've_ been working on the problem for the last week, and, frankly, the only solution I've been able to come up with is_ to simply kill the little shit!"_ There was a brief shocked silence ... which was quickly broken by a soft "ki-ki-ki" from the krait who Harry had identified as Niddhogg, the exemplar of Slytherin ruthlessness.

Draco paled. "You wouldn't..."

"You directly threatened the life of someone on Team Harry, Draco." Harry interrupted in a voice like a razor. "If you completely ignored even the possibility of a lethal response, I submit that _you're_ the one who doesn't belong in Slytherin. Niddhogg here had a lot of interesting suggestions, and between the two of us, we came up with at least four different ways to murder you before the end of term and get away with it. And once you leave this room, you won't even be able to tell a soul that I'm coming after you." He paused, as if to calm himself. "That said, I'm not ... eager to start a body count at the age of eleven, so at this point, I am open to any less drastic suggestions from my peers."

"An Unbreakable Vow," Rodney said instantly. "He'll swear never to directly or indirectly try to harm ... well, whoever you say."

"I will not swear an Unbreakable Vow!" said Draco in a fury.

"Then I will cast the Imperius Curse upon you and make it so that you _cannot_ harm Potter or any of his associates," said Olivia coldly. "That, or I will kill you myself on his behalf."

"Olivia!" exclaimed Rodney in shock.

She just looked around the room, a smile on her face. "I knew of this place, Rodney, even before my predecessor told me of it. There have been stories passed down in my family for generations, but I had given up hope that I would ever see it myself." She turned to Harry. "I have an ancestor who sat on that throne as well."

He nodded. "Kristoff Kolumbiko, Class of 1756." He pointed over to the wall of silver placards. "Seventh column, third one down."

She looked where he pointed and smiled even wider. "Besides," she said, "it is as you said. Real Slytherins always pick the winning side. And from what I have seen tonight, Harry Potter, I think your ultimate victory is assured."

Marcus Flint slowly raised his hand, leery of the snakes on either side of him. "Uh, if this is about picking the brains of the Seventh Year Prefects, Potter, what am I doing here?"

"Well, I'd had an idea that as Quidditch captain, you could hold out the threat of keeping Draco off the team next year as a way to keep him in line. But mainly ... the Hydra asked me to bring you."

Marcus stared unblinkingly. "Hubuwhuh?"

Harry pointed again towards the placards of past Princes. "There are four people named Flint up on that wall, Marcus, though none since the 1870's. One Chief Warlock, one esteemed Hogwarts professor, one highly decorated auror ... and, well, one aspiring dark lord who died in Azkaban, but never mind her. The Hydra has had its eye on you for a while. It's the consensus of the serpents that you have tremendous potential that you're choosing to waste. They thought seeing this room might ... motivate you. And for what it's worth, Marcus, if I can be of any assistance in helping you, well, get on track, please don't hesitate to ask."

Flint blinked repeatedly and looked around the room again with new eyes. "Thanks, Potter, I mean, uh, Harry. I'll ... think about it."

Finally, everyone turned to stare at young Malfoy. The boy swallowed almost painfully as he looked back and forth among the pitiless faces of his four House-mates. He realized that he'd lost utterly, and so he moved on to what he might still salvage. "What would the Vow say?"

"Ki-ki-ki," laughed Niddhogg once more.

About forty minutes later, the five Slytherins exited Prefect's Row together, giving every appearance of having become great friends. Rodney announced to the Common Room (which was now jam-packed with nearly the _entire_ Slytherin student body) that "Harry and Draco" had mended their fences and buried the hatchet and several other cliched idioms as well. In fact, Rodney, Olivia and Marcus _all_ made a point of showing that they were on a first name basis with both boys, a highly unusual honor for two Slytherin firsties even if one of them was a Malfoy. Then, Draco made his way over to Theo Nott, apologized loudly and profusely for his "unconscionable behavior," and invited the other boy to come and stay with him at Malfoy Manor for the summer so they could get to know one another "as Slytherin brothers should." Theo magnanimously accepted both the apology and the invitation almost as if he had been expecting both.

Curfew soon came, and Olivia and Rodney were insistent that everyone go to bed on time. But the next morning, the majority the House rose early and rushed to the Owlery with urgent letters to mail home to their parents. Some were more detailed and discerning than others, but most carried a variation on the same basic theme:

"_Something has fundamentally shifted in Slytherin House. And Harry Potter is the fulcrum upon which it has moved."_

Draco Malfoy actually sent out _two_ owls. His own personal owl carried a message for his father stating, among other things, that he had recently begun a friendship with Theo Nott, the son of Lucius's former associate, Tiberius Nott; that Draco had become concerned by how Tiberius Nott was treating Theo; and asking would it be possible for Lucius to prevail upon Tiberius to let young Theo spend the entire summer break with Draco at Malfoy Manor.

A second, nondescript school owl carried a much shorter unsigned message meant solely for the eyes of his mother, Narcissa Black Malfoy. It consisted of a single sentence.

"_I will never reach the heights you desire for me while Harry Potter lives."_

* * *

**_The next update will be posted between 4 and 6 pm on Monday, July 6, 2015: "The Calm Before," in which Draco does the unthinkable, Hermione experiments, and Harry rather naively thinks that everything is under control._**

**_AN: This is one of the very first scenes I envisioned when I started working on this story five months ago. It's gone through a lot of revisions since then, but I have literally been waiting to see the line _**_"_And then ... _**Harry Potter HISSED!" since February. It's very satisfying. **_

_**Also, b**_**_efore anyone asks, it is not a plot hole that Draco can swear an Unbreakable Vow and still plot against Harry's life. The exact nature of both the Vow and its obvious and necessary loophole will be explained next chapter. Thanks for all the reviews, favs and follows. Keep 'em coming and Happy Fourth of July for those who celebrate it._**


	28. HP&POS 28: The Calm Before

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

**CHAPTER 28: The Calm Before**

_**22 April 1992**_

The next morning found Harry, Theo and Blaise sitting comfortably on a large bench in the foyer in front of the Great Hall. The commotion and buzz of their fellow Snakes, all of whom _for some reason_ were early risers today, had the Slytherin Trio up early as well, but while breakfast had already begun, Harry didn't want to go in just yet. He'd spent the better part of a week avoiding Hermione and Neville while focused on his "Draco problem," but he'd missed his two Gryffindor friends, and so he waited patiently for them to come down. Theo and Blaise sat with him under a privacy charm as they discussed the events from the night before.

"So let's just go over this one more time, if just for my own piece of mind," said Theo. "Draco is now actively bound and obligated not only to refrain from trying to get me in trouble with Father but to also to do anything and everything he reasonably can to protect me from _any _harm – whether from Father or from any other source – by any means short of endangering his own life."

"Right," Harry said. "You can't make someone take an Unbreakable Vow that will require them to deliberately sacrifice their own life for another or even face a substantial risk of death in doing so, or I wouldn't have even given him that much wiggle room. But he can't actively do anything to endanger you nor can he passively stand by while you're in danger unless he genuinely believes that trying to save you will get him killed."

"Uh-huh. There's probably a loophole in there, but I trust that you're smarter than Draco so he'll never be the one to find it. Anyway, Draco is also bound not to attempt to manipulate you or control you or seek revenge against you by threatening the health or safety any other person."

"Right again. He can still theoretically hurt people, but he can't do it for the express purpose of getting at me somehow. Again, you can't make an open-ended vow not to hurt anyone or to never commit a crime. Otherwise, they'd just make every wizard and witch take such a vow once they turn eleven and we'd be living in a utopia."

Theo nodded thoughtfully at that. His life would be much happier if he lived in such a utopia. "And he can't deliberately insult anyone on the basis of blood purity or blood politics. He can't say 'Mudblood' or 'blood traitor' as an insult to anyone, either to their face or when talking about them in the presence of anyone who he knows finds those terms offensive."

"Yep," said Harry with a smirk. "I did leave him the power to use those terms when he's by himself or surrounded by fellow bigots. I'm not a complete monster." The three boys laughed. "There are a few more minor clauses, but that's most of it. There's only so much that you can put in an Unbreakable Vow before it collapses under the weight of its own magic."

"Right," said Blaise drily. "Is that why you didn't put in any requirements that he refrain from directly threatening the health and safety of _you personally_?"

"No, that got left out intentionally. It would have made things too easy."

"That," said Theo archly, "is the single most idiotically Gryffindorish thing you've _ever said._"

Harry snorted. "Take it up with Niddhogg. He insisted, and I'll need his vote to claim the Hydra Throne later so I went along with it. He said if I'm not going to kill my enemy after all the time I spent plotting it, then I shouldn't be allowed to just ... '_neuter_' him. Also, he says I need a strong rival within my age cohort, or I'll '_get soft_.'"

"I thought Jim was your rival," said Theo.

"He said a _strong _rival," Harry said drily, causing the other two boys to snicker.

"Hmm," said Blaise speculatively. "You could always 'neuter' Malfoy and then pick a fight with Zachariah Smith, the Dark Prince of Hufflepuff." All three found that idea hilarious. Still laughing, Harry noticed Hermione and Neville walking down the hall in their direction. The three Slytherins stood as Harry dispelled the privacy charm. The two Gryffindors walked up somewhat nervously, but Harry gave them both a smile.

"Hermione, Neville, it's good to see you again! It's been a long week. A long ... complicated, demanding week. I've missed you both."

Hermione ran forward and hugged him, much to his surprise. "I've missed you too, Harry. And I'm so sorry for being so obnoxious to you last week. I was just so concerned about Hagrid and I let it get to me. Can you forgive me?"

"There's nothing to forgive, Hermione," he said reassuringly. "I was stressed out over some House matters myself, and it made me snappish, but they're resolved now."

"Are they things you can talk about now that they're ... resolved? Or is it still ... Slytherin stuff?" asked Neville.

"Still Slytherin stuff. But nothing we need to worry about any more. Now, I can join Hermione in obsessing over exams."

Hermione batted playfully at Harry's arm in response to that. Then, Blaise leaned in and muttered, "Malfoy. Three o'clock." Harry looked at him strangely and then glanced at his watch. Blaise gave him a look of consternation and then jerked his head towards the approaching Draco. Neville and Hermione saw the boy coming as well, and both grimaced.

"Well, that's probably our cue to leave," said Neville.

"Nonsense," said Harry confidently. "He probably just wants to wish us all a good morning." The other four students looked at Harry as though he'd gone mad.

Their surprise was only compounded when Draco actually did walk up and say cheerfully "Good morning, Harry, Theo and Blaise. And to you as well Mr. Longbottom and Miss Granger." Harry immediately wished Draco good morning as well, as did the others a few seconds later after the shock wore off.

"Miss Granger?" Draco continued with a slightly nervous smile. "Might I have a moment of your time?" She blinked repeatedly and then looked to an equally surprised Neville. "Oh, it's quite alright if we speak in front of your friends. An apology that must be rendered in secrecy is hardly an apology at all, as my father would say."

"An...apology?" said Hermione in confusion.

"Yes," said Draco with what certainly _seemed _to be sincerity. "You must understand: I was raised in a very insular Pureblood household with very little knowledge of or experience of Muggles. _And_ I was raised by two parents who were themselves similarly raised in similar insular environments etc. etc. going back several generations. Consequently, I came to Hogwarts with a great many preconceived notions about Muggleborns such as yourself, notions which were grounded in ignorance and, dare I say it, bigotry. Fortunately, recent conversations with Harry here have led me to, well, to reconsider my former views. I see now that it was foolish of me to disregard the potential of you and your fellow Muggleborn students simply because you were raised in a non-wizarding environment. Worse, I see that it was churlish and boorish of me to demean witches and wizards such as yourself for those same reasons and that such prejudice is unworthy of the House of Malfoy. Thus, I tender to you my most sincere and abject apologies for my prior conduct towards you and hope that after this we may start anew with one another."

Harry brutally suppressed the desire to laugh, not at Draco, but at the thunderstruck reactions of his friends. Blaise nudged him and mouthed _"minor clauses?"_ Harry gave a small nod.

Finally, Hermione shook her head to clear it."Your gracious apology is accepted, Mr. Malfoy. I too hope we can ... begin anew and develop some ... sort of ... friendship?" she finished somewhat lamely.

"Please, Miss Granger, call me Draco."

"... Only if you will call me Hermione," she said weakly.

"Certainly. Now there is one other matter I would like to discuss while I'm here. I know that exams are approaching, and you are undoubtedly short for time. But my two good friends, Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe, have been struggling with some of their school work. If you have any free time in your schedule, I wonder if you might be amenable to tutoring them for a few weeks. I would be happy to pay for your time. Say, four galleons an hour for the both of them?"

At that, the Muggleborn's eyes goggled. Depending on how many tutoring sessions they needed, that could be a substantial sum of money. "Oh, Mister, I mean, Draco, I couldn't possibly ..." Then, Harry coughed loudly to cover his "_Take it!"_ She glanced at him for a second in mild frustration and then looked back at Draco. "That is, I couldn't possibly refuse such generosity. Mr. Goyle and Mr. Crabbe are fortunate to have you as a friend."

Draco smiled again, and once again, it looked relatively sincere. "You're very kind. I'll owl you their schedules, and we'll arrange for you to meet with them at your convenience." He put out his hand. She did likewise. Then, he took her hand gently and kissed it on the knuckles. "Until then, Hermione."

After he left, Hermione turned to Harry in shock. "What was that about?!"

"If a Pureblood of higher social standing offers you money for a task and you turn him down and offer to do it for less, it turns it into an offer of charity on your part. Under some circumstances, that can be taken as an insult to the Pureblood."

"No! Not that! I mean ... _EVERYTHING!" _she exclaimed.

"Yeah," said a flummoxed Neville. "This is ... beyond the universe of possible things."

"As I said, it's been a long and complicated week. Beyond that, I can't say anything except that Draco should be ... mostly decent, at least for the foreseeable future. Enjoy it while we can."

Neville looked like he wanted to ask more questions, but Hermione just chose to accept this new development as one more bit of weirdness. "Well, now that we're back together, what are your plans for this evening after dinner?"

"Miss Granger!" said Harry, who suddenly put his hand over his heart. "How very forward of you! You're not trying to make Mr. Malfoy jealous, are you?"

She punched him in the shoulder and called him a prat. Harry laughed. "Okay, okay. No, I've no plans right now. What's up?"

"I'd like your help on a project. I want to see if there's a way to get our parchments to talk."

"To ... talk? What, to each other?"

"Yes. Well, I mean, I'll send a message to your parchment, only instead of you reading it, you'll actually hear my voice."

This time, it was Harry's turn to be goggle-eyed. "You're making telephones ... out of paper."

"Yes," she smiled. "Isn't magic wonderful?" In retrospect, that dreamy expression on his friend's face should have been the first clue it would all end in tears.

_**19 May 1992**_

Naturally, it couldn't possibly be that easy. Over the course of the next several weeks, Hermione, Harry and several of their friends from the study group experimented with various magical techniques for modifying or transmitting sounds, but nothing they tried provided any benefits comparable to Muggle telephones. This particular Sunday evening found Hermione and Harry in an unused classroom on the second floor at a tabled covered in books about sound-based charms, communications charms, switching charms, and general enchantment charms. Neville, Theo and Blaise were there to provide moral support ... mostly by working on improving their Exploding Snap skills. As curfew drew near and Hermione was about ready to admit defeat, Harry, who had discretely brought a few books from the Lair, perked up.

"Hang on a minute, Hermione. Demonstrate that Sound Enhancing Charm for me again."

"Harry, it doesn't work on parchment. I think we've established that."

"No, no. Just ... demonstrate it. On yourself, I suppose."

She shrugged, flicked her wand, and touched it to her throat while saying _**"SONOROUS!"**_ Then, she said "LIKE THIS!" with the spell greatly amplifying the sound of her voice. Harry nodded, wincing, as she cast the counterspell.

"Okay," he said. "So it's _flick_, then touch the object or person to be amplified, while saying 'Sonorous' with the accent on the second syllable."

"Exactly."

"_Except_, in this book," he held up a much older looking book, "there's a different way of doing it. Here, it looks like a reverse triangle followed by a downstroke and you say 'Sonorous' with the accent on the _first_ syllable. Like this." Harry demonstrated the alternate technique. Then, everyone the room covered their ears in pain as a deafening, high pitched shriek erupted from Harry's wand. Harry, who'd been holding his wand right next to his own head, yelled in pain and reflexively pointed the wand away from himself and his friends. Unfortunately, that meant the wand was pointed _towards_ the row of glass windows overlooking the courtyard below. And with a mighty crash, each of the windows shattered and exploded outward. Finally, Harry was able to silence the awful sound with a _Quietus_ Charm before any more damage was inflicted.

Everyone stared, aghast. Finally, Hermione stormed over to Harry and snatched the book away from him. "Harry! What did you do?!" She turned the book over and read the cover. "Harry, this is a Fourth Year DADA book! That was a curse!"

"WHAT?!" he shouted. "I CAN'T HEAR YOU! DID THE SPELL SILENCE EVERYONE OR SOMETHING?"

Neville slapped his hand to his forehead. "Great. And now, Harry's deaf! Can this get any worse?"

Immediately, the door to the classroom was flung open, and Argus Filch, the caretaker, stormed in and glowered in fury at the children. His anger only grew when he noticed that all of the room's windows had been blown out.

Blaise gave Neville a dirty look. "You just had to say that, didn't you."

And that was how Harry and Hermione got their very first Hogwarts detentions. After Harry spent the first night in the infirmary having his eardrums regrown, the two would spend the next five evenings helping Kettleburn and Hagrid brew a foul mixture of cow's blood, sheep's brains, goats' innards, and warm brandy to feed to the newborn dragon. Norbert had hatched weeks before, just days after Harry's final confrontation with Draco in the Lair. A few minutes after the hatching, Norbert's name changed to Norberta after Professor Kettleburn confirmed her gender. For the first few weeks, only the CoMC students and Hagrid had access to her, but eventually, the dragon had grown too big for Kettleburn's classroom, and she was relocated to a pen located near Hagrid's hut which had been warded to keep her from trying to leave or fly away. Since then, nearly every Hogwarts student had been by at least once to see the rapidly growing dragon. According to Kettleburn, she was in perfect health and would be transferred to the Romanian sanctuary via apparation in early July. And having spent the last five nights preparing the dragon's foul-smelling nutrient mixture, Hermione and Harry decided they would be happy to see her gone. As the two walked back to the castle after their last night of detention (both stinking to high heaven), Hermione finally snapped at her friend.

"I just want you to know that I'm going to use up a whole bottle of shampoo when I take a shower before bed tonight... AND I BLAME YOU ENTIRELY!"

"_Me?!_" exclaimed Harry. "It was your unauthorized experiments in high-level enchantments meant to revolutionize the wizarding world that got us into this."

"And it was your reckless use of a Fourth Year combat spell from a DADA book that had been discontinued for thirty years that blew out all the windows!"

"Says the girl who scavenges Diagon Alley for old books containing lock-picking Charms! Besides, it's not my fault some the idiot decided that the Voice Amplification Charm and the Glass Shattering Curse should have the exact same incantation but with a different vowel emphasized!" he said irritably.

"Why did you even bring a DADA book anyway?" she asked, equally irritated.

"Well, I didn't _mean_ to. I just ... we have a small private library in the Slytherin dorms. I ... got access to it and just used an Accio to summon every book containing sound-related Charms."

"_What?!_ You used a general summoning spell for books _in the Slytherin library_?! We're lucky you didn't speak some Forbidden Killing Word like '_Muad'Dib_' or something!"

"Maude who?"

"_Muad'Dib! _From Frank Herbert's... oh, never mind!" said the exasperated Hermione as she pulled a bit of goat intestine out of her bushy hair.

"Why are you so mad at me anyway?"

"Because for five nights in a row, I have had to return to Gryffindor Tower _stinking of viscera and offal and ... I WANT TO BLAME SOMEBODY!_"

He looked at her and crooked an eyebrow. She looked back at him angrily. Finally, after a few seconds, they both burst into laughter, and the tension drained away.

"Aauugh!" said Hermione. "Sorry. This has just been the worst week of my life. Six years of Muggle primary without so much as a demerit, and I get a week long detention at Hogwarts for '_participating in an act of vandalism_.' My parents will be so thrilled."

"Hermione, I'm sorry too. I should have double-checked what kind of book I was reading before I cast the spell. But as awful as it was, we're finally done. Tonight was the last night of detention, and anyway, it was for a good cause, helping Kettleburn and Hagrid with the dragon. Besides, it could always have been worse."

Hermione scoffed. "How could any detention have _possibly_ been worse than that?!"

"I dunno, they could have made us go monster-hunting in the Forbidden Forest or something like that."

"Oh please! The staff here can be cruel with their detentions, but none of them are deranged!"

The two laughed as they entered the castle and made their way to their respective dorms. Neither noticed that behind them, in the distance, Hagrid stood at the edge of that very Forbidden Forest, where he was engaged in an animated conversation with several angry Centaurs.

_**4 June 1992**_

Once their detentions were complete, Harry and his friends focused on preparing for their end-of-year exams. By the time exams started, Hermione had also made nearly a hundred Galleons beating knowledge into Crabbe and Goyle's equally thick heads, but she felt confident that they would pass everything if they didn't panic. The DADA exam had come first, and Harry felt confident that he'd aced it, despite the handicap of the class having been taught by a stammering idiot possibly possessed by a dark lord. The Potions exam was the next day, and afterwards, Harry stayed behind to discretely inquire if there had been "any developments." Snape responded that everything is well in hand, but that the Headmaster was expected to be away from school on the following Thursday, so that might be a good night to turn in early. Harry nodded at the hint, relieved that the whole Quirrell mess would soon be over. The final exam was History of Magic on Thursday morning, after which he spent the afternoon hanging out with his friends by the lake shore. Harry also asked Hermione and Neville about whether Jim and Ron were still fixated on the Stone, and they promised to keep an eye on the two that evening and make sure they didn't do anything foolish. After dinner, Harry spent time relaxing with in the Slytherin Common Room. Draco came by to inform the group that Theo would be coming straight from King's Cross to Malfoy Manor for the whole summer, and that he hoped that Harry and Blaise could come and visit at some point. As always, nowadays, he _seemed_ sincere.

Marcus Flint also came by, insistent that Harry get a broom over the summer and try out for Quidditch in the fall, as they would have several positions open. Flint also pulled Harry aside and let him know that the older boy was planning on retaking several of his OWLS that summer in hopes of getting into some additional NEWT classes before graduating. Depending on how it turned out, he might have to stay in school for an extra year. Unfortunately, his parents, who did not place great store on education, were opposed to paying for an eighth year, particularly in light of how poorly Marcus had done in the past. He asked if Harry had any advice about "getting back on track." Harry assured him that he'd do whatever it took to help the other boy pay for extra schooling.

As curfew came, Harry headed up to bed. He was eager for everything to be over – the Quirrell situation, the exam results, even the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw Quidditch match (which would likely determine the winner of the House Cup). He would miss his friends over the summer, at least until he had the chance to visit them, but part of him was looking forward to spending his days back at 4 Privet Drive locked in his room with a big stack of books from the Lair and away from scheming Slytherin rivals, spoiled Gryffindor siblings, and murderous dark lords. Anxiety kept Harry from sleep, and so he immediately jumped when, just after midnight, the stack of enchanted parchments he'd placed under his pillow softly dinged with the particular tone indicating a message from Hermione. He quickly lit a Lumos beneath his closed bed curtains and put on his glasses. He immediately assumed the worst – that Jim and Ron had gotten past Hermione and Neville and were on their way to the Third Floor corridor. Then, he read the message and instantly realized how badly he'd underestimated what "_the worst_" might be.

"_Good evening, Mr. Potter. This is Professor Quirinus Quirrell, writing to you by way of Miss Granger's ingenious little parchment. I think it's time we had a little chat."_

* * *

**_And. Here. We. Go! The next chapter will be uploaded on July 10, 2015, sometime between 4 and 6 pm CST. _****_**_"Final Exam, pt 1," in which the Slytherin Trio runs the gauntlet, Theo shows what he's made of, and Blaise whacks Harry with the get-a-clue stick.  
_**_**

**_**_AN: _**_**"Yeah," said a flummoxed Neville. "This is ... beyond the universe of possible things." **is a slight alteration of a similar line from Chapter 55 of "Family Bonds" by xXDesertRoseXx, in which the Neville of that story is similarly confused by Draco showing an apparent heel-face turn. I've always loved that line and that fic, so consider this an homage.**


	29. HP&POS 29: Final Exam pt 1

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

**CHAPTER 29: Final Exam (pt 1)**

"_Good evening, Mr. Potter. This is Professor Quirinus Quirrell, writing to you by way of Miss Granger's ingenious little parchment. I think it's time for us to have a little chat."_

Harry read Quirrell's message three times before he thought to run through a quick Occlumency exercise to calm his thoughts from utter panic down to cool rationality. Then, he snatched up his wand and instantly sent three whispered silencing charms to the beds of Draco, Crabbe and Goyle so that they wouldn't hear anything before yelling for Blaise and Theo to wake up and come over to his bed. The parchment dinged again.

"_I'm a busy man, Mr. Potter, so I'd appreciate a quick response, before I assume that Miss Granger misled me as to how this parchment functions and I'm forced to interrogate her more forcefully."_

Harry gritted his teeth, took a deep breath, and replied: _"I'm here. What do you want of me? And what have you done with Hermione?"_

"_Nothing yet, I assure you. Well, nothing beyond a few minor psychic manipulations, anyway. You're a clever little serpent, Potter, but you're still only eleven, and not quite so clever as you may think you are. Your efforts to avoid all eye contact with me made it patently obvious that you know of my ... information-gathering skills, but your Gryffindor friends were not so well-prepared, and I pieced together most of what I needed from their memories. I know you have deduced that I was behind the troll incident and your brother's subsequent Quidditch difficulties last semester. I know you have deduced that I am here at Hogwarts in order to acquire a certain object hidden on the Third Floor. And thanks to a particularly vivid memory from your brother, I know that you have interacted with a certain enchanted mirror and successfully escaped its clutches under your own power. Or perhaps you merely took advantage of special characteristics imbued within the Mirror by the Headmaster that make it less dangerous for children than for adults. Regardless, I would like to engage your assistance in retrieving the object of __**my** __heart's desire from its current resting place which is, I believe, within said mirror."_

Harry responded: _"Why on Earth would I help you with that?" _As he waited for the reply, he told his two friends to get dressed quickly, as he started pulling on his own trousers over his pajamas to save time.

"_Because I am presently in the same room with that mirror along with four little Gryffindors who thought they could sneak in and steal the Stone in order to 'save it' from the nasty old DADA instructor. Well, two of them. The other two apparently expected to find Severus Snape down here. Silly boys. I am, of course, speaking of Miss Granger and Messrs. Longbottom, Weasley and Potter Minor. While your disdain for the latter two is well-known, Potter Major, so is your affinity for the first two."_

Blaise shook his head. "Hermione and Neville would have never gone along with something as stupid as helping the Git and the Weasel _steal_ the Stone." Harry agreed and sent that statement as a message. Quirrell quickly responded.

"_Unlike your Headmaster, boy, I am not in the habit of leaving things to chance. I penetrated to the last room of Dumbledore's gauntlet three weeks ago. But when I recognized the Mirror from Potter Minor's memories, I came to suspect the nature of the old man's trap. It took me months to learn the secret of dealing with the Cerberus without raising alarm, but everything else was challenging but hardly insurmountable ... until the room with the Mirror. I imagine the Headmaster expected me to easily pass through the first six rooms and then, pluming myself on my own ego, plunge headfirst into the Mirror and become trapped by my 'heart's desire.' I think not. Instead, I choose to invite you to join me here, Potter Major, to see if you can recover the Stone for me. You've already proven your ability to gaze into the Mirror without being trapped, so it seems logical to assume you can penetrate the Stone's protections. To ensure your compliance, I placed a Confundus Curse on the DADA exams of your pet Gryffindors, one designed to lure them here tonight in spite of your warnings to avoid the Third Floor. I would have put one directly on __**you**__, but you are clearly strong-willed and have obviously received some training in psychic defense, so I thought it more prudent to target your more pliable associates, all four of whom currently lie at my feet, bound by the Incarcerous Charm." _

"_I await you at the end of Dumbledore's gauntlet, Potter Major, although you will find most of his traps already deactivated. Those remaining should be no problem for such a clever young serpent as you. Tell no one, and come alone. You have twenty minutes before the bad things start. Do the math, Mr. Potter. Four Gryffindors equals forty fingers and forty toes before I move on to the larger extremities. Your time starts – Now!"_

Harry cursed and then tapped the parchment five times to lock in the writing on it before it reset. Then, he handed the parchment to Theo. "Get that to Snape. Both of you. Make sure he understands that Quirrell has hostages."

"No," said Theo quickly.

"Theo..."

"No, _shut up!_ You're not going to face him alone! It's not happening, and you don't have time to argue with me about it, so just accept the reality that I'm coming with you!"

Theo handed the parchment off to Blaise, who just looked back and forth between the parchment and his friends before holding the paper out to Harry, who had just put his wand holster on and was pulling a jumper on to conceal it. "What he said."

Harry wasted three whole seconds fuming at his friends before he snatched the paper out of Blaise's hand in a fury. "It's like I'm surrounded by _bloody Gryffindors!_" he snarled as he bolted out the door, the other two close behind. It took another fifteen seconds before he was racing down Prefect's Row, practically yelling the password for the Lair as he did. Inside, he found what he was looking for: Rodney and Olivia poring over old NEWT questions. They both looked up him in surprise.

"No time to explain!" he said breathlessly. He handed the parchment to Olivia. "Get this to Snape as fast as you can. If you can't find him, then McGonagall or Flitwick. Lives depend on this." Then, he turned and ran out again, hoping that the two prefects took him seriously.

Four minutes later, the Sytherin Trio was at the forbidden door. Harry looked at his friends once again as he struggled to catch his breath. "You really don't have to do this. It's dangerous and reckless. He just wants me."

"You're wasting time, Potter," said Theo. "Neville and Hermione are my friends, and they're in trouble. So I'm there for them. Just like I'm there for you."

Harry's face flushed at having his own words used against him, especially by the boy who had once been so timid and who'd claimed that he wasn't any good at "all this kindness stuff." Harry turned and cast the Alohamora on the door. It clicked open, and the three quietly entered the room. Inside, they looked around in the gloom. The Cerberus appeared to be asleep. Harry's eyes widened – he'd heard about the monstrosity in September, but this was his first chance to actually see it. Off in a nearby corner, Blaise noticed a golden harp lying on the floor. Harry took a step forward, and the floor creaked. Instantly, the right eye on Fluffy's middle head flicked open, and the creature started to stir. Harry and Theo froze in terror, but Blaise simply pointed his wand at the harp and calmly said _"__**MUSICA – BRAHMS LULLABY." **_Instantly, the harp floated up into the air and started playing a soothing tune. The Cerberus quickly drifted off back to sleep.

"What spell was that?" Harry asked in relief.

"Wasn't a spell," Blaise said softly. "That harp's a fairly common enchanted item. You say 'Musica" and then name a song, and the harp will jump up and start playing it automatically. Quirrell probably bought that in a music shop in Diagon Alley. My mom's got at least three of them."

"How did you know music would put Fluffy to sleep?" asked Theo as the trio edged around the hellhound towards the trap door behind him.

"I didn't. I walked into a room with a sleeping Cerberus that five people have somehow already gotten past, and I noticed a magic harp in the corner looking obviously out of place. Two plus two equals four."

Harry and Theo nodded at his impeccable Slytherin logic. The trap door was still open, and they could make out a faint bluish light from below. "Now what?" asked Blaise.

"Now, you two lower me with the Levitation Charm," said Theo. Harry started to say something but Theo cut him off. "I'm lighter than either of you, and you're both better with the Charm than me. This way, you can lower me slowly and at a controlled rate, I can check out the room safely, and you can pull me right back up if there's any danger."

Harry reluctantly agreed. "This should be Sprout's room, so you're looking for dangerous plants." Theo nodded and fired of a Lumos with his wand, while the other two cast the Levitation Charm on him and slowly lowered him into the room. After about five seconds, he called back up. "Definitely plants. Looks like some sort of thick moving vines at the edges of the room. There's a circle of Bluebell Flames keeping them at bay and then a path leading to the door. Better hurry though – the flames look to be dying out."

With that, the other two lowered Theo all the way to the floor, and then, they all took turns levitating each other. By the time Harry touched down, one of the more aggressive vines had slithered past the openings in the circle of flames in the direction of Theo's foot. Harry saw it and instinctively said "Back off!" The vines instantly withdrew, and the other two boys stared at Harry in surprise.

"Parseltongue works on killer vines?" said Blaise in surprise.

"I dunno. Was I using Parseltongue just then?" asked Harry.

"Yes. Didn't you know?"

Harry shrugged as he headed for the door. "Honestly, it all sounds English to me. Snakes born in other countries sound like they have foreign accents and most snakes drag their 'S' sounds, but I always hear it in English. I never even realized I was hissing back to them until Theo told me the first time I brought him into the Lair."

The next room was a large empty chamber. On the far side was a heavy wooden door that appeared to have hundreds of quivering metal keys forcefully embedded into it. As the boys drew nearer, they saw that each key had a set of wings that was fluttering uselessly. To the side of the door was a rack of brooms with one empty slot. Blaise tried the door, but it was locked and resistant to the Alohamora. Harry looked around speculatively.

"So, a big room with a high ceiling. Winged keys. And brooms. Obviously, the keys _were_ airborne and you had to fly after them with a broom until you found the right one ... at which point the rest of the keys became hostile and attacked. Someone – probably Jim – got the key, threw it to someone on the ground who opened the door, and then the Git flew through ..." Harry looked towards the door and the twitching keys imbedded in it. "Which means the key is on the _other side!_" he finished angrily.

Blaise knelt and examined the door. "Yep. I can see the key still in the lock." He pulled out a piece of parchment from one of his pockets.

"Is that one of Hermione's parchments?" asked Harry.

"Yeah, sometimes we like to talk about homework and ... other stuff." Blaise unfolded the parchment and carefully slide it most of the way under the door. Harry watched his friend, feeling curious and mildly jealous that Blaise and Hermione had "stuff" to talk about that he wasn't privy to. Then, Blaise carefully aimed his wand into the keyhole and said _"__**WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA.**_" He jiggled his wand gently, and after a few seconds, there was a clink as the key fell out of the lock and onto the parchment. Then, he pulled the parchment back underneath the door with the key resting on top. Blaise snatched up the key triumphantly and unlocked the door.

"That was _BRILLIANT!_" exclaimed Theo in amazement.

"Well, I _am_ brilliant and normally would be happy for it to be acknowledged, but I must confess that in this case, I got the idea from an old episode of _Scooby-Doo_." The other two looked at him blankly. "Okay, I understand Theo, but do you mean to tell me, Muggle-raised Harry Potter, that you have _never heard_ of _Scooby-Doo_?!"

Harry shrugged. "The only time I ever got to watch television was when I stayed with the crazy cat lady across the lane while my relatives went on holiday. She preferred soap operas and spaghetti westerns, so if you want to talk about Sergio Leone films or maybe _Coronation Street_, I'm your guy."

Blaise sighed as the three passed through the open door. "We are getting you a TV and a cable box for your room at the Dursleys, Harry, whatever it takes."

The next room was equally large but with a much lower ceiling. There was a giant chessboard covered in huge – and mostly broken – pieces.

"A chess game," said Harry. "But of course."

"It's just a good thing these traps didn't reset after the Gryffs made it through," said Theo. "There's no way we'd be able to play a chess game in the amount of time we have left."

As they made their way through the rubble of the chessboard, Blaise spoke out with feigned casualness. "So, we've been through a Herbology trap, a Seeker's trap, and now a Chess Prodigy's trap. Anyone else sensing a pattern?" Theo's eyebrows shot up as he considered the significance of what Blaise said. Harry just looked grim.

"Yes, I've noticed," he replied tersely. "But at the moment, it's not at the top of our to-do list, so let's table that matter for now." The next room contained an unconscious troll which they passed quickly. The one after that was a small room with a table situated in an alcove. As soon as the three passed inside, purple flames arose from the archway behind them and black ones from the one up ahead. On the table was a row of potion vials and a parchment containing what appeared to be a riddle which Harry started reading aloud.

"_Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind, Two of us will help you, whichever you would find_... OH COME ON_!"_ He glanced at his watch. They had less than three minutes. "We won't get finished _reading _this thing in three minutes, let alone solve it!"

"Then, we'll do it the Slytherin way," said Theo as he started emptying his pockets onto the table. "We'll cheat." Out of the pile he'd made, the boy picked up a small leather case that could fit in the palm of his hand. Opening it, he removed what appeared to be a monocle on a brass chain. He breathed on it softly which immediately caused the clear lens to tint itself amber. Then, he slowly started moving it across the potions.

"Another gift from Alex?" asked Harry.

"Yes. It detects poisons, dangerous potions, and other potentially harmful things that might be added to food or drink. Just the thing if all your meals are provided by a filicidal monster."

"Fili-what?" asked Blaise.

"Filicidal. It means someone who wants to kill his or her own children." Theo glanced up at the other two who seemed doubtful. "It's a real word. I looked it up. Anyway, these three are poisonous," he said pointing out different vials, "while these two are non-poisonous but have a fairly high alcohol content. Now, if we plug that additional information into the logic puzzle..." he thought for a moment, "that means this potion lets you go forward and this one lets you go back."

"Great job, Theo," said Harry. "Okay, here's the plan. We dump out one of the vials of nettle wine, and I'll use the Gemino Charm to duplicate enough of the backwards potion for both of you to leave and make sure help is coming. I'll distract Quirrell until you get back."

"Hmm, that is one option," said Blaise. "Here's another. We dump out _two_ vials of nettle wine, and you use the Gemino Charm to make enough of the _forwards_ potion for all of us."

"You can't go with me, guys. He said to come alone."

Theo raised his hand to show off his family ring. "I don't know if I ever mentioned it since you haven't done anything crazy enough to need it in a while, but this ring _can _confer a Notice-Me-Not effect on multiple people if they all maintain physical contact and can all hold their breathe long enough. You can go in and distract him while we creep in behind you and set up a sneak attack."

"No, it's too dangerous..."

"It's just Quirrell! If we can get at him from behind, we can..."

"It's Voldemort," interrupted Harry.

"What?" said Blaise dully. "I'm sorry, _WHAT?!"_ Theo just stood still, speechless and horrified.

"Quirrell is being possessed by the spiritual remnants of Voldemort. He wants the Philosopher's Stone to create a new physical body for himself. And when he realizes that the Stone's a fake, he's going to start killing everybody. That is, unless I go in and stall him until help arrives."

"And why _precisely_ are we finding this out now," hissed Blaise as he grabbed Harry's arm to look at his watch, "with less than a minute and a half to go?!"

"I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you, but Voldemort has access to this power called Legilimency that lets him read minds. If I'd told you anything about it, you'd have only been in danger. And I assume if he can sense your thoughts with it, he could probably see through the Notice-Me-Not."

"Uh-huh," said Blaise sarcastically. "Apropos of nothing, but did you _ever _figure out the secret behind that VHS tape I gave you for Christmas?"

Harry blinked. "Yeah, of course. It was a ... transfigured ... Occlumency ... book..." He trailed off sheepishly.

"Right. And it never occurred to you that maybe I gave it as a gift because I got it myself _at the age of eight_ and had already learned everything I could from it?!"

Harry's mouth opened and closed repeatedly before he finally blurted out "I've had a lot of things on my mind since Christmas! I ... I got distracted!"

"Obviously," deadpanned Blaise.

"Which book?" asked Theo curiously. "**Moste Hidden Arte** or **Aegis Mentalis**?"

"Neither. It was **Pathways of the Mind**."

"Oooo, I've heard good things about that one, but it's banned in Britain."

"Well, you can borrow Harry's copy since, evidently, he's never opened it," Blaise replied acidly.

Harry looked back and forth between the other two Slytherins in consternation. "Do you mean to tell me that I've been keeping _all of this_ to myself since November in order to protect my friends from danger, and my two best Slytherin friends have been studying Occlumency since the age of ...?"

"Eight," said Blaise.

"Nine. _Of course_ I learned how to conceal my thoughts! _Filicidal dad_, remember?" added Theo.

Harry drew breath to scream "GAAAAAAH!" at the top of his lungs, but his two friends hastily cast a Silencing Spell on him since there was a dark lord somewhere nearby and so some degree of subtlety was called for.

* * *

**The next update will be posted on Monday, July 13, between 4 and 6 pm CST. "Final Exam (pt 2)_._" Ever wonder how that scene between Harry and Quirrelmort in front of the Mirror would have gone down if Harry hadn't been completely clueless about everything?**


	30. HP&POS 30: Final Exam pt 2

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

**CHAPTER 30: Final Exam (pt 2)**

It had felt so ... _right. _That was the worst thing about it to Hermione. She and Neville had talked just that afternoon with Harry about the Third Floor corridor and the Philosopher's Stone and about how important it was to keep an eye on Jim and Ron and make sure they didn't do anything foolish. They'd even stayed up in the common room a few hours after curfew talking in case the two tried to sneak by. But instead, Jim and Ron just walked boldly up to them right before midnight to tell them that Dumbledore had been lured away, that Snape was going to steal the Stone that night, that no one would listen to them, and that their only chance was to steal the Stone themselves before Snape got to it. And suddenly ... it felt _right._

Not that bit about Snape, of course. Hermione trusted Harry's judgment on that score, and she agreed with him that Quirrell was likely the culprit. Nevertheless, it suddenly felt _right_ to think that whoever the thief was, no one else would be able to stop him except a quartet of First Year students who didn't know any major combat-related spells more powerful than the Leg-Locker Curse ... that Quirrel himself had taught them! But none of that mattered, because trying to stop him was _right_, and everything else would take care of itself.

Jim's invisibility cloak was a tight fit, but they all made it to the Third Floor without incident. The Cerberus was still waiting, albeit a little groggy looking. She'd noticed a small harp lying on the ground nearby, but Jim was already on the case. Apparently, Hagrid has accidentally revealed to him that music could put the hound to sleep, which Jim did with a handmade flute the half-giant had given him for Christmas. The trapdoor was already open, but Neville stopped everyone from proceeding as he took a big sniff from the musty room below. Immediately, he informed the group that the room below was full of Devil's Snare, a dangerous carnivorous plant that killed by crushing its prey but which was extremely vulnerable to fire. Neville went first and used the Bluebell Flame Charm to clear a path for everyone else.

Jim's Seeker skills made short work of the Key Room, but Hermione thought it was odd that someone would design a defense for the Stone that could only be overcome by exemplary Quidditch skills. Something about it seemed ... _not quite right_, but she shook off her concerns as they made it through to the next room which contained a giant Wizard's Chess board. That seemed _even less right_ to Hermione, but she saw no options but to play. There was a moment of terror when Ron chose to sacrifice the knight he was riding in order to ensure a quick victory. She screamed as the other piece charged towards him, but at the last second, Neville cast the Levitation Charm on Ron, lifting him out of the way of the attacking piece and setting him down gently by the side of the board.

"Well done, Neville," she'd said excitedly.

"Yeah!" he replied in excitement. "And I didn't even set him on fire!"

"Wait, WHAT?!" exclaimed Ron. "Was that a thing that might have happened?!"

"Um, never mind," said Hermione quickly. "Forget he said anything. Jim, take the king so we can get out of here."

He did, and the quartet proceeded on through the next room and its already incapacitated troll to what Hermione thought was the penultimate room. Hermione easily solved Snape's logic puzzle, but even as she did, she had to push down the growing feeling of _not right, indeed quite possibly wrong_ that was beginning to worry her. What also worried her was that there was only one potion to go forward and one to go back, which mean that two people would apparently be stranded in this room until help arrived ... which might be a while since they hadn't bothered to tell anyone where they were going, something that Hermione suddenly thought was quite out of character for her and _very wrong indeed._ But before she could go any farther to articulate that thought, Jim distracted her with an observation about the potion vials.

"Hang on a minute. These are auto-refilling vials. My dad carries a set of these. Aurors use them in the field to carry healing potions and the like. When you've completely emptied one, they refill a minute or two later with more of the potion that gets summoned from a central reservoir at DMLE headquarters."

"That makes sense," said Neville. "It wouldn't do for a thief to figure out how to get past those flames and leave no way for a pursuer to go after him. Besides, if Quirrell or Snape or whoever has already been this way, then he must have used the right potion but none of them are empty. So who's going first?"

"Me," said Jim somberly. "This ... this is my job. It always has been. Once I go through, I want each of you to take turns using the other potion to get out of here and bring help. If I can't figure out how to beat Snape," he glanced at Hermione and Neville, "or maybe Quirrell, I guess, it's up to you to get the other teachers down here."

He downed the potion and went through the black flames. None of the others made any move towards the potion that would allow passage back through the purple flames. After a minute, the potion vial Jim had emptied refilled itself. Ron picked it up and said, "You two can do what you want, but Jim's my friend and he's not facing ... whoever is in there alone." He took the potion, tossed the empty vial to Neville, and went through the black flames.

Neville looked back at Hermione with an anguished expression. She put her head in her hands while trying to fathom how they'd gotten themselves into this position, but thinking about that too much made her head hurt. After a few seconds, she looked up at the sound of Neville guzzling down the potion to go forward. Then, he put the empty vial back on the rack, picked up the vial to go back, and placed it in Hermione's hands.

"Go back, Hermione. You're the smart one. Get out of here and bring us some backup. I'll help Jim and Ron hold the fort as long as we can." Then, he hugged the girl before turning and running through the black flames leaving her alone. She stared at the flames for what seemed an eternity and then looked down at the potion in her hand, the one that would allow her to leave this place and summon help. She willed herself to open the stopper and do what she knew was the proper and sensible thing to do. She continued to focus on the potion in her hand for several minutes even after the vial the others had used refilled itself. But for all her will and intellect, she found herself completely unable to do the smart thing. Instead, she was compelled to do _the right thing_, and so she swapped the potion in her hand for the one Neville had just used and gulped it down without a thought. Pulling her wand, she darted through the flames, bolstered by the feeling that she was doing _the right thing_. It wasn't until she saw Professor Quirrell looking up at her smugly with the three Gryffindor boys bound at his feet that the realization of her _absolute_ _wrongness_ struck her like a thunderbolt.

Seconds later, Hermione too was bound alongside her house-mates. Then, Quirrell summoned the parchment that allowed her to communicate with Harry. "How does this work, Miss Granger?" he said almost mildly. She said nothing and just glared at him angrily. "Miss Granger, if I have to ask you a second time, it will only be after I've introduced one of your friends to the Cruciatus Curse. I'm sure your friend Mr. Longbottom has mentioned it. It's the curse that reduced his parents to semi-catatonic vegetables. Do you want me to ensure that Longbottom and his parents are reunited? _Permanently_?"

"Don't tell him anything, Hermione," said Neville firmly.

"Ah, Gryffindor courage. How predictably noble," Quirrel said with a smirk. Then, he pulled his wand out and pointed it at Neville's head.

"Stop!" exclaimed Hermione. "I ... I'll tell." And then she explained how the parchments operated.

"Thank you, Miss Granger. Oh, don't look so disappointed in your friend, Mr. Longbottom. I'm sure she believes that if I send a message to Potter Major, he, being a sensible young Slytherin, will go straight to a teacher. What Miss Granger fails to appreciate is the flaw in Potter Major's otherwise aggressively Slytherin nature – when his friends are in danger, he quite loses all sense of proportion. Isn't that right, Potter Minor?"

Jim gritted his teeth at the "Potter Minor" designation that reminded him of his second-born status. But after the events of Boxing Day, he knew Quirrell was right. If Harry thought one of his friends was in trouble, he could be as reckless as any Gryffindor. Quirrell idly conjured a chair, sat down, and began sending messages, presumably to Harry. Then, after a few minutes, he pocketed the parchment and pulled out a pocket watch.

"Twenty minutes. Then, we'll see just how much Gryffindor spirit Harry Potter has in him." With a casual wave, he added gags to the bonds on the four students, and then, he closed his eyes, almost as if napping. The children struggled but were not able to break the magical bonds that held them. After a lengthy interval, Quirrell opened his eyes and checked his pocket watch again. "Hmm, it seems Mr. Potter is more Slytherin than I thought," he said, banishing the chair as he moved towards the bound children. "Or perhaps simply not as clever. So how should I motivate him, I wonder? As I understand it, Potter Major cares little for his brother and less for Mr. Weasley. That leaves you, Miss Granger, and you, Mr. Longbottom." With a flick of his wand, he removed the gags from the four children. "Now, who wants to scream first?"

Before any of the Gryffindors could respond, a commanding voice cried out from the staircase that led down into the room. "QUIRRELL! I'm here. You can stop acting like a villain from some Muggle comic book."

Quirrell whirled about to face Harry Potter in surprise. For a second, Hermione was confused, as it looked more like Jim instead of Harry who had entered the room. Then she realized – this was the first time since September that she'd seen him in casual attire and without Sleekeazy in his hair.

"Mr. Potter! And just in the nick of time!" said Quirrell confidently.

"Yes, I heard your evil gloating as I was coming down the stairs. Very spooky." Quirrell glowered at the boy who was suddenly grateful for his limited Occlumency training. Without it, he'd be having another panic attack right now, like the one in Snape's classroom except out loud this time. Instead, he was able to suppress his instinct to curl up into a tiny whimpering ball and project the same confidence he displayed in the Prince's Lair back when dealing with Draco. "Tell me, Professor Quirrell," he continued, hoping to keep the man's attention on him. "It's just us now, so we can be honest with one another. What in Merlin's name happened to you? All the upper year students I spoke to who remember you do so fondly. A kind, intelligent man who'd obtained a Mastery in the field of Muggle Studies, one who was respected by his students and his fellow teachers. Now, you're a cackling villain who talks of torturing children to get your way."

Quirrell laughed cruelly. "I left Hogwarts for a year's sabbatical before taking a turn as the Defense instructor. Still so young and foolish I was, full of ridiculous ideas about good and evil. Then, I found him – my master. He showed me the truth of the world, showed me how wrong I was. There is no good or evil. There is only..."

"Power," interrupted Harry. "Power and those too weak to understand it. Yes, I _am_ familiar with that quotation. It was in **Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts** and was first attributed to the Dark Lord Emeric who ravaged Britain in the 14th Century. And yet _somehow_, Emeric's words didn't stop people from calling him _Emeric the Evil_." Harry snorted almost contemptuously at Quirrell. "It's kind of funny, actually, that your master patterned himself on one of the few Gryffindors who became a dark lord. That actually explains a lot of his bad habits. Incidentally, did your master ever mention to you that those words were part of Emeric's final statement just moments before his execution?"

Quirrell found himself taken aback by the boy's eerily calm demeanor as well as his knowledge of dark matters. Then, a rasping, sibilant voice echoed around the room. **"Enough talk. Get the Stone! Usssse the Boy!**" The four bound Gryffindors looked around wildly at the menacing voice, and Harry stiffened at the sound.

Quirrell gestured angrily towards him. "Come here, _Potter_!"he spat. Harry slowly walked towards Quirrell and the Mirror. His plan at the moment was to look into the Mirror, hope that he could resist its power now that he knew how it worked, and then spin a bunch of lies to keep Quirrell and his "master" occupied until grownups showed up. Unless no grownups showed up ... in which case he and all his friends would die and he would make a point of haunting Olivia Kolumbiko and Rodney Montague for the rest of their lives.

But as he moved next to Quirrell and looked into the cursed Mirror, Harry was surprised to see that the image was not he was expecting. His heart's desire no longer reflected him as a loving and loyal member of the Potter clan. Instead, the image was a reflection of his current self sitting comfortably on the Hydra Throne which now recognized him as Prince. The mirror version of Harry looked down at the real version with regal confidence ... that suddenly broke into a mischievous smirk. Then, Delilah, whose head had been outside of the Mirror's frame, twisted into view with a large crystalline stone in her mouth. She dropped the stone into Mirror-Harry's waiting hand and hissed a coquettish laugh. Mirror-Harry slipped the Philosopher's Stone into his trouser pocket and winked ... and Harry's own trouser pocket suddenly bulged as new weight was added to it. Harry's eyes widened.

"_They hid the Stone in the Mirror in such a way that only someone who didn't actually want to possess it could draw it back out again," _he thought in wonder. _"And it never occurred to them that Quirrell might force an unwilling hostage to help him?! __**I've got **__**morons**__** on my team**__!"_

Quirrell must have noticed Harry's response. "What is it, Potter? What do you see?" he asked angrily.

"Um, I see myself. Dumbledore is, uh, shaking hands with me. I've won the House Cup." Inside, Harry was cringing. Usually, he was a _much _better liar than this, but he was so startled to have the object of Quirrel's desire suddenly dumped into his pocket that he froze and simply couldn't come up with anything convincing. He wasn't the only one who noticed.

"**He liessss!**_"_ exclaimed that terrible hissing voice.

"_Oh well, it was worth a try,"_ thought Harry. Then, in a fluid motion, he popped out his wand, whirled it towards Quirrell's head, and yelled _"__**SONOROUS!**_" as loudly as he could, making sure to emphasize the _first _syllable. The same high-pitched shriek that earned Harry his first detention erupted once more. The bound Gryffindors winced in pain, while Quirrell nearly doubled over, as Harry backed as quickly as he could towards the stairs.

"**Stop him you fool!**_"_ cried the awful voice, and despite his pain, Quirrell sent a Banishing Charm in Harry's direction. It caught the boy with such force that he twisted around in midair and landed painfully face down on the floor. Then, Quirrell snapped his fingers, and a barrier of flame rose up at the top of the stairs, blocking Harry's escape.

"Pitiful child! Did you really you could strike me down with a weak attack like that?!" snarled Quirrell in anger.

Slowly, Harry rose with his back to the older wizard. "No," he coughed. "I really just wanted to make sure that you knew I could cast the Glass-Shattering Curse." As he spoke, he whirled around to face his enemy with his wand in one hand, its tip resting against the (fake) Philosopher's Stone that he held in the other. "Now, _Professor_, I believe you said earlier that it was time we had a chat. So ... let's chat. Otherwise, I shatter the Philosopher's Stone into a million pieces."

"You insolent _BRAT!_" screamed Quirrell. "Give me that Stone or I swear you and your friends will die in AGONY!"

"Oh will you SHUT UP, already!" yelled Harry right back. "I swear you were less annoying when you were stuttering! You have nothing to offer me now except threats to kill us all, and since you were going to kill us all anyway, those don't frighten me." Harry snickered almost contemptuously. "Besides, as a famous Muggle by the name of Winston Churchill once said: _'Never talk with a monkey when the organ-grinder is in the room._' So zip it, and let your master speak."

Quirrell growled, but then the unearthly voice spoke up again. "**Let me ssspeak to the boy.**"

"Master," said Quirrell nervously. "You are not strong enough."

"**I am ssstrong enough for thisss.**_"_ And with that, Quirrell straightened and began to unwrap the turban atop his head. Harry steeled himself for the sight of what, months earlier he'd imagined as a "doom pimple." The reality was far worse. As the last of the wrappings fell away, Voldemort was revealed, a wrinkled hideous face of pure malice and hate, grafted onto the back of Quirrell's bald skull and reflected in the Mirror. Harry risked a quick glance at Voldemort while the Dark Lord's eyes were still unfocused. Then, he fixed his gaze on Quirrell's chest, focused on his limited Occlumency training, and resolved that, no matter what, he would not meet Voldemort's gaze. His life and that of all of his friends depended on Voldemort not seeing into Harry's mind. For their part, the Gryffindors seemed to have been rendered speechless with horror. "_Voldemort,"_ Jim whispered in shock.

"**Sssee what I have become, Harry Potter. Sssee what your brother has done to me.**_" _hissed Voldemort.

"Are you expecting an apology? Besides, I don't plan to see any part of you. I know you're a Legilimens, so if it's all the same I'll just keep my attention on Professor Quirrell in case he tries anything we'll all regret."

"**Ahh, you are indeed cunning, Harry Potter. Worthy of Slytherin House. And to think your foolish parents abandoned you to filthy Muggles and then rejected you again merely because of your Sssorting. Join me, Harry Potter. Sssit at my right hand and I will grant both vengeance against those have wronged you and powersss beyond your imagination.**_"_

"Really? Because, you know, I can imagine _quite a lot_ of power," Harry said, giving every impression of seriously considering Voldemort's offer.

"Harry, you can't!" cried Hermione.

"Don't listen to him, Harry!" exclaimed Neville.

"I always knew you were a dark wizard, you snake!" yelled Jim.

Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes at Jim's idiocy. "Excuse me, will all the Gryffindors – and especially Jim – kindly _shut up_! The grownups are talking now!" Then, he turned his attention back to Quirrell while studiously avoiding eye contact with Voldemort. "Obviously, my lord, I would need some ... assurances," he said.

"**Sssuch as...**"

He took a deep breath and tried to think of something he could plausibly ask in order to keep Voldemort focused on talking instead of action. "Why did you attack Godric's Hollow on Halloween of 1981?"

Voldemort hesitated. **"Why would the answer to that question constitute ... assurance?"**

"Your actions that night have never made sense to me. You stunned James and Lily Potter and then tried to kill Jim. I can only assume that if you'd succeeded with him, you'd have killed me next. Certainly, I can't imagine any reason to go to such lengths kill one twin and leave the other alive, but it would definitely be reassuring if you could persuade me that you only want to kill Jim specifically and not me as well. Also, to be honest, that night marked the exact moment my life started to suck, so I think I'm entitled to know."

The Dark Lord laughed in a way that reminded Harry of Niddhogg. "**You intrigue me, Potter. Very well. There wasss ... a prophecy...**"

"What? What prophecy?" asked Jim in confusion.

Quirrell turned his head slightly, and Harry realized it was so that Voldemort could look at Jim. "**They never even told **_**you**_**? How amusssing!** _**'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the ssseventh month diesss...'**_** That much of the prophecy was overheard by one of my Death Eaters and passed on to me.**"

"Which Death Eater?" Harry asked so he'd know who to kill later.

Voldemort laughed. "**Your illustrious potions instructor, of course.**_" _Harry's blood ran cold at that. He'd had some professors he liked more than others, but Snape was the closest thing to a mentor he'd had. Off to the side, Hermione gasped in shock while Jim and Ron both cursed Snape's name. Neville made no sound, but a dark intensity came into his eyes. Voldemort ignored them all. As Harry had hoped, the Dark Lord couldn't resist a monologue.

"**Initially, I wanted to pay a visit to St. Mungo's on August 1****st**** and simply ssslay every child in the nursery, but sssome of my followers persuaded me that it would be ... counterproductive to commit violence on sssuch a ssscale. In time, I narrowed the potential candidates to you, your brother and the Longbottom Heir, but by then, both of your familiesss had already passed under the Fidelius Charm. I was quite harsh with those who persuaded me to delay. Luckily, just daysss before that fateful Halloween, a new recruit came to me and revealed that he was the Potter's Sssecret Keeper. The rest, as they say, is hissstory. I only refrained from killing your parents immediately because I feared there might be wards to detect the Killing Curse as there are here at Hogwarts and did not wish to alert Dumbledore prior to ssslaying you and your brother. Besides, they did defy me in the past, and I wanted them to live long enough to sssuffer from the knowledge that they had failed to protect their children. In any case, the events of that Halloween proved rather conclusively that Jim Potter is the one with the power to vanquish me. Doubtless, that wasss the reason your parents abandoned you in favor of him. You have nothing to fear from me, Harry Potter, and if you give the Stone to me, you will be well-rewarded.**"

Harry's mind churned at the implications of what Voldemort said. A prophecy? And Snape was the one who revealed it to Voldemort? And the Secret Keeper?

"Hang on a minute. The Secret Keeper came to you in late October? But Sirius Black's confession said that he'd served you secretly for years!"

"**Sssirius Black?"** Voldemort asked in what sounded like confusion. In fact, it sounded so much like confusion that Harry forgot himself and looked at Voldemort's face - and the Dark Lord did seem genuinely confused. Then, Harry realized that Voldemort and he were looking into each other's eyes. _Then_, he realized from Voldemort's expression of mounting fury that he had read Harry's mind and learned the Stone in his hand was a fake. _And then_, Harry did the only thing he could think of – he shot Quirinus Quirrell in the face with a round of fireworks.

"NOW!" he yelled over the loud popping and the sound of Quirrell's screams.

At that, Theo and Blaise darted around the giant mirror they'd hidden behind while Harry distracted Quirrell. Instantly, they fired off their strongest Finites at the Gryffindors whose bonds quickly evaporated. At their urging, Hermione, Neville and Ron ran for the stairs, the top of which was still on fire. Blaise and Theo followed them, but Jim, to Harry's surprise and consternation actually _charged _at Quirrell. At the last second (and with a loud "Kaai!"), he dropped and slid into Quirrell, kicking the man forcefully right on the side of the kneecap which then gave way with an audible snap, causing the man to fall to the floor with a scream of pain.

Atop the stairs, the other five students desperately cast the Water-Summoning Charm at the blaze, but the weak streams of water they produced were not enough to quench the fires. Then, Hermione turned to Neville.

"Neville! Remember what it was like the day you first tried the Levitation Charm with your father's wand! Remember how it felt ... like shoving your magic through a brick!"

Neville looked at Hermione in confusion for a second but then suddenly realized what she meant. He nodded, pointed at the flames and yelled _**"AGUAMENTI!"**_ ... but without releasing the spell. Instead of a blast of water, there was a small blue sphere that materialized at the end of his wand, a bubble full of bubbling, frothing water. And as Neville's face contorted with pain, it slowly began to grow.

Down in the Mirror Chamber, Harry got over his surprise at Jim's martial arts antics and acted. _**"PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!"**_ Instantly, Quirrell's arms and legs locked together. Quirrell himself could no longer speak except to whimper in pain from the burns on his face and what was probably a dislocated knee, but Voldemort was still shouting invectives. With a sick feeling, Harry realized that they had no way to fight Voldemort if he abandoned his host and sought to possess someone else. "JIM! We have got to get OUT OF HERE!" he yelled.

Atop the stairs, Neville's legs were shaking and his vision was starting to blur, but at the tip of his wand was a bubble of water more than two feet across. Unable to contain it any longer, Neville released the overpowered spell and a massive flood of water poured out across the flames extinguishing them. The force of the water would have knocked Neville all the way back down the stairs had Ron, Theo and Blaise not caught him and supported him as he unleashed the spell. They were also able to catch him when his eyes fluttered and he passed out from the strain. Hermione darted down the stairs and screamed for Harry and Jim.

Down below, Harry had just grabbed hold of Jim (who had been reduced to the surprisingly effective habit of repeatedly kicking the prone Quirrell in the head) with the intention of physically dragging him from the room when a burst of concussive force erupted from the fallen man's body, knocking them both flat onto their backs. Quirrell's body then rose up into the air, and there was a painful crack as his arms forced themselves to splay out despite the paralyzing spell.

Quirrell screamed. "Master! NO! I have served you faithfully!"

"**Worthless INSSSECT! An entire YEAR wasted on this fool's errand when the Ssstone was never even here at all! Now, sssuffer the price for your failure, Quirrell!"**

Quirrell's head jerked to the right, and he screamed in agony. Then, it _kept on_ turning. The scream abruptly stopped, replaced by the sound of breaking bones and snapping tendons as Quirrell's head rotated a full 180 degrees so that Voldemort's face was now the front. He gestured towards the stairwell and snarled _**"BOMBARDA!"**_ Blaise narrowly managed to grab Hermione and drag her back up the stairs as the explosive curse struck the ceiling and caused it to collapse down and block the stairs. As he tried to shake off the pain, Harry could still hear Hermione calling his name. Then, he felt a powerful force lift him up off the ground and slam his body into a wall. From the sharp yelp of pain he heard, it seemed that his brother had been slammed against the wall right next to him.

"_Wonderful. Jim and I get to die together. How ... poetic."_ Harry struggled against the force that constrained him as he realized that he and Jim were pinned against a wall and suspended several feet above the ground. Then, to his horror, he saw Voldemort still riding Quirrell's mutilated corpse and floating over to the two boys.

"**A year wasted, and now I have but ssseconds before this body is ussseless to me. My spirit shall endure, though. I defy the Prophecy even as I defy Death itself. But before I lose corporeal form, I still have time enough ssslay the Boy-Who-Lived ... and his meddlesome brother too! You once resisted the Killing Curse, Jim Potter. Let us see if you are immune to a more conventional means of execution!"**

With that, the Dark Lord grasped each Potter by the throat and began to choke the life out of them. The pain at Harry's neck was made worse by a sudden stabbing agony from the small scar on his brow, and he heard Jim scream in pain as well. The two boys both clawed feebly at the man's arms to no avail. Spots started to appear before Harry's eyes, and he grew dizzy. Then, out of instinct, Harry reached out with his hand and tried to claw at Voldemort's eyes. Jim did the same. As Harry's vision faded, he suddenly became aware of a faint sizzling sound, almost like bacon frying, followed instantly by an agonized scream. Then, unconsciousness claimed Harry Potter. His last coherent thought as he fell to the ground was the sensation of a powerful and malevolent force passing through his body on its way out of the room, a force that claimed the power to defy death and that hungered for revenge against both the Potter Twins. Then, nothing but darkness.

* * *

**The next update will post on Friday, July 17 between 4 and 6 pm CST. "Questions, Answers, and Unexpected Profanity." If you were expecting this to be an "Evil Dumbledore" story, you may find yourself disappointed, because the Headmaster has finally had enough of James Potter's crap.**


	31. HP&POS 31: Questions, Answers & Unexpect

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

**CHAPTER 31: Questions, Answers and Unexpected Profanity**

At first, the light was so bright, Harry was afraid he had died and gone to heaven. Then, his vision cleared and he realized it was just the infirmary. "Good morning, Mr. Potter!" exclaimed Madame Pomfrey, the painfully cheerful school nurse. The last time he'd seen the woman, she'd harangued him for being so foolish as to blow out his eardrums by casting a sonic curse at his own head, but she seemed much friendlier today. Perhaps it was because this time his wounds weren't self-inflicted.

Harry slowly sat up and noticed his glasses and his wand on the bedside table. Donning the former, he saw that there were a surprising number of gifts and get-well cards on the table both from various Slytherins and his friends from other houses. Then, he saw that Jim was in the next bed over, still asleep (or possibly comatose – Harry had no way of knowing) and with an equally large assortment of gifts from his own fan club. Harry reached over for a Cauldron Cake and said, "Good morning to you as well, Madame Pomfrey. I don't suppose you can tell me how I got here. Last thing I recall, I was being choked to death by the animated corpse of my Defense instructor."

The nurse stared at him. "That's a rather ... lurid description, Mr. Potter. You and your brother were brought in early Friday morning, along with several of your friends." He looked concerned at that, but she was quick to reassure him. "Everyone else only suffered from some minor cuts and bruises and was right as rain and sent back to their dorms within the hour. You and your twin, however, were comatose for several days. Some strange form of magical shock. Your vital signs were fine, and you both came out of your comas last night, but as bed rest was still prescribed, you were both left to sleep until you woke up on your own. Incidentally, today is Monday, June 8th. Now, any other questions you have should best be answered by the Headmaster or your parents, all of whom I have summoned."

Harry frowned at that but figured it would be unavoidable. He briefly considered whether he should insist that Snape be present as well, as was his right under the injunction his solicitor had filed. Then, he remembered what Voldemort had revealed. That Snape had been a Death Eater. That Snape was the one who told Voldemort about the Prophecy. That Snape, as much as Dumbledore, the Potters, or the Dark Lord, had inflicted 4 Privet Drive on him.

"One last question, please? Do you happen to know the outcome of the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw match that was scheduled for last Friday?" he asked.

She shook her head sadly as she looked over at Jim. "The Gryffindors had to move a Chaser to cover Jim's spot and played a man down the whole game. It was the worst defeat for the Gryffindors in 300 years, they say."

Harry smiled. "I'm sorry I missed it," he said softly as Madame Pomfrey returned to her office.

"I'll bet you are," Jim sighed from the next bed, as he struggled to sit up.

"Oh, cheer up, Little Brother. There's always next year. Maybe I'll make the Slytherin team, and we'll have a whole new arena in which to hate each other." As he spoke, he reached over for a small box with a card that read _"You'll probably be needing this. B.Z."_ Inside, he found a small mirror and a fresh tube of Sleekeazy. Delighted, he immediately started primping his rat's nest of a head into something more presentable.

Jim didn't rise to Harry's taunts. Instead, he stayed quiet for a while before finally asking, "Was there ever a moment when you were actually considering joining ... You-Know-Who?"

"What, Voldemort?" said Harry, enjoying the sight of Jim flinching at the name as he carefully adjusted some stray hairs. "Heh. Some Boy-Who-Lived you are. You can't even say your arch-enemy's name. And no, I would never join Voldemort. If anything, I want to destroy him more than you do. He's one of five people responsible for ensuring that I spent ten years of absolute misery with the Dursleys, and of those five, he's the only one I'd be legally allowed to kill."

Jim was startled by how casually Harry talked about killing Voldemort. He knew he was expected to "vanquish" the Dark Lord, but somehow he'd never internalized that word as a synonym for "kill." For some reason, he recalled his very first conversation with Harry, in which he'd bragged about how his brother could handle running House Potter's business affairs while the Boy-Who-Lived focused on "fighting bad guys." Now that he knew exactly what "fighting bad guys entailed," he shivered at how naive and arrogant he'd been. He turned back to his brother and narrowed his eyes. "Who are the other four?" asked he suspiciously.

Harry snickered but didn't answer. "Not to change the subject, but ... well, I'm changing the subject. What was up with your strategy of repeatedly kicking Quirrell in such a wonderfully Muggle way? You said you'd had years of special training to prepare you for something like that. I assumed it had been magical training. Are you a wizard or not?"

Jim looked away. The fact that he'd been rendered so helpless so easily, that he'd been reduced to nothing more than bait to ensure _Harry's_ presence, and that Harry had been so much more ... competent at confronting Voldemort all rankled at him terribly. "I'm a wizard who wasn't allowed to legally own a wand before the age of eleven, snake. My ... our mother insisted that I learn self-defense. I'd only been taking martial arts classes for a year or so though and ... kind of got out of practice since I got to Hogwarts." He looked back to his brother. "That won't happen again," he said with determination.

Before Harry could reply, the doors to the infirmary opened, and the Headmaster entered, along with the Potters and Snape. Jim wasn't sure but he thought he'd heard Harry mutter _"Speak of the devils."_

"Good morning, Jim. Good morning, Harry. How are you both feeling this morning?" Dumbledore seemed chipper, but Harry assumed it was an act. A year's worth of work and nothing to show for it except the Boy-Who-Lived nearly getting choked to death couldn't have the old man feeling very happy. Then again, depending on what happened to Voldemort's spirit after the two passed out, he supposed it was possible that the old man felt happy indeed. For their part, the Potters quickly rushed to Jim and embraced him, but they at least had the decency (or perhaps the gall) to look apologetic about the fact that they weren't embracing him as well.

"Stupid and useless is how I feel," said Jim dejectedly. "I'm sorry. I should never have gone down to the Chamber, let alone dragged my friends down there. I don't know what I was thinking."

"I believe your brother can answer that," said Dumbledore, whose eyes were twinkling. Harry assumed there was something unnatural about that, so he tried to avoid direct eye contact as much as possible. "After all, it was he who answered Professor Quirrell's summons to the Mirror Chamber after you and your friends had been captured, but not before he passed on a transcription of their conversation to a prefect who then delivered it to the faculty."

Harry looked over at his brother with a bland expression and sighed. "He used a Confundus Curse on all four of you. The Defense exam you took the other day carried a spell that would compel you all to try to protect the Philosopher's Stone once you learned the Headmaster had left school grounds."

Jim was confused. "But why? Why didn't he just try to take the Stone himself?"

"He couldn't," Harry replied. "The Stone was placed in the Mirror in such a way that only someone who had the desire to protect the Stone from Voldemort could actually remove it. Not that it was ever the real Philosopher's Stone to begin with. That whole story was a sham concocted as a lure for Quirrell and his master. I assume the Mirror also had some particularly useful benefit when used against a possessing spirit like Voldemort's." The Potters flinched reflexively at the name, but Harry couldn't bring himself to care. "After all, that would have been a very roundabout way of dealing with the situation if it had just been Quirrell you were worried about."

"Quite so, Harry," said Dumbledore. "I do hope you don't mind if I call you Harry, given how many other people named Potter are in the room." Harry shrugged while suppressing the urge to ask if he could call the Headmaster _Albus_. "While the Mirror can bewitch mortal minds, its original purpose was to safely free victims of possession from their inhabiting spirits. Initially, it was quite effective, much more so than traditional methods of exorcism. Such ghosts and other malicious spirits would naturally be drawn into the Mirror and trapped in an hallucinatory dreamscape in which all their hopes and dreams were fulfilled, leaving their hosts alive and unharmed. Eventually, after all of its worldly desires had been satiated, the spirit would dissipate."

"Unfortunately, over the years, the sheer number of evil spirits and angry ghosts absorbed by the Mirror twisted it and gave it a hunger for the souls of the living as well. It gained a limited self-awareness, as well as the power to entrance the living as well as the dead with images of their deepest, most primal wants. An unwary observer might stand in front of the Mirror enraptured until his body wasted away and his still living soul slipped loose from his body to be consumed. Once the artifact's darker properties were identified, it was removed from use and retired to the Department of Mysteries for study, and I had to pull a great many strings to secure it as a trap for Voldemort. Our plan was that Quirrell would attempt to secure the Stone from the Mirror only for Voldemort's soul fragment to be trapped and consumed by it instead." The Headmaster grimaced. "Obviously, that plan was unsuccessful."

"What went wrong?" asked Jim.

"Me," said Harry flatly without looking at any of the others. "I figured out the truth back in November, both about the Stone and about Voldemort. Professor Snape here advised me that Voldemort might be able to learn what I knew through Legilimency and that I should avoid looking at Quirrell. Apparently, I wasn't subtle enough about it. He didn't learn what I knew, but he did realize that I knew something, and so he started using Legilimency on my Gryffindor friends and eventually on Jim. That let him know that the Mirror was the real trap and that I'd beaten it. Quirrell and Voldemort lured you and the others through the gauntlet in order to get me to come after you all. After he saw your memory of last Christmas, there was no way that Voldemort would expose himself directly to the Mirror."

Jim absorbed all that. Not only had his Slytherin brother come to save everyone, they had only been put in danger in the first place due to Harry figuring out everything months ago while he was stumbling around in the dark. Well, that and his childish actions at Christmas. He'd followed Harry and Theo to the Mirror Room hoping to get them in trouble. Instead, he'd unwittingly learned the very information Voldemort needed to evade Dumbledore's trap. He shook his head, unwilling to follow that line of thought any farther.

"By the way," interrupted Jim. "Snape's a Death Eater. You know, just in case anyone's interested."

The Potters looked at each other pensively, while Snape snorted contemptuously towards Jim. Finally, Dumbledore spoke. "When _Professor_ Snape was a young man, he made some unfortunate mistakes, mistakes he has worked diligently to correct. All I can tell you beyond that is that Professor Snape has my complete confidence. I trust that will be sufficient for you both."

Jim nodded slowly. Harry merely looked at Dumbledore before changing the subject. "Speaking of trust, I don't suppose that you'd be inclined to tell us the _whole _prophecy now that we know it exists."

"Alas, I cannot. While Voldemort knows how the Prophecy begins, he does not know its entirety, and there is information contained within the whole Prophecy which could still be of great value to him. I had held out hope that you, Jim, could be kept unaware of the Prophecy completely for a while longer. There are ... burdens that will come with compete knowledge of it, burdens that I had wanted to spare you. I had hoped to see that you could enjoy at least a little more of your childhood..." He stopped as he sensed Harry stiffen and realized his faux pas. From what Severus had said, the elder twin's "childhood" ended sometime around the age of four. He took a deep breath and then persevered.

"In any case, Jim, I understand that your brother, Harry, has undertaken a study of Occlumency. If your parents approve, I would recommend that you do likewise. I will reveal the rest of the Prophecy when and only when I am satisfied that you can defend your mind against intrusions from Voldemort and others." He turned to the other brother. "The same applies to you, Harry. I believe your actions have earned you the right to know the contents of the Prophecy, which I will make available to you once you have completed your own Occlumency training."

That surprised Harry, as well as James Potter. Neither parent looked happy at the idea of Jim studying Occlumency, and James looked like he was about to openly object to either boy learning any more about the prophecy. He gave up when Lily elbowed him sharply in the ribs. Harry pretended not to notice. "Can you at least tell us what happened to Voldemort ... you know, after I passed out. I remember the sound of Quirrell – well, Voldemort by that point, I guess – screaming and a burning smell, and then, nothing."

"I killed him, didn't I?" interrupted Jim suddenly. "The ... anomaly ... thing ... anyway, whatever it was that let me destroy Voldemort's body back when I was a baby kicked in again and destroyed him. And Quirrell." He looked down at that. Harry was reminded that only a few weeks earlier, he had been relieved to have not started a body count at the age of eleven. But while he had some sympathy for his brother's plight, he also knew that he would not have hesitated to destroy Voldemort and/or Quirrell if he'd had the actual power to do so. He may have shown mercy to Draco Malfoy, but he'd spent way too much time talking with Niddhogg to be either squeamish or sentimental where the Dark Lord was concerned.

"No, son, you didn't," said James reassuringly to his favored son. "Quirrell was already dead by his master's hand. And even if things had played out differently, Quirrell would have died as soon as You-Know-Who's spirit abandoned his body. It appears that the possession was a voluntary one. Quirrell's will may have been overcome before it started, but by the time he got to Hogwarts, he was a willing host. And a willing host always dies when the possessing spirit departs. You're not responsible for Quirrell's death."

"Unfortunately," said Harry somewhat acerbically, "you're not responsible for Voldemort's death either." He turned to look at Dumbledore. "I'm right, aren't I? He _is_ still out there, if only in a spiritual form. How long will it take him to find another way to restore himself?"

Dumbledore sighed tiredly. "We don't know, Harry. We are not even sure how he maintains his existence. There are several methods that allow the soul to remain tied to the material world even after death of the body, all of which utilize the darkest of magics, but we are not yet certain which method he used, always assuming he didn't invent some entirely new and monstrous technique completely unknown to us. I believe that it will take him some time to recover from the events of last Thursday night, but I cannot say how long it will be nor can I predict by what means he will next seek to achieve physicality. We can only remain vigilant and do what we can to prepare."

"For my own part," he continued somewhat sadly, "I can only offer you both my apologies. Our plan took great risks but offered great rewards – the total destruction of Lord Voldemort at a time when he was still at his weakest. That the plan should have failed through a series of unfortunate and unforeseeable coincidences is ... profoundly disappointing. I hope you can both forgive me for my own lack of foresight." Jim said that, of course, he would, while Harry nodded noncommittally.

"Now, my understanding is that Madam Pomfrey wishes to give each of you a final check-up, after which you will be released. Lunch is in one hour, and the Leaving Feast will be this evening." He chuckled softly. "Who knows? There might be some special last minute points to be granted." His eyes twinkled at that, and Harry resolved to study over the summer and find out whether "twinkling eyes" was a sign of some malicious but subtle psychic attack.

"If it's all the same, sir," said Harry, reclining with his eyes closed as if he had grown weary. "I'd prefer that Theo, Blaise and I _not _receive any points as a result of what happened, especially if the Boy-Who-Lived and three other Gryffindors get points out of the same event. It would cause a lot of Slytherins to ask ... difficult questions and possibly complicate our position within the House. There are too many Slytherins still who were raised to have Death Eater sympathies ... as I'm sure Jim and Lord Potter would happily agree." If there was the tiniest amount of snideness in that last bit, neither Dumbledore nor Snape commented on it and none of the others even noticed it. "Also, I've rather firmly staked out the position in the House that Voldemort is dead with a capital-D and that Slytherin House should move on from his influence, and it would be better for us if there were no rumors floating around to the contrary. Certainly no rumors that we three helped prevent his resurrection."

Dumbledore glanced over at Snape, who nodded slightly. "Very well, Harry. No points will be awarded to the involved Slytherin students."

"If the Slytherins aren't getting any points, then ... I don't think the Gryffindors should either," said Jim suddenly. "It's ... not right for us to get points for getting Confunded into a trap if the people who came to rescue us aren't rewarded for it."

"As you wish, Jim," said Dumbledore with a soft smile. "Well, if that is all, I must be going. Much to do before the Leaving Feast. Although I would appreciate it, James, if you would join me in my office to discuss a few small matters." The auror nodded.

After the adults had left, the two boys sat in silence, each looking over the cards and gifts they'd received from well-wishers. Jim looked thoughtful for a few minutes. Then, he suddenly stiffened as a cold feeling entered the pit of his stomach. He sat up and looked over at Harry.

"Why did you refuse House points?" he asked in a clipped tone.

Harry looked over at in surprise. "I already explained that."

"I know you did. And it made sense. That's that doesn't mean it's the real reason."

Harry barked out a surprised laugh. "You're improving, Little Brother. One day, you might even see through one of my plots as its unfolding instead of afterwards. Slytherin won the Quidditch Cup. With the addition of those points – and assuming nothing else changed over the weekend while we were unconscious – Slytherin now leads Gryffindor in the House Cup race by at least thirty points. There were three Slytherins and four Gryffindors involved in last Thursday's monkey business, so if the Headmaster gave all seven of us the same number of points and the per-person award was more than thirty (which seems reasonable for fighting _Voldemort himself_), Dumbledore's 'last minute award' might have put Gryffindor in the lead."

"And you just assumed that if you declined to accept House points, I would automatically do the same."

"Of course. You're a Gryffindor."

Jim slammed his head back into his pillow, fuming. "I _hate _Slytherins so much."

"So I've heard," said Harry smugly as he opened up another Cauldron Cake.

* * *

Soon after, James and Dumbledore were seated in the Headmaster's office. James noticed that his old mentor's eyes were decidedly not twinkling.

"What would you like to talk about, Albus?" he asked somewhat tightly.

"James, this has to stop. Thus far, I have respected your legal authority over Harry as his Head of House even after learning how flagrantly you have abused that authority over the past ten years. Moreover, the laws of the Wizengamot have thus far compelled me to do so, despite my increasing apprehension at the rift between Harry and the rest of your family. In any case, Harry's decision to have me recuse myself from any legal proceedings involving him has largely made the matter moot. That said, he is my student, one for whom I have failed to fulfill my obligations as Headmaster. I can no longer condone what Severus rightly describes as 'senseless antagonism' towards the boy."

James bristled. "I'm afraid I must reject that characterization, sir."

"Which part? You don't recognize it as antagonism? Or you actually claim that there's some sense to it?"

"With respect, Albus, you know that as Head of House Potter, my authority over Harry's upbringing trumps your authority as Headmaster. And so long as I fulfill my obligations to my Heir Presumptive, neither you nor anyone else has any business questioning any of my parental decisions."

The room got noticeably colder at that, and Potter had to struggle to maintain eye contact with Dumbledore, who was now giving him _The Look_. Not the "_I'm disappointed_" look he'd used on the Marauders when they'd exceeded his patience for pranks. But rather, _**The **__**Look**_. The one that let everyone know the dotty old man had left the building and the Defeater of Grindenwald had taken his place. The one James had only ever seen him use when confronting Death Eaters and Voldemort himself. Potter was stunned to realize that Dumbledore might actually now consider him to be an enemy due to his treatment of Harry.

"I am well aware of my stringent limitations as Headmaster where Wizengamot Lords and their heirs are concerned, Lord Potter. They are the same limitations that your peer, Lord Tiberius Nott, uses to sanctify _his_ conduct as well." James was shocked to be compared to the notorious Death Eater. It felt like a slap to the face. "However, it occurs to me that those limitations do not apply when I am acting in my capacity as Chief Warlock. Thus far, I have acquiesced to Harry's motion to recuse because, frankly, I agreed that there is a conflict of interest. After all, it was my mistake which led to his erroneously being declared a squib, and it was my recommendation that you integrate him as quickly as possible into Muggle society that led to his placement with the Dursleys ... although I certainly never anticipated that you would _ignore the boy __completely_ for ten years without making the slightest inquiries into his health."

"We _did_ place protections," said James testily. "I bought a house across the street for Arabella Figg to live in so she could watch over the boy and let us know if anything was wrong."

Dumbledore gave him _T__he Look_ again. "Well, James, that worked out splendidly, didn't it? Regardless, recusal is generally at the Chief Warlock's discretion. If I reverse my prior decision on that topic, Harry's solicitor would need to bring the matter before the entire Wizengamot in order to force me to recuse myself ... though she may be elect not to do so once it becomes clear that I am inclined to rule in the boy's favor."

Potter's eyes widened. "You wouldn't."

"I assure you, Lord Potter," said Dumbledore coldly, "that I have seen more than enough in the past year to support a finding that you have been an unfit guardian to the Heir Presumptive of your House. As such, it is within my legal power as Chief Warlock to revoke your authority over Harry completely and appoint a custodial guardian until he comes of age. I imagine Augusta Longbottom would be delighted to accept Harry into her household." Then, he smiled, though there was still no twinkle in his eyes. "In fact, Harry seems remarkably mature for his age, don't you agree? I can easily see myself amenable to a petition for emancipation for Harry as early as, say, thirteen? Emancipation followed swiftly by elevation from Heir Presumptive to Heir Apparent?"

"NO! YOU CAN'T!" James shot up out of his chair as he shouted at the old men, who sat unmoved.

"Then give me a reason not to. Give me some sign that you can finally be a decent father to your son."

James looked around for a moment as if lost. Then, he sat back down again slowly as the energy drained out of him. "I ... I can't. It's too late. My last chance to be Harry's father ended the night he was Sorted."

"But ... _why?!_ I admit I was concerned at first when Harry was Sorted into Slytherin House, but the past year has erased nearly all of my reservations. He hasn't been dragged into the dark by the other Slytherins as I feared. If anything, he is pulling them back into the light. He knowingly and willingly went to face _Voldemort_ without any of the expectations of Jim's magical protections in order to save his Gryffindor friends, _and the sons of Tiberius Nott and Serena Zabini willingly accompanied him!_" Dumbledore sighed. "James, I am committed to spending the last years of my life helping Jim defeat Voldemort, a daunting, seemingly impossible task. But those difficulties are_ nothing_ compared to the task of breaking the hold that centuries of Pureblood ideology and reckless bigotry have held over Slytherin House, over one quarter of our student body. I never dared _dream_ that I would live to see a Slytherin like Harry who brings together the children of Death Eaters and the children of Muggles. I never dared to hope that such a thing was even possible!"

With that, Dumbledore studied James's face and noticed that he had only become more distraught. "And yet, for some reason, that thought ... horrifies you." He shook his head. "I don't understand, James. As a student, you were kind and friendly, if a little rambunctious, to everyone save those of Salazar's House to whom you showed relentless hatred. Like your father before you. Like his father before _him._ Why, James? Why is it so unthinkable for a Potter to not only join Slytherin House, but to excel and to bring forth its best qualities rather than its worst."

James closed his eyes and leaned his head back, as if beaten down by his mentor's words. Finally, he spoke in flat, broken voice. "I'll need you to swear an Unbreakable Vow."

"What?" Dumbledore asked, confused at the non sequitur.

"You asked me a question. I'll say this for now. My ... antagonism towards Harry ... is not senseless. It is purposeful. If you want to know what that purpose is, I'll need you to swear an Unbreakable Vow of secrecy to never reveal it."

Dumbledore stared at his former student and now his young friend for a long time. Then, he pulled out his wand slowly and took the oath Potter demanded. Several minutes later, most of the paintings of former Headmasters which adorned Albus Dumbledore's office looked on in shock and surprise. In the forty years that the man had served as Headmaster of Hogwarts, none of them had ever heard the man swear so loudly or profanely.

* * *

**The next update will post on Monday, 7/20/15 sometime between noon and 2 pm CST. (I've decided to play around with the release times a bit to see if it increases reader response.) "The Death Eater Snape," in which Harry and Neville drop by the Potions Lab for a little chat. Ever wonder what happened _after_ "Snape's Worst Memory" and after James Potter threatened to remove Snape's underpants?  
**

**AN: I hope the Dumbledore-James scene lives up to expectations. I was bemused by the fact that the last update featured the climactic confrontation between Harry and Voldemort (during which major canon secrets were revealed years ahead of schedule) ... and most of the reviews seemed more excited by the promise of someone finally calling James out on his crap. Anyway, thanks for all the reviews and keep 'em coming.**

**Also, back in the middle of May (Geez, it's been a long time), Teufel1987 correctly pointed out that I had identified Harry as "Heir Presumptive" when the proper term should have been "Heir Apparent." Rather than go back and change things, I decided to keep it as written and simply say that wizards use the terms differently. Ergo, you become the Heir Presumptive if you are the eldest wizarding child of a Wizengamot seat holder. (For some families, you must also be of the correct gender, but this is an archaic requirement that is dying out.) Harry, as the eldest twin, met that requirement when he demonstrated accidental magic and later got his Hogwarts letter. When the Heir Presumptive reaches the right age (15 or earlier if emancipated) and demonstrates magical competency through passing the requisite number of OWLS, he becomes the Heir Apparent (if his Wizengamot parent is still alive) or the Lord Conditional (if the parent is dead or incapacitated, as was the case with Frank Longbottom). **


	32. HP&POS 32: The Death Eater Snape

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

**CHAPTER 32: The Death Eater Snape**

That afternoon, Severus Snape returned from lunch to find two students sitting in their usual seats in his classroom. The presence of Harry Potter wasn't surprising. The presence of Neville Longbottom was. In fact, it was oddly discomfiting. "Mr. Potter. Mr. Longbottom. What brings you to my classroom on this fine summer day? Exams are over. You have no business here."

Harry spoke calmly but intently. "On the very first day of class, sir, I noted that there were some things that should be addressed immediately rather than just allowed to ... fester. The issue that Jim raised in the infirmary regarding you is, we believe, one such matter."

Snape scoffed. "You refer to his accusation that I am a former Death Eater? The Headmaster already responded to that. I would advise you to accept his statement on the subject and move on."

Harry pierced him with his gaze, as if daring him to use Legilimency. To his surprise, Snape could feel the beginnings of a basic Occlumency shield. It was nothing he could not penetrate with ease, but it was still impressive that the boy had come so far in seven months. Despite the invitation, Snape did not enter Harry's mind, and finally the boy spoke.

"'_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him... born as the seventh month dies...'_ The Dark Lord likes the sound of his own voice, as you're no doubt aware."

"Ahhh," said Snape. "I see."

Neville said nothing during all this. He simply let Harry do the talking while he regarded the Potions Master impassively.

"The Death Eater who revealed those words to You-Know-Who is partially responsible for ten years of hell for me. He is also partially responsible for the loss of Neville's parents and his delivery into the hands of a greedy bastard who tried repeatedly to murder him. Neville and I are both of the opinion that we are entitled to a clearer picture of how the Dark Lord gained that information."

Snape turned up his nose haughtily. "_Entitled_, you say?"

"Yes, sir," Neville finally spoke. "Entitled."

A hundred biting, cutting remarks flew through Snape's head. Hateful remarks about dunderheads and arrogant brats who needed to learn their place. About how there was still time in the year to have them scrubbing cauldrons, about how Harry Potter was just as arrogant as his father, as arrogant as any Gryffindor. But he said none of those things ... because just as he was about to open his mouth to unleash his anger on the two boys, he was suddenly transfixed by a pair of green eyes staring intently at him. Green eyes which he hadn't thought of in years but which now were suddenly thrust to the forefront of his memory. Green eyes that contained within their depths a righteous fury only barely contained by a strong moral code and a growing confidence that was finally blossoming after ten years of being trampled upon. But more than that, green eyes that held compassion for Severus Snape and a genuine desire to forgive him of his sins if only the professor would give the boy permission to do so.

In short, Neville Longbottom had his father's eyes.

* * *

_**Then...**_

"_I don't need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!" _

_Lily blinked._

"_Fine," she said coolly. 'I won't bother in future. And I'd wash your pants if I were you, Snivellus."_

"_Apologise to Evans!" James roared at Snape, his wand pointed threateningly at him._

"_I don't want you to make him apologise," Lily shouted, rounding on James. "You're as bad as he is."_

"_What?" yelped James. "I'd NEVER call you a - you-know-what!"_

"_Messing up your hair because you think it looks cool to look like you've just got off your broomstick, showing off with that stupid Snitch, walking down corridors and hexing anyone who annoys you just because you can - I'm surprised your broomstick can get off the ground with that fat head on it. You make me SICK."_

_She turned on her heel and hurried away._

"_Evans!" James shouted after her. "Hey, EVANS!"_

_But she didn't look back._

"_What is it with her?'"said James, trying and failing to look as though this was a throwaway question of no real importance to him._

"_Reading between the lines, I'd say she thinks you're a bit conceited, mate," said Sirius._

"_Right," said James, who looked furious now, "right –"_

_There was another flash of light, and Snape was once again hanging upside-down in the air._

"_Who wants to see me take off Snivelly's pants?' _[1]

"_**EXPELLIARMUS HORRIBILIS!" **_

With that, there was a truly blinding flash of light, and all four Marauders were suddenly knocked prone with each of their wands flying away to land at the spellcaster's feet. Snape dropped towards the ground and then stopped a foot above it before gently floating down the rest of the way. After pulling his robes back down, Severus looked towards his new savior. It was a tall, powerfully built Gryffindor with dirty blonde hair, piercing green eyes that were burning in anger, and a pin on his chest that identified him as Head Boy.

"Please stay on the ground, Mr. Snape, and refrain from casting any spells until this is resolved," said Frank Longbottom calmly, but without taking his eyes off the Marauders.

"Longbottom!" yelled Sirius Black. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

"The Fifth Year prefect's job, since the one we have obviously isn't up to it." Remus looked shamefaced at that. "Everybody else! The show's over! Clear off back to the dorms!" All of the other students who had been watching the confrontation quickly left rather than risk the Head Boy's wrath.

"Sticking up for the Junior Death Eaters now, Frank?" asked a still-angry James Potter as the four boys rose to their feet.

"When it's four-on-one. Although I do give you some credit. At least you're bullying another Fifth Year. Usually, it's the Second Year Slytherins you like to toy with."

"Fine, whatever. How many points are you taking?" asked Sirius as he rolled his eyes.

Frank snorted. "Now what would be the point of that, Black, now that exams are over and there's less than a week left in school? We're already in _last place_ and over a hundred points away from winning the Cup, and it's mainly because of you worthless little swots. You don't give a damn about house points. You don't even care about detentions. But apparently, you _do_ seem to like the idea of hanging people upside down and debagging them for cheap laughs. Well, you know what? I've finished my NEWTS and I already have a post-graduate job lined up, so I don't really mind pissing off McGonagall at this point. So how about we skip the official punishment system? I'll just leave the four of you hanging upside-down out here in the courtyard with your willies flapping in the breeze like you planned for Snape and see if being a bully as much fun as you guys seem to think!"

He raised his wand, and the four stepped back, raising their hands in fear.

"Frank," said Remus nervously. "There's no need for this. Things got a little out of hand, but it's over now."

Frank sneered at Lupin with contempt. Then, he lowered his wand and fixed his gaze back on James. "You know, Potter. I'm not surprised by Black. I still don't know how he tricked the Hat into Sorting him into Gryffindor, but he's just like every other one of his sick relatives. He'll always be Walburga's boy."

"Why you sonuva– !" Sirius charged Frank, who lazily flicked out his wand in the boy's direction. There was another flash of light, and suddenly, Sirius was flat on his back ten feet away. Frank continued as if he'd barely noticed the interruption.

"But you, James? You're the _Potter Heir!_ Your family has been Gryffindor for at least ten generations. When you were Sorted, I was _actually excited_ to see a Potter at Hogwarts because I expected you to be the perfect symbol of our House. To show everyone else what Gryffindor courage and values are all about." Frank stepped forward and got right into James's face. "And for the past five years, there's hardly been a day you haven't been a complete embarrassment. You absolutely disgust me, James Potter. Now take your worthless self and your gang of bullies and get out of my sight."

With that, Longbottom stepped aside and gestured with his wand. A red-faced James Potter stooped to pick up his own wand and then stormed off, followed by his three friends. As they left, Longbottom called out.

"Oh, and Lupin? I doubt it will do any good, but for what it's worth, I plan to inform Professor McGonagall that I consider you completely unfit to be a prefect and that she should replace you. Preferably with someone who can walk around without his lips affixed to one of Potter's arse cheeks. McClaggan maybe. He's a wanker, but at least he can think for himself. Just thought you ought to know."

Remus's face nearly crumpled at Frank's words, while James and Sirius gave Frank murderous looks. He smirked at them and gestured again with his wand for them to head along. Then, he turned back to Snape. "Are you injured, Mr. Snape? Do you need to go to the infirmary?"

Snape, who had been amazed at both the Head Boy's skill and his willingness to stand up to Potter's gang on his behalf, quickly shook his head. "No, Mr. Longbottom. I ... thank you for your intervention." To his embarrassment, the Slytherin sniffled.

Longbottom studied the young Slytherin for a few seconds. Then, to Snape's surprise, he sat down on the ground next to the other boy. "I'm sorry I didn't get here faster. But ... I did arrive in time to see that business with Evans. That was ... rough."

Severus tried to summon a sneer or an insult but was simply too broken down. Longbottom looked off into the distance silently for a few seconds.

"I interned with the DMLE last summer," he said, changing the subject. "Got to take a class on improving my observational skills and learning to read social cues. It was very interesting. I got an O." He turned back to the confused Snape. "I couldn't help but notice that when you called Evans a Mudblood, you weren't even looking at her. You weren't looking at Potter or his gang, either. You were looking off to the side, over to where Mulciber, Wilkes and Rosier were watching ... approvingly."

Snape remained silent. Frank hesitated for a second and then went on.

"I imagine it's pretty hard for you in Slytherin at times. Just being a Halfblood in Slytherin is hard enough, but to have a Muggleborn as your best friend? And worse, one you obviously have a crush on?" Snape's breath caught in his throat. "And then, in front of everyone, she _saves_ you from Potter's gang in front of all your Slytherin peers. I imagine that would have made things ... intolerable if you'd just let it go."

Severus looked down at the ground, unable to meet Longbottom's eyes. He wanted to bluster and deny but found that he couldn't, not while under the gaze of someone who seemed to understand him without hating him. Unable to speak, he simply nodded at Frank's deductions.

"Do you think she'll forgive you?" he asked softly.

Snape hesitated. "I will go to her this summer and try to explain. That in a single instant, I had to choose between insulting my best friend or confirming to my house mates that I was a blood traitor fit to be hexed on an hourly basis for the next two years... But no, I do not think she will forgive me."

"Is there anything I can do, Severus?"

Snape looked up sharply at Longbottom's presumption of familiarity, but the look in his eyes stopped the Slytherin from saying something offensive. It wasn't the pity he'd been expecting. It was kindness, which was a wholly different thing that Snape had only rarely experienced from others.

He sighed. "If it wouldn't be too much trouble, I'd appreciate it if you'd make a big show of docking five points or so for calling Lily a Mudblood. Perhaps mention to one of the Slytherin prefects how disgusted you are with my vile bigotry."

Frank laughed. "Sure thing."

"Thank you ... Frank."

_**Now...**_

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and then looked up at Neville and Harry. He sighed in resignation and then began to speak.

"The first thing you must understand is that when I was young and foolish ... I was very young and foolish. The second thing you must understand that the early days of the last Wizarding War were a time of great confusion. While it was generally understood that the Dark Lord and his followers were motivated by a hatred of Muggleborns, a sizeable portion of the wizarding populace failed to appreciate just how violent and destructive they were. Likewise, at least in the early days, a great many people, including myself, failed to appreciate that the Dark Lord was genuinely a _Dark Lord_ and not just some jumped up agitator the government wished to discredit. The Wizarding Wireless was still somewhat new and, in any case, owned and controlled by the Ministry, just like the Daily Prophet, our only major newspaper. And during that era, the Ministry strongly supported new rights and protections for Muggleborns and Muggles to a degree that even moderate witches and wizards found troubling. To make a long story short, a great many of my friends and peers from my school days believed that the worst accusations against the Dark Lord and his movement were propaganda meant to discredit him, that the atrocities the Death Eaters supposedly performed were fabrications or, worse, actual atrocities performed by Muggleborns for which Voldemort and his followers were framed. That is not an uncommon tactic during times of civil insurrection. I believe the Muggles refer to it as 'false flag' operations. In fact, even the term 'Death Eaters' was first used in a Daily Prophet editorial as an insult against the organization formally known as "The Knights of Walpurgis," an insult the Dark Lord eventually coopted and turned to his own political uses."

"After graduating Hogwarts in 1978, I remained in contact with former Slytherin friends who joined the Dark Lord's inner circle. I returned to England in January of 1980 after obtaining my Potions Mastery in Italy. The skills I had obtained were some that would be extremely useful to the Death Eater movement, and they wished to recruit me. And while I had little use for their larger political agenda, a family matter that arose around that time made their offer attractive. You see, I am a Halfblood." Both Harry and Neville were startled by his blunt admission. "My father was a Muggle, but my mother was a witch from the now extinct Noble House of Prince. She was expelled from the family for marrying my father, a foolish and shortsighted decision by my grandfather as he had no other surviving heirs. Thus, when he died in 1979, the House of Prince was extinguished. However, my friends assured me that if I could prove my worth to the Dark Lord, he would reward me when he took power by legislatively reversing my mother's expulsion, thereby allowing me to claim the Prince seat and assets."

"It was against this backdrop that on a cold, January day in 1980, I found myself in the Hogs Head Inn in Hogsmeade. I had learned that Albus Dumbledore was meeting with an applicant for the recently vacated Divination Instructor's position, and I had hoped to meet with him myself and present my credentials for the position of Potions Instructor, as I had heard rumors that Horace Slughorn was considering retirement. While waiting for Dumbledore to come out of the meeting room, I suddenly heard the woman inside cry out the beginnings of a prophecy, the same prophecy which the Dark Lord related to both of you. The owner of the bar caught me eavesdropping and, assuming I was deliberately spying on the Headmaster, threw me out. Although I knew there was more to the prophecy than what I'd heard, I believed, correctly, that relating what I did know to the Dark Lord would win me a place in his Inner Circle and, eventually I hoped, the Prince inheritance." He hesitated. "It goes without saying that when I met with the Dark Lord, I had no idea that either of your mothers was with child."

"But you did know you were sending You-Know-Who after a child though, right?" asked Neville in a tight voice. "Even if it hadn't been either of us, you were telling You-Know-Who to kill a child."

Severus chuckled bitterly. "As I said Mr. Longbottom, when I was young and foolish, I was very young and very foolish. In all honesty, when I revealed the partial prophecy to the Dark Lord, I had not considered for one second the possibility that it referred to an infant."

The two looked up at him in surprise. "What?!" asked Harry incredulously.

He shrugged. "I never took Divination, and in my hubris, I applied a layman's analysis to what I'd heard. Consider the words of the prophecy that you already know, Mr. Potter. _'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord __**approaches**__..." _The word 'approaches' in my mind clearly referred to someone who was some distance away but drawing nearer. It is not a word that I would have ever used to describe a child in utero whose birth was still over seven months away. The phrase _'born as the seventh month dies'_ obviously indicated a late July birth date but did not, in and of itself, imply that said birth was yet to come. As for the middle line – _'born to those who have thrice defied him' – _well, 'defy" is a rather vague term. Certainly, Lily Potter's 'defiance' consisted mainly of publicly condemning the violence of the Death Eaters and. of course, marrying the Pureblood James Potter despite her Muggleborn status. In any case, the Dark Lord was known to have spent decades traveling the world in his studies of the Dark Arts. I assumed that in his travels, he had crossed wands with a wizarding couple three times - foreign aurors perhaps - and that he killed one or both of them during their third encounter. The subject of the prophecy, then, was most likely their son or daughter who, having reached adulthood, now pursued the Dark Lord to seek vengeance. So no, the possibility of the prophecy referring to an unborn child simply did not occur to me ... until after I was initiated into the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord announced his plans to completely destroy St. Mungos on the morning of August 1st."

Harry's eyes rose. "You were the one who talked him out of it."

Snape nodded. "I along with two others. We persuaded the Dark Lord that murdering dozens of children and infants and possibly hundreds of other wizards and witches at the nation's only hospital would turn the opinion of a still-divided wizarding Britain against us. Indeed, without knowing the full prophecy, it was possible that the mysterious 'power to vanquish the Dark Lord' might refer to the symbolic power that the memory of a murdered child might have in shaping public opinion irrevocably against him. It was a highly improbable interpretation, but it was just plausible enough to deter the Dark Lord from attacking St. Mungo's. Shortly thereafter, he focused his attention exclusively on you two and on Jim Potter, as all three of your were to be born at the end of July and, as far as the Dark Lord was concerned, all four of your parents had defied him three times. It was at that point that I contacted Dumbledore, urged him to send the Potters and Longbottoms into hiding, and agreed to spy on the Dark Lord on Dumbledore's behalf."

"Did you know that Barty Crouch Jr. was a Death Eater?" asked Neville. Only a slight tightening of his fingers around the arms of his chair alerted Harry to how nervous Neville was to ask the question.

"Not until his arrest. The Death Eaters worked in cells, wore voice-altering masks while doing the Dark Lord's work, and always used code names. I obtained a position as the Dark Lord's potions expert which meant I never went on raids and rarely interacted with Death Eaters on a personal level outside of those I already knew. Everyone whose identity I uncovered through spying I reported to Dumbledore. There is very little else I can say about that without contravening secrecy oaths I made to the Headmaster. And before you ask, Mr. Potter, no, I did not know that Sirius Black was a Death Eater either. In fact, I was quite astonished to learn of it. While I found him to be a despicable man, I had always believed Black to be an implacable foe of the Death Eaters."

"What was your code name?" asked Harry.

Snape suppressed a smirk. _Of course_, that would be the sort of cloak and dagger silliness that would intrigue the Slytherin Potter. "I was Mr. Aconite," he replied.

Harry nodded with a slight amusement. "Naturally." Then he looked over at Neville.

"That's all I have, sir," Longbottom said. "I appreciate your candor." The boy spoke easily, without either anger or guile. Snape blinked repeatedly.

"That's ... all, Mr. Longbottom?" he asked somewhat nonplussed.

Neville nodded. "You made a mistake, but after you realized it, you did what you could to make it better. And you never knew about my Cousin Barty, who was the only one who could have led the other Death Eaters through the Longbottom wards to attack my parents. None of what happened to my parents was your fault beyond the simple fact of Barty and the Lestranges knowing that You-Know-Who was interested in me, and you did what you could to fix that. I don't see any cause to bear ill will against you, sir."

Snape blinked some more before finally composing himself enough to speak. "Mr. Longbottom, you ... remind me very much of your father. I believe that is one of the highest compliments I am capable of giving."

"Thank you, sir," the boy replied softly.

"Um, I did have a few more questions," said Harry. "I'm not sure that you can answer them if you're under oaths, but if you don't mind, I'd still like to ask." Snape nodded. "The first one is about last Thursday. Did you or any of the other teachers know what all the traps were or how to disarm them?"

Snape was surprised at the change of topic and somewhat bemused at Harry's transition from wronged child to seasoned investigator. He remembered how the boy had deduced the Dark Lord's involvement with Quirrell from a startlingly small number of clues, and he was once again curious as to the boy's thought processes.

"No. Each of us knew how to disarm only the traps we personally designed. The trapdoor in the room guarded by the Cerberus was actually a magical construct leading to Wizardspace." He noticed the boys' confusion. "Wizardspace is a term of art relevant to spatial expansion and manipulation Charms. You will study it in Seventh Year if you pursue a Charms NEWT. Each professor designed the trap in an individual room of their own choosing which was then shrunk down to the size of a small box. When he was ready to prepare the gauntlet in its entirety, the Headmaster assembled the modular boxes and expanded them back again, which explains how you could have a trap door in the floor of a Third Floor room that does not connect to an opening in the ceiling of the adjacent Second Floor room."

"When were the individual traps completed and turned over to the Headmaster?"

"Most of them over the course of last summer, although the final room was not completed until December due to outside forces beyond our control." Snape noticed that Harry seemed surprised at that. "Why is this relevant, Mr. Potter?"

"I'm ... not sure anymore in light of your last answer, but my next question may help explain it. That is, if it's one you're permitted to answer. The plan, according to the Headmaster, was to lead Quirrell through a gauntlet of traps to both confuse him and lull him into a false sense of security, so that when he found the Mirror, You-Know-Who would be drawn into it and destroyed." Harry took a deep breath. "To the best of you knowledge, was that really the _actual_ plan?"

The question clearly confused Snape. "You've lost me, Potter. What other plan do you think there could have been?"

The boy took another even deeper breath before diving in headfirst. "I was thinking of, perhaps, a plan by the Headmaster to engineer a direct confrontation between You-Know-Who and Jim Potter so that the former could be destroyed completely by the latter's mysterious 'vanquishing' power."

Snape stared at the boy for several seconds as he thought through the implications of that statement. "Mr. Potter, I cannot imagine what you are talking about. No one could have anticipated the manner in which the Dark Lord would figure out our objective and Confund your brother and his friends into meeting him in the Mirror Room. Now tell me what it is you are thinking."

Harry stared at Snape as if trying to gauge his trustworthiness. Eventually, he decided that if he couldn't trust Snape at this point, there was literally no one over the age of eleven that he _could_ trust, so he'd might as well go for it.

"Room One: A three-headed dog that falls asleep if you play music around it, a fact made known to Jim Potter by Rubeus Hagrid right around the time Hagrid gave Jim a flute as a Christmas present. Room Two: A Devil's Snare, which Neville identified merely by its scent even before entering the room and which he disabled easily. Room Three: An absurdly overcomplicated aerial trap which could only be overcome by someone with the specific skill set of a talented Quidditch Seeker. Room Four: A giant chessboard which I am told Ron Weasley beat in just twelve moves. Room Five: A troll that Neville and Hermione had already helped incapacitate once before. Room Six: A logic puzzle that Hermione solved in less than a minute and a potion that only allowed one person to proceed to the final room at a time. Frankly, sir, it looks very much like the gauntlet was designed for the particular skills and specialties of Jim Potter and the three Gryffindors most likely to accompany him on his ... adventure."

Snape's face turned into an emotionless mask, which strangely reassured Harry more than if he'd registered shock instead. "With whom have you discussed this ... theory?"

"Blaise and Theo. We all noticed it while making our own way through the gauntlet. Hermione figured it out the next day once she was no longer under the Confundus and had time to think about things, and she told Neville. None of us have discussed it with Jim, Ron or anyone else." He did not mention that everyone who knew his theory had made their own independent plans for recovering the information in the event they were Obliviated.

Snape nodded. "Tell no one of this. I will ... investigate the matter. When you describe the situation as you have, I admit I find it troubling as well. That said, while the coincidence is startling, I know for a fact that Professor McGonagall submitted her room to the Headmaster weeks before the start of school at a time when no one knew that Weasley was a chess prodigy or even that Weasley and the Other Potter would strike up a friendship. Likewise, I submitted my own room around the same time before I even knew who Miss Granger was. Still, I will definitely look into this matter. Is there anything else?"

Harry grimaced. His last question might, he feared, be a bridge too far. "One final thing, sir. You mentioned earlier that you were very surprised at Sirius Black being a Death Eater. I know you have a history with the man and have as much reason to hate him as you do my father. That said ... is there any possibility – no matter how remote you might think it now – that Sirius Black is an innocent man?"

Five seconds later, Harry and Neville were out the door running as fast as they could for fear the irate Snape would hex them into the next century.

* * *

**The next update will post on July 24, 2015 between noon and 2 pm CST. "The End of the Beginning (Pt. 1)," in which Harry leaves Hogwarts full of confidence and hope for the future, even as enemies old and new plot against him. **

**AN: For those unhappy that the cliffhanger from the last chapter was not resolved in this one, I promise not to leave you hanging. The secret James Potter revealed to Dumbledore will be revealed (at least in part) next Monday in the finale to Year 1.**

**Also, some thoughts about Severus Snape: I had some concerns about this chapter because my version of Snape is, I think, the most OOC of any major character in the fic (although none of you have seen Lockhart yet.:)). To be perfectly honest, I think canon Snape is kind of an awful excuse for a human being, and if he hadn't been played by an actor as charismatic as Alan Rickman, I don't think anyone would have bought his heel-face turn for a second. In particular, I think it's kind of horrible that he only felt remorse over revealing the Prophecy to Voldemort after he learned that it likely applied to the son of literally the only person in the world he cared about. From what I know of canon-Snape, if Lily hadn't been pregnant, Snape would have happily stayed a Death Eater and never spied for Dumbledore. **

**Setting all that aside, however, I think the only clear explanation for Snape's actions and character in canon stem from the simple fact that Lily died despite all his efforts to save her. He foolishly drove her away in 1975, foolishly endangered her life in 1980, and failed to save her in 1981. Then, Dumbledore manipulated him into swearing an oath to protect her son - the son who looked exactly like his hated rival James. More importantly, Harry was the son who, arguably, was the _real_ reason she died since Lily would not have been targeted if Harry had been born even a day later. I think that's also the reason why Snape was so hostile to Neville - if Neville had been the Boy-Who-Lived, Lily also might have survived. **

**In _this_ story, however, Lily lived. More importantly, she lived and _continued_ to hold a grudge against Snape for the next ten years despite his sacrifices on her behalf. _And_ she raised one of her sons to be the same sort of James Potter clone that canon-Snape believed canon-Harry to be. _And_ she sent her other son to be subjected to the same sort of abusive upbringing that ruined Snape's childhood. And yet, despite all that, Harry has somehow grown up to be the Slytherin _wunderkind_ that Snape wishes he'd been. It was a big giveaway that in their very first interaction, Snape (who is notorious for his own greasy hair) basically orders Harry to improve his appearance. In Snape's head, Harry, Hermione and Jim are replaying the old Snape-Lily-James triangle, except this time, mini-Snape is charming, good-looking, popular and able to defend himself against bullies; mini-Lily has an extremely adversarial relationship with mini-James; and mini-James was so obnoxious from the first day of school that even his Head of House won't protect him from the consequences of his actions. If nothing else, it's highly unlikely that Harry is ever going to lose his temper and call Hermione a "mudblood." As for Neville, now that Snape doesn't subconsciously view him as part of why Lily died, he can look at Neville objectively (and even with a tiny degree of fondness due to the interaction with Frank Longbottom that I invented for this chapter). **

**[1] The italicized section is taken from Chapter 28 ("Snape's Worst Memory") of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.**


	33. HP&POS 33: The End of the Beginning Pt 1

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

**Chapter 33: The End of the Beginning (Pt. 1)**

**_Updated 8/18/2015: _**_To correct my failed attempts at Italian. Future chapters featuring the Countess Zabini will have a Beta who can proofread Italian for me.  
_

_**20 June 1992**_

In the end, Slytherin won the House Cup by _forty_ points. After discovering that Professor Snape was not in his rooms, Olivia Kolumbiko used her cheetah Patronus to send a message to Snape, McGonagall _and_ Flitwick advising them that she had an important message from Harry Potter about a life-threatening emergency involving Professor Quirrell and "some stone" stored on the Third Floor. It was actually Flitwick who awarded her ten points for quick thinking and a creative use of an extremely difficult Charm. Harry made a point of not gloating or even looking at Jim as Dumbledore awarded the Cup to the Sytherins, which the Boy-Who-Lived thought was probably the nicest gesture Harry had ever made to him.

Hermione finished the year top-ranked among the firsties, as expected, though Neville topped her in Herbology and Harry narrowly did in DADA. In potions, she only beat out Lavender Brown by two points, which the other girl accepted with good humor even as she promised to study all summer long so she could beat Hermione in the fall. Among Slytherins, Harry finished at the top, followed by Blaise Zabini, Daphne Greengrass, and Draco Malfoy. Theo Nott had solid grades, and Crabbe and Goyle passed by a comfortable margin to the astonishment of them both. Jim barely snuck into the top ten in his class, with Ron quite a bit lower. Finally, early on the morning of the 20th, the students loaded onto the Hogwarts Express for the long journey home. For Harry, that meant the Dursleys, though he'd been communicating with his solicitors for weeks and was actually looking forward to seeing his relatives again ... and their reaction to the changes that were forthcoming.

* * *

As his two sons were boarding the train for home, James Potter was hundreds of miles away, sitting in a stately office with a panoramic window view of Gringotts Bank and the London skyline beyond it. While Harry communicated with his solicitors through owls, James had both the time and money for a private consultation. The receptionist, a pretty young Beauxbatons graduate named Yvette, presented him with a tray of tea, watercress sandwiches and biscuits and politely asked "Lord Potter" to wait patiently for just a few minutes, as her employer was on an important floo call but would be in soon. Left to his own devices, James took in the expensive artwork on the walls and the antique desk in front of the window. He considered once again how well his friend had done for himself over the last decade, a success that was due in no small part James' own patronage. As he waited, James idly bit into a macaroon while thinking back to his last conversation with Dumbledore. The old man wasn't totally on board. He was still outraged by James' treatment of Harry, which was only fair since James was quite disgusted with it himself. But once James had revealed his secret to the Headmaster, Albus agreed to remain neutral in the Wizengamot, at least for the time being. He still insisted that he would reveal the Prophecy to Harry if and when he mastered Occlumency. James shuddered. He remembered his own Occlumency training at the Auror Academy. He'd reached third level (the minimum requirement for an auror) and stopped, unnerved by the way Occlumency affected his personality, and he was uncomfortable with Harry learning it, let alone Jim. Of course, he'd pretty much forfeited his right to forbid Harry from studying the field at this point, but he hoped the boy wouldn't delve too far into mind magic.

Suddenly, the door opened, and a dignified man roughly James's age strode in. He'd lost a good bit of weight since the last time James had been here in person, but his elegant professional robes still fit well. James seemed to remember the man complaining about a new diet the healers had him on during their last floo call. It was obviously working – although still rather stout, the other man was down to only one chin. His face was leaner and his hair was so much better styled than the scraggly mullet he'd worn during their school days. He was by no means a handsome man, but the years had been relatively kind, and his wealth and success made up for his physical appearance, though even today, many people were still put off by that burning, rat-like gleam that his eyes always held.

"Good morning, James!" exclaimed Peter Pettigrew, Esq., Solicitor-At-Law, Order of Merlin (First Class), and Steward and Proxy for the House of Potter. "And what can I do for my favorite client today?"

* * *

Around four o'clock, the Express arrived at King's Cross. Hermione introduced her parents to Harry, Neville and several of the other members of the study group. Blaise introduced everyone to Gunther, a large and imposing man in traditional gray chauffeur's uniform (complete with knee-high boots and a cap) who, according to Blaise, "did things" for his mother. Draco also introduced Theo, Blaise and Harry to his father, Lucius Malfoy, who was every bit as cordial and sophisticated as Harry expected. There was only a brief instance when a look of ... distaste passed over his face, but Harry realized that it was not directed at any of them but rather at a red-headed man some distance away who was obviously the patriarch of the Weasley family.

"_I really need to figure out what __that's__ all about at some point_," Harry thought to himself. _"How the hell did these to families become such enemies."_

But then, Harry's own face darkened, as James Potter showed up to meet with the Weasleys and talk amiably with their family, his hand on Jim's shoulder the whole time. As he said his goodbyes to Draco and Theo, Harry ignored the tiny stab of jealousy and anger that still plagued him over the difference in how Lord Potter treated his two sons. Focusing on his friends, he promised to owl everyone and also got phone numbers from those friends who actually knew what a phone was. Everyone made tentative plans to go shopping for school supplies on the same day so that the group could meet up in Diagon Alley for dinner. Hermione actually wanted everyone to meet up in London at some point and take in a movie or a play, an idea that delighted the Muggleborns but clearly unnerved the more traditionally-raised children. Finally, Harry noticed two people off to the side (in slightly old-fashioned but still "normal" Muggle attire) who were waiting patiently for them: a brunette woman in her early-30's in a dark-blue pencil skirt and matching jacket and a slightly older man in a charcoal business suit with a cut appropriate to the 1940's. As the crowd thinned, the two walked over.

"Mr. Harry Potter, I presume?" said the woman. Harry nodded. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you face to face. I'm Hestia Jones, and this is Artemus Podmore."

"The pleasure's all mine," he said warmly as he shook both their hands. Hermione, Blaise and Neville were the only friends still waiting around. "Guys, this is Miss Jones and Mr. Podmore, my solicitors."

"It's nice to meet you all," Podmore said with a warm smile. "However, Mr. Potter, we should head on now if we're to get to Gringott's before the end of normal business hours. Their rates double after seven o'clock."

"Dare I ask what you're doing at Gringott's," asked Hermione almost teasingly.

"Stuff," replied Harry with a wink.

"Slytherin stuff?" asked Neville.

Harry thought for a few seconds. "Maybe. Mainly, it's more like ... Potter stuff."

Neville laughed. "Give 'em hell, Harry." Then he picked up Harry into a bear hug. After followup hugs with the rest of his friends, Harry accompanied the two attorneys out of the station, carrying Hedwig in her cage (the rest of his luggage having already been magically conveyed to a vehicle outside). Harry never looked back towards James and so never saw the look of anguish that briefly flashed across his father's face.

* * *

Blaise followed the silent Gunther to a Rolls Royce parked near the station. As the chauffeur was loading the boy's trunk, a stylish woman with olive skin and jet-black hair stepped out of the vehicle to give the boy a hug and a kiss on the forehead. Then, Serena Zabini, her son and her driver got back into the Rolls and it pulled away.

"I want to hear all about your first year, _Passeroto_, but first things first. Are you still convinced Harry Potter is the one we seek?" asked the Countess Zabini in her cultured Italian accent.

Blaise smiled at the woman who'd raised him. "Yes, _mamma_. I am quite certain of it."

"We shall see, _Passeroto_. I still wish to meet him. Meet him and read him."

"I know. I have told him you wish to meet with him, _mamma_, and he is amenable, though I said nothing of Divination. We will have time over the summer."

She nodded and smiled. "These are exciting times, _mio figlio_. We must be cautious ... and well-prepared."

Blaise nodded. As if there was any other way for a Zabini to go through life.

* * *

Lucius side-apparated Draco and Theo directly to the gates of Malfoy Manor. To Theo, it was quite impressive and yet, rather surprisingly, much more ... homey than he was expecting. The House of Nott was a gloomy place whose master had let it fall into disrepair, but Malfoy Manor was pristine, with walls as white as the cliffs of Dover, gleaming towers, and immaculately kept grounds populated by what appeared to be a flock of albino peacocks. It was a short walk up the drive to the manor's entrance. Along the way, Lucius asked both Draco and Theo questions about how their first year had gone. Once inside, Lucius pulled out a gold pocket watch and then turned to his son.

"It is half-past four, Draco, so I expect your mother will be in the conservatory with her harpsichord. Go and let her know that you have returned. I would speak with young Master Nott."

Draco nodded, gave Theo a reassuring look, and then left the foyer. Lucius studied Theo, who did his best not to show nervousness.

"I have known your father for many, many years, Master Nott. Did you know that?"

"Yes sir. My father has spoken of you many times."

"I also knew your mother, Master Nott. She was a fine woman. I was grieved to hear of her passing."

Theo swallowed. "Thank you, sir."

Lucius took a deep breath. "In this house, Master Nott, you will find a number of rooms which are warded shut. If you find a locked door, do not attempt to open it with magic. The House of Malfoy is home to a number of ... antiques, many of which are of magical character and some of which are quite dangerous if misused. You will not seek them out. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir."

"In the back of the house is the ophidiarium within which are housed a great many snakes, many of which are quite poisonous. There are also stables here on the grounds which house several Abraxan flying stallions. Abraxans are also quite dangerous to those not trained in handling them. They are also carnivorous – maneaters when they get the chance. You will not enter the ophidiarium nor will you visit the stables unless you in my company. Do you understand?"

Theo swallowed again. "Yes sir."

Then ... Lucius smiled. "If you obey those rules, Theodore Nott, then I promise you this." He bent down do look Theo squarely in the eye. "You will be _safe_ here. No matter what your father may have told you of me. No matter what you may think of me that I was once your father's ... associate. I swear on the honor of House Malfoy, that you will be _safe_ from all harm while you are my guest."

Theo relaxed at that. "Thank you, sir. It is an honor to be a guest in your home."

Lucius nodded and then called out. "Prixie! Lemmy! Dobby! Mogli!" Four house elves popped into the foyer. Theo regarded them with some interest. Two looked like normal house elves. The third one – Dobby – seemed unusually anxious and fidgety. The fourth one – Mogli – was different from the other three and had an almost feral gleam in its eyes. It reminded Theo uncomfortably of his father's more ... _dangerous _house elves.

"Prixie, please escort Master Nott here to his rooms. He will be staying in the second East Wing guest room, across from Master Draco. Dobby, convey his baggage to that room. Lemmy, I would like to have dinner at seven o'clock. Something special to welcome our new guest." Lemmy curtsied and smiled at the thought of cooking something particularly exotic. Then, Lucius spoke more coldly to the fourth house elf. "Mogli, remain here. Master Theo, Prixie will show you to your room where you can refresh yourself before dinner."

Theo bowed respectfully and followed Prixie up the stairs as the other two elves popped away. Once the others were gone, Lucius stared balefully at Mogli. "Has your mistress given you any instructions regarding Theodore Nott, Mogli?"

The strange elf let out a soft growl from deep within its throat. "None ... _master._"

Lucius stared at his wife's favorite house elf, the one gifted to her by her Auntie Walburga as a wedding present. Technically, as head of the household, Mogli owed its loyalty to Lucius, but it was a slippery, foul little thing, and Lucius never trusted it. "If she gives you _any_ instructions pertaining to Theo Nott, you will inform me immediately. You will not reveal to her that I have given you this instruction. Do you understand?"

"Yessss ... _master_," said Mogli, spitefully.

Lucius's jaw clenched. "If you fail to do so, Mogli, I will give you clothes no matter what your Mistress wants. And if any harm comes to Theo Nott while he is my guest due to your actions or inactions ... I will kill you. Do you understand?"

Fire flashed in Mogli's eyes for a brief second before he growled his acknowledgment. Lucius studied the house elf for a moment, as if trying to read its heart, before finally dismissing it.

Upstairs, Draco entered the conservatory to find his mother Narcissa playing a fugue on her harpsichord. It was a Muggle piece by someone named ... Bach or something. According to Narcissa, his musical genius was enough to compensate for his Muggle inferiority, and so playing his music was acceptable to the House of Black (and by extension to the House of Malfoy, as his father didn't care about music whatever its origin). By painful experience, Draco knew not to approach his mother or even to speak while she was playing, and so he waited patiently in the doorway.

"Come closer, Dragon," she finally said without looking up from the keyboard. Draco drew near but still did not speak.

"Your last letter to me was rather ... terse. Can I assume that there is more that you _would_ tell me ... if you were able?"

Draco said nothing, and Narcissa sighed. "We will not speak of this again lest we tempt the wrath of Magic. I shall study this matter carefully before choosing a course of action. Yes, I shall definitely make a study of this ... Harry Potter." She continued playing for a few seconds before speaking again. "I must confess, my Dragon – I find myself ... disappointed."

Draco looked down at the ground. "I'm sorry, Mother," he said very softly. Finally, after a few more uncomfortable seconds, she finished the piece. Then, she turned to look at her son for the first time and then held out her arms to him. Draco rushed to embrace his mother.

"Shhh, my Dragon. It will be alright. Mummy will make it better. She always does."

* * *

A little after five o'clock, Harry found himself sitting between Hestia and Artemus ("Artie" to his friends and favored clients) in a luxurious and yet somehow menacing office on the top floor of Gringott's. On the opposite end of the long table was a goblin account manager who was talking angrily with a subordinate. Well, Harry _assumed_ the goblin was angry. Everything in the goblin tongue sounded like incoherent rage to him. He'd been astonished to learn that the name of the goblin language really was "Gobbledegook." Apparently, it meant "noble tongue" to them, but first wizards and then Muggles adopted it as a loan word meaning "incomprehensible gibberish." Harry shook his head. _"And wizards wonder why goblin revolts keep happening."_ Of course, the goblins weren't exactly known for their diplomacy either. Harry had looked into buying an educational potion so that he could learn Gobbledegook as a way to show respect, but Hestia and Artie had _strongly_ recommended against it. First, such potions were illegal to sell in Britain under the most recent Goblin Treaty, as goblins didn't want wizards to understand what goblins were saying behind their backs. More importantly, Gobbledegook was such a nuanced language that it was trivially easy for a novice speaker to make an embarrassing faux pas or even a horrific insult out of a simple "hello." Hestia did suggest that if he wanted to learn it when he was older, the potion was available overseas. She recommended that he learn it but never let any goblin know about it so that he could listen in on what the goblins assumed were private conversations.

After several minutes, the goblin (whose name was Gottschalk) turned to the three wizards. "Based upon the information you have provided, we believe we have a match. However, we will need a blood sample for confirmation. Is that acceptable?"

"Yes," said Hestia, "provided that the sample is destroyed completely in the process." Gottschalk waved his hand dismissively as if only an idiot would have thought otherwise. Then, he gestured, and a long blank parchment appeared on the table in front of Harry along with a red quill pen. There was a line drawn at the bottom of the page for Harry to sign.

"You'll need to sign your full wizarding name, which is _Hadrian Remus Potter_," said Artie. "Also, don't bear down on the pen too much or you might cut yourself."

Harry signed as instructed, only slightly surprised by the faint itching sensation on his arm that tracked the trail of blood-red ink the pen left on the parchment. "Remus, huh? Let me guess – Jim's middle name is Romulus or something like that?"

"No idea, actually," replied Podmore. "I'll check if you want."

Harry shrugged. The question wasn't really important to him. As soon as he finished signing, the blood ink that the pen produced turned black, and then the ink spread quickly up the page forming a crude family tree. First Lily and Petunia Evans, then their mother and father who had both died before he was born, and then other names as the tree grew. Some he recognized, others he did not. About halfway up the page, the spreading ink paused, and then the next name to appear was not in black, but rather a vivid purple. Thinking back to Slytherin's tapestry, Harry was certain he recognized the surname.

"Huh," said Artie noncommittally. "Was not expecting that."

"Is it good news or bad?" Harry asked.

Arty opened his mouth, closed it again, and then considered the matter. "I guess it's what you make of it. It's ... potentially controversial, maybe even enough for James to make hay out of it, although that will be difficult since your mother and brother are also descendants. But there could be enormous potential as well. I'll have Gottschalk pull the family's asset list."

"Any other living heirs?"

"Possibly, but none that can contest your claim. The Wizengamot gave notice that the House was set for line extinction a few years ago." He looked over at Harry. "Obviously, that's about to change."

"When do we need to announce this to preserve my rights? Do we have enough time for me to come of age first?"

"Oh yes. We have several years before we need to formally announce anything officially. Plenty of time."

"Hmm. So what can we do with this in the meantime _without_ letting James or anyone else know about it?" asked Harry.

"Oh, Harry," said Hestia with an almost predatory gleam in her eye. "All sorts of interesting things." Harry smiled at that.

* * *

**The final chapter of "Harry Potter and the Prince of Slytherin" will be uploaded on Monday, July 27 between noon and 2:00 p.m. CST. "The End of the Beginning, Pt. 2," in which secrets are revealed, threats are made, and treacle tart is served. **


	34. HP&POS 34:The End of the Beginning Pt 2

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

**Chapter 34: The End of the Beginning (pt. 2)**

_**Updated**_** 8/22/15:**_ Because, as Cbear8 correctly pointed out, Dudley Dursley never got a pig's tail in this timeline.  
_

_**POTTER MANOR. 7 PM.**_

Lily Potter apparated into the foyer of Potter Manor just before dinner, and after summoning a house elf to take away her trunks and other possessions, she made her way to the kitchen area. While Potter Manor had a full-sized dining room, it was far too big for just three people, and so the family usually ate their meals in the breakfast nook at a table just big enough for three. Actually, it was big enough for four, but Lily had spent ten years training herself to ignore that empty spot where the fourth chair should have gone. Dinner was already on the table: cottage pie, roasted potatoes and treacle tart for desert – all of Jim's favorites.

The three Potters made amiable chitchat as they ate, but Jim thought the tension in the room was suffocating. Questions about how his first year went, about the Quidditch team's prospects for next year, about what trips the family should take when James's vacation days arrived. Nothing about Harry. Nothing about Voldemort. Nothing about that smell on James's breath that Jim suspected was Scotch. But things didn't get really bad until James mentioned Uncle Pete.

"By the way, Lils. I saw Peter today. He sends his congratulations for finishing your first year as a Professor."

Lily paused with a spoon almost to her mouth as she looked up into James's eyes. "That's nice," she finally said in a tone suggesting that it wasn't nice at all. "Where did you bump into him?"

"Oh, you know," said James lamely, as if he suddenly regretted even mentioning Peter's name. "I had to drop by his office today to go over some ... legal matters. Nothing major."

"Um-hmm," said Lily before taking another sip of wine. Jim looked back and forth between his mother and father somewhat nervously. There had been tension between the two ever since they learned Harry was a wizard, but it seemed to have gotten exponentially worse since Christmas. The three ate in silence for a while before Lily spoke to him.

"So, Jim, what plans do you have for summer? You know, as soon as you've got your homework done," she said with a smile.

"Come on, Lils," laughed James. "Let the boy relax a little before you start in about his homework." Lily smiled at that, but there was a flash of ... something in her eyes.

"No, that's okay," said Jim hurriedly. "I do plan to get my homework done early. In fact ... I was wondering if it might be possible to, um, get some tutoring this summer? I didn't do as well in some classes as I wanted, and I want to do better next year."

James put his wine glass down and crooked an eyebrow at his youngest son. "Who are you and what have you done with Jim Potter?" he said jokingly.

"I'm serious," Jim said. James winced slightly at that remark for some reason, but the boy continued. "I asked Professor McGonagall, and she said that there's a form either of you can fill out and file with the Ministry that will allow you to oversee me practicing with a wand for up to twenty hours a month. Or someone else who is qualified and passes a background check if neither of you have the time for it. Anyway, whoever the teacher is casts a notification spell when my lessons start and when they end, and as long as the teacher stays in the room with me, it won't count as underage magic."

Lily's eyes narrowed. "Why have I never heard of this?"

"Well, honestly, most wizarding parents can't pass the background check because they don't have enough OWLS to be acceptable teachers. Also, it's ... kind of expensive. Five-hundred Galleons a month for the license and then twenty-five Galleons per hour of wand-training time, plus the costs for the instructor if you want to hire someone else to teach me."

James nearly choked on his wine. "What?! That's insane! You could buy Firebolts for your whole team for that!"

"Dad, we're rich! We can afford it! And frankly, I think spending money to further my education is more important than Quidditch!"

While James was processing that seemingly impossible concept, Lily stepped in. "What would you want to study?"

"Charms, Potions ..." he hesitated. "Defense. I need to do better at all those, but mainly Defense." Both of his parents tried to say something, but he continued speaking over them. "And not just magical defense, Mom. I want to start back with Taekwondo again, and I want to actually get good at it. If that means doubling up my lessons with Master Hanaro, that's okay with me."

"Jim," said his father quietly, "is this about what happened with Quirrell?"

The boy just looked at his father. He felt a brief impulse to laugh hysterically but fought it down. "Yes, Dad, _of course_, it's about what happened with Quirrell! I spent thirty minutes tied up on the floor at the man's feet waiting to see if he was going to kill me first or make me watch one of my classmates die instead! And the only reason we _didn't _all die is because _three Slytherins_ came to save us!" The boy looked down at the table and tried to calm himself. "The Boy-Who-Lived can't be ... _useless._"

"You weren't useless, Jim," said James. "Your power protected you, just like before. It always will."

"_You don't KNOW that!_" Jim snapped in frustration. "None of us know how this power works! Or how often I can use it! Or even what it is! Just that it protects me from Voldemort," both his parents flinched, "but it apparently puts me into a coma afterwards. And it didn't do _a thing_ to protect me from Quirrell's Incarcerous or his Confundus, so I don't see why it would protect me from a Killing Curse from anyone who's _not_ Voldemort! And another thing," he said quickly before his parents could interrupt, "since I already mentioned that I'm vulnerable to the Confundus Curse ... I want to learn Occlumency."

At that, both his parents exploded.

"No!" exclaimed James. "Absolutely not!"

"Jim, you are too young to start learning Occlumency. It can have very serious consequences to your mental health."

"Worse consequences than being mind-controlled by a dark wizard?! Harry's been studying it for months, and it hasn't done anything to him! Or is Occlumency some Slytherin thing that I should hate on principle but you just haven't mentioned it yet?"

"Jim! You will not use that tone with your mother and me, do you understand me?"

Jim sat back in his chair and sighed. "Yes sir," he said dejectedly. "So ... what _can_ I learn this summer?"

James hesitated and looked over at Lily. "Let your mother and I talk about that. We'll let you know tomorrow, okay?"

"_I shouldn't even __go__ to Hogwarts if I can't defend myself and my friends," _Jim thought to himself miserably. "_I'd rather be home-schooled than be a danger to everyone around me."_ He rubbed his eyes and pushed his half-full plate away. "May I be excused? I'm not very hungry tonight."

His parents both nodded, and the boy got up and left the room. They waited in silence until the sound of his footsteps receded. Then, James turned to his wife. "Well, what do you think? Personally, I'd rather he relax and decompress after everything that happened this year, but ... do you think he needs ... combat training?"

Lily laughed almost bitterly. "Really, James? You're asking me that now? You know perfectly well that I've wanted him to have combat training since he was six, but you've always fought me on it. Honestly, my only objection to Jim learning _Occlumency _is that he's been so immature and short-tempered. If he buckles down in his studies and makes progress with his martial arts training and shows some real self-discipline, then yes, I think he should start learning that too."

"He's _eleven!"_

"_I don't care how old he is, James!_ I want Jim to have _every _advantage he can possibly get! I want him to _live_! Is that too hard for you to understand!"

"Shhh! Keep it down!" hissed James. He stepped past her into the next room, but it was empty. He listened for a second but heard nothing. Then, he walked back to Lily and took her arms in his hands. "Lily-flower, please. I know you're upset, but _of course_ I want Jim to live. And I know he _is_ going to live. The prophecy..."

She jerked her hands free of his and stepped away from him in annoyance. "James, nothing in that damned prophecy says that Jim is going to survive. It says he has the power to vanquish You-Know-Who but doesn't say he will. It says he has a power the Dark Lord knows not, but doesn't hint as to what it is. It says neither can live while the other survives, and we both know what that means: Jim and You-Know-Who _must_ have a final confrontation in which one of them kills the other, but there is no guarantee that Jim will be the victor. _I don't want Jim going into that confrontation putting all his hopes into some vague hidden power!_"

"Do you seriously think that Jim could ever beat the Dark Lord with any amount of training, Lily?" said James angrily. "We either figure out what Jim's special power is ... or we accept that Voldemort's going to win. And I can't do that. I can't ... I can't accept losing my son." His voice broke and he turned away to pace the small room, while Lily looked at him with her arms folded.

"You have _two_ sons, remember?" she said coolly. James whirled back towards her, his eyes flashing angrily.

"You think I don't know that?! It was _your_ idea to send him to Petunia, not mine. I wanted to raise Harry and Jim together. I didn't care if he was a squib or not."

"That's rubbish, James. You just completely refused to consider that he even _might _be a squib. And what would you have done if he actually _had_ been a squib? Or worse, as Albus feared, if he'd been a squib _because Jim drained his magic to defeat You-Know-Who? _How could any of us have lived with that knowledge, especially since, if it happened again, Jim might drain Harry of his very life? We couldn't have raised Harry in that environment. We'd have broken him, just like Algie Longbottom nearly broke Neville."

"_Never! _Whether Harry was a squib or not, I would never have given up on him the way you did if you and Dumbledore hadn't talked me into it."

SLAP!

James staggered back under the force of Lily's blow. "How dare you!" she hissed furiously. "How dare you say that I gave up on Harry!"

"What else would you call abandoning him to Petunia and Vernon?"

She stuck out her chin defiantly. "I call it doing whatever it took to help my son _survive!_ Do you want to know the truth, James? When Albus said that Harry was a squib, part of me_ was thrilled! _Thrilled because it meant that whatever happened between Jim and Voldemort, at least _Harry would be safe! _Be safe and well away from this ... this _madhouse_ we call _Wizarding Britain!_"

James stared at her in astonishment for several seconds. "I'm sorry. I must have missed the part where you suddenly hated magic. Maybe that's where Petunia gets it from. Does Dumbledore know his Muggle Studies professor is bigoted against magical culture?"

"Spare me your sanctimony, James. Or have you forgotten how my parents died thirteen years ago?"

"My parents died that year too, Lily."

"Your parents died instantly from the Killing Curse, James. _My _parents were..." The words caught in Lily's throat as she suddenly fought back tears, "were _tortured _for hours and then _burned alive!_ Burned up along with the house Petunia and I grew up in! And _why_?" Her voice broke as the tears finally came. "Because they raised _a filthy Mudblood daughter who married above her station! _THAT'S the Wizarding World I wanted Harry out of!"

James slowly moved to embrace his wife, his own face a mask of pain just like hers. But she stopped him with her hand while she composed herself. "No! No, none of that matters now. You were right, and I was wrong. Harry wasn't a squib and should never have been sent away for that reason. He's a part of the this world now, and we need to deal with that fact."

Then, she pierced James with a firm gaze. "So what are we going to do about him _now, _James? Harry may be a wizard, but he's also a Slytherin, which you seem to think is worse than being a squib. I've been avoiding him all year because I think it's pointless and even cruel to pretend that we can be one big happy family again while you obviously hate him for his Sorting. Just as he justifiably hates us for sending him away for ten years. And honestly, it would be safest for him if he stayed away from us forever rather than come back and be caught in the crossfire when You-Know-Who returns." She paused to collect her thoughts before looking back up at James. "Anyway, I _know _you took the whole day off from work even though you didn't have to pick up Jim until four o'clock. Am I right in thinking you spent most of it with Peter brainstorming on how to kick Harry out of our family for good?"

James looked shame-faced and leaned heavily against the table. "Actually ... Peter basically told me ... that I should give up on trying to disinherit Harry. There's no legal way to do it at this point. I mean ... if he flunks his OWLS or, I dunno, _murders_ someone, it's possible. But neither of those seem too likely, so Pete says I should just accept this for now." He looked back up at Lily. "Maybe even try to develop some sort of relationship with him."

Lily came close to James and put her hand on his shoulder. "Do you mean it? And do you think it's even possible after everything that's happened?"

"I don't know, Lily-flower," he said tiredly. "But I think I'm going to try."

Lily smiled. Then, she kissed his cheek and moved in for a tight hug. James hugged his wife back as if afraid she'd disappear, but the love he felt for her couldn't overcome the icy fear that gripped his heart.

* * *

_**DIAGON ALLEY. 3:30 PM (EARLIER THAT DAY)  
**_

"James, we have been over this and over this," said Peter who had spent hours arguing with James to no avail. It was a good thing they were billable hours. "I warned you from the start that it would be nearly impossible to disinherit Harry unless the boy actually did something listed as grounds within the Inheritance Act of 1588. Well, he's only eleven. He's not going to commit a Class AAA felony. He's not going to get some Muggle girl pregnant out of wedlock. From what you've said, it seems unlikely he's going to flunk out of Hogwarts. And I doubt seriously that he's going to swear_ fealty to the King of Spain!_"

James groaned and put his head into his hands. They'd been arguing all morning about various options. Peter pointedly reminded James that his obstinate refusal to tell Peter why he wanted to disinherit his Heir Presumptive made things even more difficult. "What has the boy done to you to provoke this reaction? Is it just the Slytherin thing? Or is it that you think the Boy-Who-Lived is more deserving of inheriting your fortune than the one you thought was a squib?"

"Jim being the Boy-Who-Lived has nothing to do with this, Peter. And I don't give a damn about the fortune. Hell, I'd give Harry every last knut in my vault if he'd just give up the Potter name! But I _cannot_ have a Slytherin heir and that's all there is to it!"

Peter stared at James in complete astonishment. "Do you really mean that? You'd bankrupt your family just to cast Harry out of it? And just because of his Sorting?! I don't understand."

"And I don't need you to understand, Peter," snapped James irritably. "I just need you to make it happen."

Peter's eyes narrowed. Then, he smiled. "Alright, James. Here is my official legal advice. Make peace with the boy. Abandon all efforts to disinherit him. If possible, get the boy to move back in with you and Lily during the summers. Surrender." He held up a hand, as James started to object. "_For now_. Honestly, I think your biggest problem in dealing with Harry is that you really don't know anything about your own son. What makes him tick. What he wants out of life. What his hopes and fears are. So bury the hatchet and try to establish a rapport. When he turns fifteen, he'll be entitled to the Heir Apparent's stipend, which is a comfortable lifestyle but not filthy rich by any means. He won't come into his full inheritance and the benefits of Lordship until you're dead, which might be sixty or seventy years if you take care of yourself. So _maybe_, if you and he are getting along by the time he turns fifteen, you can turn his Slytherin nature to your advantage and persuade him to leave the family in exchange for a hefty lump sum payment." Peter paused, and his eyes gleamed a little bit more. "And if not, maybe closer proximity will show you which buttons to push to get him to do something for which you _can _legally disinherit him. Certainly, it's a better idea than anything else we've tried."

James sighed. "And if that doesn't work?"

Peter smirked unpleasantly, and that ratlike gleam in his eyes practically burned. "If no legal process has worked by the time the boy's of age, then I'll simply have to look into ... alternative approaches."

James stiffened. "Like what?"

Peter's smile abruptly dropped away. "Like things you won't be told about before I do them so that Lord Potter can have clean hands," he snapped. "You've been trying to disinherit the son you abandoned for nearly ten years, James, and we're nearly to the point where plausible deniability may be necessary for any future efforts. And if we do reach that point, you will let me do my job and not ask me any unpleasant questions about how the sausage gets made." The gleam intensified to the point that James had to look away from his old friend, just as a week before he could barely maintain eye contact with Albus Dumbledore. But in that case, the old man's gaze filled him with shame for failing to live up to Gryffindor ideals. Peter's gaze filled him with a different shame, one that made him feel dirty and low and unworthy to have ever been Sorted into Gryffindor in the first place.

Then, a clock on the fireplace mantle chimed, and the solicitor sighed and relaxed. "Anyway, you'd better head on now, James, if you want to pick Jim up at the station." Then, he perked up and snapped his fingers. "But I almost forgot – before you go, stop in with Yvette. She has some papers for you to sign. Some diversification plans for your portfolio. You may need to increase your liquidity if you end up having to bribe the boy into submission."

James stood slowly and shook Peter's hand. "Thanks, Pete. I'm ... sorry I snapped earlier. I really do appreciate all your help with this."

"Think nothing of it, James. That's what friends are for. Now, you go home and look after your wife and son. You just leave Harry Potter to me." Then, Peter smiled broadly, which James always found disturbing on account of how unusually sharp his friend's teeth were.

* * *

_**POTTER MANOR. 8 PM.  
**_

Both exhausted from their argument, James and Lily left the kitchen and headed up the stairs. A moment later, there was a flourish of motion, as Jim Potter, who had been standing and eavesdropping in the next room, dropped his Invisibility cloak and grabbed the edge of a chair as his knees nearly buckled. "_The power the Dark Lord knows not,_" the prophecy said. _"Neither can live while the other survives_," the prophecy said. His mother was desperate to get him whatever training she could because she had no faith in the mysterious "hidden power" alluded to in the prophecy. His father, on the other hand, had so much faith in the prophecy that he didn't see the need for any additional training at all. But both of them agreed on one point – if Jim Potter could not defeat Voldemort, then Voldemort would win and Jim would die, along with his parents, his friends, and everyone he cared about, and his entire world would be plunged into darkness and fire. As the enormity of his burden struck home, Jim slowly slid down the wall he'd been leaning against and fought the urge to sob.

* * *

_**4 PRIVET DRIVE. 9 PM.**_

After completing their business at Gringotts, Harry, Hestia and Artie celebrated with a nice meal at Summerisle's before driving out to Surrey. They arrived at 4 Privet Drive just after nine o'clock. Artie knocked sharply on the door, which was opened by what appeared to be an anthropmorphic pig wearing baggy sweatpants and an ill-fitting "SMELTINGS" T-shirt. Dudley Dursley looked at the three for a long while before yelling over his shoulder. "MOM! DAD! THE FREAK'S BACK! AND HE'S GOT TWO OTHER FREAKS WITH HIM!"

"Charming," muttered Artie.

"Oh, you have no idea," replied Harry as he pushed his way past Dudley and led the other two into the house. "Good evening, Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon. I'd like to introduce some people to you. These are my solicitors: Artemus Podmore and Hestia Jones. They have some legal matters they'd like to discuss with you."

"What's the meaning of this!?" blustered Vernon. "Are they FREAKS like you, boy!?"

Harry looked at his uncle with obvious disgust. "Yes, Uncle Vernon. They're both freaks like me. Except that these freaks are fully grown wizards who know a lot more magic than me and who have the legal right to use it. So I wouldn't use that word again because you might end up on all fours squealing like a pig." Vernon paled, while Dudley whimpered in fear. Apparently, at some point over the last year, Vernon and Petunia had explained to their son what sorts of things an angry wizard could do to a Muggle who had drawn his wrath.

Minutes later, after sending Dudley upstairs, Vernon and Petunia sat down across the kitchen table from the three wizards as Hestia and Artie explained "how it's going to be." Harry's room was Harry's room. They would be making some modifications to it for security purposes but nothing that should have any impact on the Dursleys. Muggles would be in over the next week to install separate phone and cable TV lines for the boy's room which he would pay for himself. He would also get a mini-fridge, a hotplate and a microwave and be responsible for his own meals. After that, a door would be put into the exterior wall of Harry's room with magic, along with a set of stairs leading down to the back yard so that he could come and go without disturbing them. These would be concealed from Muggle eyes by magic and removed when Harry eventually moved out. In the meantime, the Dursleys wouldn't even know he was there except for when he came out of his room to take a shower or use the toilet. Starting in July, he would be gone every Saturday for tutoring with a wand-certified instructor and also be gone every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon for tutoring in other courses (which included Occlumency, financial management and even flying lessons, though the wizards didn't bother to share those irrelevant details). He had tentative plans to leave and visit friends over the summer, and as a courtesy, he would notify the Dursleys when he'd be gone for any extended time.

Most importantly, Harry would do no chores and be subject to no discipline from Vernon, let alone bullying from Dudley and his friends. On this issue, Hestia abandoned any pretense of deference to the Dursley's feelings. While wizards had no monarchy, they did have an aristocracy of sorts, and Harry was a son of it. And if he were deliberately harmed while in the Dursley's "care" and it were reported to the right Ministry officials, there would be no official sanction... because those officials wouldn't waste the effort of legal due process on Muggles who assaulted wizards of Harry's status. Instead, some people would probably just come for them in the night, and by the time the sun rose, none of their friends, neighbors or coworkers would even remember that anyone named Dursley had ever lived at 4 Privet Drive.

With that, Harry led the two solicitors up to his room where they made a few technical notes about the changes to his room. Then, they produced a bill for him to sign in order to pay for the modifications as well as for their legal work to date. Harry was happy to pay – thanks to Hestia and Artie, he now had a second and rather sizeable trust vault, one which he could access relatively freely and about which James Potter knew nothing. The two solicitors left, and Harry unpacked his trunk and placed Hedwig's cage on the hook next to the window. Then, he plopped down onto his bed and sighed happily. It was going to be a great summer.

Downstairs, as Hestia was leaving, she made eye contact with Vernon and Petunia and shuddered. The _look_ they were giving her was unsettling. She decided that tomorrow, she'd talk with Artie about whether any additional security measures were needed. As the witch closed the door behind her, Petunia threw herself into Vernon's arms and started weeping.

"Shh, Pet," said Vernon soothingly. "It'll be alright."

"But they were in our house, Vernon. And the things they said! Us just disappearing in the night like that.

Vernon held his wife close and rubbed her back soothingly. "They said that he'll keep the freakishness away from us. That we'll hardly know the boy is here. That's ... that's got to be an improvement, right?"

"But what if he doesn't? What if ... what if the boy ... gets _worse_?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

Vernon turned and looked up, as if he could peer through the ceiling to the boy's room and see him sitting there, mocking them both, leering at them with his wicked green eyes. Vernon's mouth twitched nervously.

"If it gets worse?" Vernon repeated in a low mean voice, one that promised to protect his family from their unwanted and unnatural intruder, no matter what the cost. "Well, then, the Freak will have to sleep sometime, won't he?"

* * *

_**POTTER MANOR. 3 AM.**_

James stared at the ceiling of the darkened bedroom for hours until he could stand it no longer. Carefully, he got out of bed without waking Lily and made his way down the hall to his private office. Once inside, he locked the door with his strongest privacy spell and poured himself another glass of Scotch. There was a part of him that knew perfectly well that alcohol never solved anything. There was another part, however, that believed that alcohol was as good a response as any when there were no solutions to be had. He sat there for quite a while, sipping his Scotch and staring out the window as the full moon shown down upon him. Idly, he wondered where Remus was, and whether he was happy or safe or even alive. It had been a long ten years, after all. Shaking off the memory of his former friend, he rose and walked over to the cold fireplace where the Potter coat of arms stood above the mantle. Placing his hand on it, he recited his family's motto.

"_Vigilamus Pro Te._"

The ancient motto tasted bitter in his mouth. "_We stand on guard for thee_" was the English translation, but it rather seemed that he'd failed on that regard having fallen asleep at his post in the worst possible way. He felt a soft vibration in his hand, and then the coat of arms slid aside to reveal a compartment that would not have existed in the material world had anyone not of Potter blood tried to open it. Inside were various legal papers, about ten-thousand galleons in an expanding bag, his late father's wand ... and a glass orb which he picked up and carried over to his father's desk. (To James, it would never truly be _his_ desk. It would always belong to Charlus Potter.)

Still holding a glass of Scotch in one hand, James sat and tapped the orb with his wand. The phantasmal form of a woman appeared over it, the seeress Trelawney reciting that wretched prophecy he'd heard so many times before. How he _hated_ the name Trelawney! As James listened to the woman's voice, he thought back over his life – or more accurately, over _Harry's_ life – and the mistakes he'd made that had brought him and his family and his world to this point. He remembered holding little Harry in his arms and weeping uncontrollably when Dumbledore and the doctors said he would be a squib and that it might possibly have been something Jim did to defeat Voldemort that _made _him a squib. That was his first mistake. He should have demanded to keep Harry in the family, no matter what the cost. Lily was right – it might have broken Harry to be a squib raised in the Potter House alongside with the Boy-Who-Maybe-Stole-His-Magic. Possibly, it might have even killed the boy if some future attack caused Jim to drain Harry's very life away once he had no more magic to give. But James would have raised Harry _right_, and his Heir would have hated the Slytherins – the way a Potter should have.

He remembered the elation he felt when he learned that Harry was a wizard after all, followed by the horror of realizing how the Dursleys had treated him, and then the heartbreak of Harry telling him to his face that he wished that James had been a Muggle drug addict dead of a car crash. That was his second mistake. He should have snatched Harry away from the Dursleys that day, taken him home and _begged and pleaded _for forgiveness. If nothing else, he'd have had a month to persuade Harry to fear and distrust the Slytherins – the way a Potter should have.

He remembered receiving the news from Jim about Harry's Sorting and then getting blind-stinking drunk. And far, far worse, sending the boy _a Howler_ while blind-stinking drunk. He didn't even fully appreciate what he'd done until Lily's own Howler screamed at him while he was at the Auror's Office still recovering from his hangover. He remembered the twisting knots in his stomach as he recalled the awful things he'd said. Remembered how he'd completely annihilated any possibility of bringing Harry back into the family. Remembered how he'd ruined _everything_. All of those things passed through his mind as he downed his Scotch and listened to the final closing lines of the Trelawney Prophecy.

_The __**first**__ Trelawney Prophecy. _

Not the one made in 1980 by that drunken fraud Sybil Trelawney which heralded Jim Potter as the Defeater of Voldemort. No, this was the much _earlier _prophecy made by the celebrated Lady _Cassandra_ Trelawney to Lord Nathaniel Potter in 1780. The prophecy that had guided the Potter family for ten generations as a sacred family trust. The prophecy that now was nothing but a cruel testament to James's failures as a wizard, as a father, and as the Lord of his House.

_**And you shall know by these portents that the Time of the Dark God approaches  
and the Destruction of our World is close at hand:  
When the Two who should be as One are set against each other in reckless hate,  
and the Last Potter rises as the Prince of Slytherin.**_

**TO BE CONTINUED IN  
**"**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY"**

* * *

****WOW! **Five months. Over 110,000 words. Over 800 reviews and favorites. Over 1000 followers. And we're just getting started! Thanks so much to all of you who have shown your appreciation for this story. Your encouragement has kept me going through some pretty difficult patches. **

**Now, the bad news (well, mildly bad): Don't worry. I'm not abandoning this story, but I don't want to start publishing "HP&amp;TSE" without getting far enough ahead in my writing because I worry constantly about there being some gaping plot hole that's not apparent until later. Also, July got unexpectedly busy for me and I have a vacation scheduled in August so I'm a bit behind, i.e. only three chapters into HP&amp;TSE instead of the ten I want. So with all that in mind, I will publish the next chapter as soon I've finished writing the next ten chapters, BUT even if I haven't gotten that far, the next chapter will update no later than _Monday, August 31, 2015, _regardless. **

**Incidentally, the first chapter of HP&amp;TSE is tentatively called "Summer School," and the last two words of the chapter are "_Vernon smiled_."**

**QUESTIONS**

**1\. Previously, I polled my readers about whether you want Year Two to be a continuation of this story or else start over as a separate story, and most readers seemed to want a continuation. However, now that Year One has topped 100k (and I am trying to write longer chapters anyway), do people still feel the same? Let me know in reviews over the month of August. Even if I start "The Secret Enemy" as a new fic, I will post the first chapter here as a preview. **

**2\. As noted, I am trying to write longer updates (Chapter 1 of "Secret Enemy" is about 6500 words). Do people prefer the twice-a-week update schedule even if it's only 2500-5000 or so words? Or would people prefer a weekly update that ranged from 5000 to 10,000 words. **

**RANDOM AUTHOR NOTES**

**RE Serena and Blaise Zabini: If there are any fans of HP&amp;TPOS who speak Italian and would be amenable to serving as a beta just for Zabini dialogue, please message me. There won't be a lot of Italian, but apparently Serena Zabini referring to Blaise as "ti amo" was completely wrong according to an anonymous Guest review. That's what I get for relying on Google searches for translation, I suppose. "Uccelinno" should mean "Little Sparrow" which is Serena's pet name for Blaise ... unless it doesn't, in which case I will change it later. I suppose at some point I'll also need a French speaker to deal with Fleur-isms, but that's quite a while away.**

**RE Why Lily Potter has been acting this way:**** Imagine that the year after Death Eaters tortured your parents to death, you had twin sons. One of them, according to the best medical evidence available, was a squib. The other is the Chosen One who single-handedly defeated Voldemort, but in the process _may_ have drained the first twin of his magic and ****possibly ****may drain the first twin to death if Voldemort returns, which is apparently likely to happen. What steps would you take to protect the squib child?**

**RE Why James Potter has been acting this way:**** Imagine that you are Lord Nathaniel Potter and the most celebrated seeress of the day makes a prophecy to you about your family, one which states (among other things not yet revealed):  
(1) that someday a Potter will be sorted into Slytherin and rise to some mysterious yet important position within it,  
(2) that said Potter will also be the _Last_ Potter, and  
(3) that said Last Potter will be the herald of some apocalyptic event that involves a "Dark God."**

**What steps would you take to avert or at least delay the prophecy from coming to pass? Might you consider raising your children and your children's children and all their descendents to fear and hate Slytherins from early childhood, so that for generations to come, Potter children go under the Sorting Hat saying "Please not Slytherin! Anything but Slytherin!" And what if this works pretty well until one day, a Potter child is mistakenly identified as a squib and sent away to abusive Muggle relatives where, as Snape put it, only Slytherin values would help him survive? Yes, from Harry's perspective, James has been an awful father. From James's own perspective, however, he's basically having a breakdown over the possibility that his firstborn son might be the Wizarding Antichrist.  
**

**RE The family lineage of Harry, Jim and Lily:**** Nope. Sorry. That's something Harry will be keeping in his back pocket until he absolutely needs to pull it out. And I know the exact minute when he will ****need to pull it out. And it will be awesome. There may be hints, but it won't be officially revealed for a while. (One mini-spoiler: It's not the Gaunts, for whichever reviewer predicted that.)  
**

* * *

**Finally, and I regret ending on an unpleasant note just before a break in updates, but this message goes out to the charming and delightful person who wrote me an obscenity-laden "Guest" review. CONGRATULATIONS! You now have the rare - indeed unique - status of being the absolute last person from whom I ever receive an anonymous review. In the future, if you feel the need to refer to me as a c***, a b**** and a t*** _solely_ because I said "Heir Presumptive" instead of "Heir Apparent" (yes, that really was the only complaint made the doofus made) you will have to do some from a account to which I can actually respond. Or, more likely, simply report for violations of Terms of Conduct. Also, grow the hell up.  
**


	35. HP&TSE 01: The Lessons of Summer

**THE SINISTER MAN  
**_**proudly presents**_

**BOOK TWO IN "THE PRINCE OF SLYTHERIN CHRONICLES"**

_**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY**_

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

**HP&amp;TSE CHAPTER 1: The Lessons of Summer  
**

_**1 July 1992**_

Harry Potter stared at the telephone on his work desk with a vague distrust. Although technically "Muggle-raised," his time spent with the Dursleys had left him ill-equipped to deal with many aspects of Muggle existence. In this instance, while he (unlike most Purebloods) knew what a telephone was, he had never actually used one in his entire life, and he was now oddly nervous as a result. However, his nervousness was outweighed by his frustration over the fact that not one of his friends had owled him any letters so far, not even to respond to those he'd sent out. It was ... annoying. Finally, the boy took a deep breath and dialed the number in front of him, and after a few rings, a female voice answered.

"Granger residence."

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Granger. My name is Harry Potter, and I'm a school mate of Hermione. By any chance is she available?"

"Harry Potter? You were the young man at the station, weren't you?" For a second, Harry thought the woman's voice seemed to register disapproval. Then, he shook his head. He was just imagining things. "Just a moment," she said. Harry could hear Hermione's mother move away from the phone and then call out to her daughter. Seconds later, there was the sound of running feet and then a squeal that almost made Harry drop the receiver.

"_HARRY POTTER!_ Where have you been?! We've all been worried sick about you!"

Harry was surprised by the unexpected outburst. "You have? And who's '_we_'?"

"Neville, Blaise and myself. Oh, and Theo, though I only hear from him second-hand through Blaise. Apparently, he's very paranoid about sending owls to and from Malfoy Manor. Understandable I suppose. But anyway, we've all been sending you owl posts for two weeks now and haven't heard anything from you. Blaise has been threatening to send Gunther to kick in the Dursleys' door and rescue you." She paused. "You _didn't_ actually _need_ rescuing, did you? I'll never hear the end of it if you did and I talked Blaise out of saving you in some dramatic fashion."

Harry laughed. "No, I haven't needed saving. It's just been boring and lonely here. It's rather odd though because I've been sending owls out to you lot as well and never heard back from anyone. Posts to and from my solicitors get through fine, but nothing from any fellow students I've written to. Dumbledore was supposed to have put up some wards here when I was first dropped off. Maybe he included a post owl ward or some such nonsense. Anyway, I'll have Hestia and Artie look into it now that I know that it's an actual thing and not everyone just ignoring me." He laughed at that. "In the meantime, could you owl Blaise and Neville and let them know I'm okay and it's just an issue with owl delivery?"

"Of course," Hermione replied. "Though Neville is out of country at the moment. He and Lady Augusta are in the Amazonian jungle on an expedition to find some rare plant specimens. They won't be back until the 15th, and I doubt an owl could find him before then. Anyway, other than lack of communication, how has your summer been?"

"Not bad. I've finished my homework. I have my own TV for the first time in my life, but there never seems to be anything good on so I don't know that I missed much. I don't have to cook for anyone but myself, although I'm getting a bit tired of cold sandwiches and Ramen noodles cooked in a microwave. On the bright side, I start tutoring tomorrow. I'm a bit excited about that."

"Tutoring? But we can't use our wands during the summer, can we?" Hermione asked.

"Well, as is usually the case, there are loopholes put in place for the benefit of the rich and well-connected that are big enough to drive a lorry through them. There's a license you can apply for from the Ministry that lets you use your wand over the summer for limited times provided you're supervised by an adult who gets Ministry approval. My solicitors got it set up for me. They don't mention it at Hogwarts because it's bloody expensive, and I guess they don't want the less wealthy parents to complain about the inherent unfairness of it all. I wrote you all about it in one of those owl posts that disappeared into the netherworld or whatever."

"How expensive are we talking, Harry? And don't say '_bloody_.' It's impolite."

"Ah, I've missed you, Hermione. Anyway, all told, I'm dropping nearly two-thousand Galleons on tutoring this summer. I reckon that's close to £10,000. Not all school-related stuff, though. I'm also learning about politics, etiquette, estate planning and also flying lessons at some point."

"Ten-thousand pounds! Eep! Well, if it's all the same, I think I'll stick to self-study for now. If I can't keep up with you – not to mention all the Purebloods like Malfoy who are probably getting tutoring as well – I'll talk to my parents for next summer. Besides, we've already made plans to go to France for three weeks, so I probably wouldn't have time anyway. So, what's your tutor like?"

"No idea. I haven't actually met her yet. She's a Hufflepuff who graduated near the top of her class. She's got a gap year before she starts at the Auror Academy and wants to make a little spending money. Her name is Tonks."

"Just ... Tonks?"

"Just Tonks. According to Artie, she _has_ a first name but she doesn't like it so she just uses her surname for everything. Not even a 'Miss' in front of it."

"So ... Tonks, then. Like 'Madonna' or 'Cher.'"

"Nope, sorry. No idea who either of them are. Raised in a boot cupboard, remember?"

Hermione sighed. She knew Harry's occasionally shocking black humor masked a lot of pain and bitterness, but phone conferences were not the proper setting to talk to him seriously about it, so she decided not to rise to the bait. "Well from now on, Harry, just leave the television on MTV while you study. You can absorb the entirety of Muggle pop culture through osmosis."

He laughed. "Oh, before I forget. Will you be back in London by the 31st? That's my birthday, and I'd like to do, well, something. I don't want a party, really, but maybe me, you, Neville and Blaise could take in a movie or something."

"I'd love to. I'll forward the invitation to Blaise and Neville." She hesitated. "I should tell you – your parents sent me an invitation to a birthday party for Jim at Potter Manor for the 31st. I haven't responded yet."

"Were you interested in going?"

"Had you not wanted to do something that day, I might have considered it. I mean, he _is_ in my house, so we do need to at least _try_ to get along. And if I can make peace with Draco Malfoy, surely I can do it with Jim Potter. But I'd rather spend the day with you, and I'm sure Neville will feel the same."

Harry was pleased and immediately started counting the days to when he'd see his friends again.

**2 July 1992**

Late the next afternoon, Harry locked and bolted the main door to his room. Then, he exited out the invisible magic door in his back wall and went down the invisible magic stairs both of which had been installed just weeks before. For about the hundredth time in the last year, he grinned infectiously at the possibilities of magic. Then, he walked around to the front of the house and stopped short, his smile falling away. Petunia was in the front yard wearing a silly-looking broad-brimmed hat and armed with a pair of garden shears that she was using to brutally mutilate an innocent rose bush. For a second, Harry felt a pang of sadness. As much as he'd hated being the Dursleys' slave and whipping boy for so many years, he took justifiable pride in how well he'd maintained Petunia's award-winning flower garden, just as he took pride in how well he'd cooked meals for his three hateful relatives – elaborate, fancy meals which they'd all slurped down without even a single compliment. Briefly, he'd considered the idea of offering to cook meals downstairs on occasion, but only with the understanding that he'd be allowed to eat his fair share and sit at the table like a proper person. No more of this "cook Beef Wellington for the Dursleys while living off burnt toast and tap water" rubbish. He'd mentioned the idea to Hermione on the phone the day before, and she'd rather hotly explained to him about a Muggle concept called Stockholm Syndrome that caused kidnapping victims to feel a desire to please their captors.

Petunia glanced up at him and made a face of undisguised loathing. Then, she went back to Harry's poor roses and attacked them with renewed vigor. With the tiniest amount of regret (for the roses, not their assailant), Harry walked past Petunia to the sidewalk and headed down the street. A few blocks away from 4 Privet Drive, Harry looked around to make sure no one was on the street watching him. Then, he pulled out his wand and held it out in a "thumb's up" gesture, just as Artie had demonstrated. Seconds later, he was startled by the sudden arrival of a bright red _triple_-decker bus – the Knight Bus. Amused by the bus's appearance and by the nervous introduction of one Stan Shunpike (apparently, it was young Shunpike's first week on the job as bus conductor), Harry announced his destination as the Leaky Cauldron and then settled in for a quick if mildly terrifying ride. Not long after, a somewhat nauseous Harry Potter stepped off the bus and into the Leaky Cauldron, making his way upstairs to Room 13, which was a small but heavily-warded meeting room that Artie Podmore's firm kept permanently rented out for private conferences such as this. Inside, Podmore and two other wizards were waiting for him.

"Good afternoon, Harry," said Artie. "Any problems getting here?"

"None at all, Artie. Thanks." Harry looked expectantly towards the other two men, both of whom seemed to be defined by how incredibly nondescript and average-looking they were.

"Harry, let me introduce... Well, I suppose 'introduce' isn't the right word. Harry, this is Mr. X and this is Mr. Y." Harry crooked an eyebrow. "They are here under glamours and Anonymity Charms to conceal their identities, but both of them have sworn oaths to me that they are the individuals with whom the firm has contracted in this matter as well as secrecy oaths that they will not reveal the mere fact that you're studying Occlumency to anyone else. Likewise, I have sworn an oath not to reveal either of their identities to you or anyone else. While their actions today are not illegal, they are sufficiently ... sketchy in the eyes of the Ministry that neither wishes to use his real identity. I assure you that this is quite common where Occlumency training is concerned."

He gestured towards each man in turn. "Mr. X is a seventh-level adept at both Occlumency and Legilimency. Mr. Y is a fifth-level Occlumens and also a licensed and bonded Obliviator who normally works for the Ministry but is acting today in a freelance capacity. In just a minute, Mr. Y will use the first part of the Memory Lock Charm on Mr. X and then leave the room, along with myself. Mr. X will then spend the next hour examining your mind and your memories with Legilimency in order to determine the strength of your Occlumency shields, and then he'll provide you with a course of mental exercises designed to improve those shields and to develop other psychic protections. During your session, you will also give Mr. X a password of some kind that will allow him to remember this session in the future. Even if you don't want him to ever remember this session, the nature of the spell requires that a password exist. It doesn't have to be anything complicated, but it should be something that won't come up in casual conversation. At the end of the session, Mr. Y will come back in and use the second part of the Memory Lock spell on Mr. X to complete the memory block."

Harry was rather impressed by the level of secrecy involved in this endeavor. "Memory Lock Charm? I've never heard of that."

Mr. Y explained in a slightly foreign accent. "The original versions of the Memory Charm and the False Memory Charm are both three hundred years old, and they can both be overcome relatively easy through things like Legilimency and Rememberalls. The Ministry banned all further private research into memory-altering charms but later developed improved versions of the original two for official government use. You have to be licensed by the Ministry to learn them, and you have to swear magical oaths limiting your ability to use them and making it nearly impossible for you to teach others who are not licensed. The Memory Lock Charm cannot be broken by any known means except by knowing the password. And pursuant to the oath I swore when I learned it, I cannot use that Charm against any other wizard or witch unless they consent or else pursuant to a judicial decree from the Wizengamot. Otherwise, the spell fails to complete itself. Mr. X here has already consented to Obliviation after this session, but for your benefit, he'll repeat the oath before we start."

Harry blinked. "Does this sort of thing happen often?"

"You'd be surprised," said Mr. X in a silky voice. "In the wizarding world, it's quite common to learn something you shouldn't and then have the memory erased for your own protection or that of others. The Unspeakables are all well-trained in self-Obliviation for that purpose."

Harry shuddered a bit at that. Once again, he was reminded of what a strange world he had entered, one where people sometimes felt the need to give themselves amnesia in order to forget dangerous truths.

Mr. Y nodded at Mr. X who held out his wand and said "I freely consent to the Obliviation of my memories of all events that occur, all statements made, and all memories observed in this room for the next hour. So mote it be." Mr. X's wand glowed softly for a second. Mr. Y then moved behind Mr. X so that neither Harry nor Artie could see his wand movements, and he said an incantation too soft for Harry to hear. A violet light briefly shown from Mr. X's eyes, and Mr. Y nodded to Artie that the spell had taken hold properly.

"Okay, Harry. If you get done early, pull that cord on the wall to ring the bell downstairs. Otherwise, we'll be back in an hour." The two men left, and Mr. X gestured for Harry to sit at the table across from him.

"Before we begin, Mr. Potter, what training have you had? A tutor? Or just books?"

"Um, just books. I've read all of **Moste Hidden Arte** and the first few chapters of **Pathways of the Mind**. That one's, um, kind of hard to understand."

"It's also kind of illegal to own, so don't get caught with it. There are no criminal penalties, but the fine is several thousand Galleons and you'll be on a Ministry watch list for the rest of your life."

Harry gulped and nodded at the other man. _"What the hell kind of Christmas present did Blaise give me?"_ he thought to himself.

"Now then, having read **Moste Hidden Arte**, I assume you understand the basic principle of clearing the mind."

"In the abstract, but none of the examples in the book really seem to get the point across."

"Unsurprising, I suppose. It is a very old and traditional text. **Aegis Mentalis** explains the principles involved in a more approachable manner if you can find a copy of that, but it too is banned by the Ministry. To greatly oversimplify things, clearing your mind means achieving a state in which you have no conscious thoughts at all so that an intruding Legilimens has nothing to hang onto and use as a frame of reference for further intrusion. A true thoughtless state is extremely difficult to maintain unless you undertake an intensive study of Zen meditation or something similar. But such is not truly necessary to maintain reliable Occlumency shields capable of resisting Legilmency. All that is required is that you be able to sense an intruding mind and then reflexively suppress all thought, thus expelling the intruder. Now, let's try a simple approach. Can you think of any repetitive activity you have engaged in for long periods of time? Neither a pleasant one nor an unpleasant one, but merely one where you are likely to lose track of time?"

Harry thought for a moment and recalled seeing Petunia's pitiful attempts at gardening earlier. "My relatives used to make me do all their gardening all summer long. Weeding is like that. Boring but not unpleasant. A few times I was surprised at how long I'd spent pulling weeds out from among the rose bushes after zoning out."

Mr. X nodded. "Good. Let us start with that. I will attempt to read your memories. You will hopefully recognize my efforts when you start to think about things that are not germane to our present circumstance. Understand that I will, for the time being, be extremely obvious in my efforts. A skilled Legilimens can subtly guide your thoughts so that you will recall the memories he wishes to see without you noticing anything is amiss. Our goal for future sessions is for you to become able to sense intrusions with increasing subtlety. Also, I will be using both wand and incantation today. Be advised that a fifth level adept at Legilimency can work the magic both wandlessly and wordlessly, so you must ever be on your guard whenever someone you do not trust makes eye contact with you."

Harry nodded. Privately, he wondered how long it would take him to become insanely paranoid and whether that was, in fact, the natural state of an Occlumens.

"Now, as soon as you realize that you are thinking of things you do not wish to think about, focus your mind on that sensation of thoughtlessness you feel when deeply immersed in your gardening. I apologize in advance, but in order to most effectively evaluate you, I most focus on the memories that you find most traumatic, most painful, or most private. It is for that reason that I have agreed to Obliviation at the conclusion of this session. Now, _**LEGILIMENS!**_ "

Harry was startled by Mr. X's tone of voice when he barked out the incantation. For some reason, it reminded him of how Vernon Dursley shouted at him when he'd been six years old and had accidentally spilled bacon grease on Vernon's shirt. The wretched Muggle had been furious. He'd grabbed Harry by the arm and yanked him towards his cupboard so forcefully that there was a loud snap, followed by a scream of agony from the boy. To this day, he could still clearly recall the pain of a broken arm. Vernon and Petunia argued for several minutes about whether it was necessary to take Harry to the Emergency Room or not, with Vernon inclined to just throw him in the cupboard and see how he looked after a few days. Petunia, however ...

Harry inhaled sharply. _"Why am I thinking about that?_" As he continued to look into Mr. X's eyes, he was astonished and frightened to realize how powerful Legilimency was when he didn't have the option of just avoiding eye contact. He took a slower breath and then focused his mind on the peace and serenity he felt when he was immersed in his gardening. It took him a minute or so to reliably focus on the gardening sensation, during which time he faltered repeatedly as Mr. X caused him to remember painful or unpleasant memories of Petunia shouting at him over his gardening efforts, memories which then led inexorably to even worse memories before Harry realized what was happening and redoubled his efforts to keep Mr. X out. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity but was actually less than ten minutes, Mr. X waved his wand in front of Harry's face and ended the spell.

"Alright, first the good news. While it took you several minutes to realize that I was actively drawing out the memory of when your uncle broke your arm, on my subsequent attempts, you reacted much more readily. You were able to establish a clear mind relatively quickly and by the end were able to maintain it for a full minute, resisting all my attempts to read you during that time."

"And the bad news?"

"What you just experienced was my absolute lowest level of mental power, and I was deliberately targeting memories that you would normally suppress which only made it easier to resist me. Had I applied my full power, you would not have been able to block me at all, and had I exercised any degree of discretion, you would likely never have even noticed my presence."

"Oh," said Harry somewhat dejectedly.

"Do not give up though, Mr. Potter. I am, after all, a seventh-level adept at Legilimency, and you are not likely to encounter many Legilimens with my skill. I definitely think you have potential as an Occlumens. Unfortunately, save for the rare prodigy, Occlumency is simply something that takes time and effort, usually years of both. To have come as far as you have before reaching the age of twelve is quite an achievement and a testament to your dedication. Now, let us try again. _**LEGILIMENS!**_"

With that, the lesson continued for another forty minutes, at the end of which, Mr. X provided Harry with a Headache-Relief Potion. He then went over a number of mental exercises that he wanted Harry to practice several times a day for the next two weeks, after which they would meet again.

"Two final matters, Mr. Potter. First, are you aware of the fact that you have several gaps in your memory? Not Obliviations, as I suspect you still retain access to the memories in question. Rather, they are all very high level memory blocks designed to obscure the memories from Legilimency. All of them seem to start when you enter a particular corridor in your dormitory and which end as you exit it into the Common Room."

Harry stiffened. Mr. X was talking about the Prince's Lair. "Yes, Mr. X. I am aware of those blocks. They're not something you need to worry about."

"I see. Very well. Secondly ... I have a favor to ask." Mr. X suddenly looked down at his hands which were tightly folded on the table. It was the first bit of real emotion the man had shown all afternoon. "From your memories ... I now know that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named survived to some extent the events of 1981 and that he seeks to become fully resurrected."

Harry was quite shocked at Mr. X's words. He hadn't even noticed when those memories were drawn forth. "In a few moments," Mr. X continued, "that knowledge will be taken from me until such time as you use the restoration phrase to restore my memories, if you ever choose to do so. I ask you..." The man suddenly looked up at Harry with an anguished expression. "No, I beg you – if you ever learn that he is close to bodily resurrection, _please_ restore my memories of your encounter with him. I have a family. A wife and two children. With enough warning, I can get them out of the country if ..."

Harry interrupted. "How do I set the restoration phrase?"

"... You say _Celaverimus _and then whatever word or phrase you wish to use, Mr. Potter. Once set, you can relay it verbally or even in writing, provided you make it clear the message is from you."

"_Celaverimus: Voldemort is back_."

Mr. X stiffened as the magic settled over him. "Thank you, Mr. Potter."

"Thank _you_, Mr. X."

Moments later, Artie and Mr. Y reentered and Mr. X rose. "My work here is done. We will meet again in two weeks time." He nodded at Mr. Y who pulled out his wand and cast the second part of the Memory Block Charm. Mr. X looked around in confusion for a few seconds. Then, he pulled out a pocket watch and checked the time. He shook his head. "That will never _not_ be disturbing to me. Until next time, gentlemen."

With that, Mr. X and Mr. Y left. Harry sat back down with a thoughtful look on his face.

"Any problems, Harry?" asked Artie.

"Not with the lesson, Artie." He hesitated. "Are you an Occlumens? One good enough to keep my secrets?"

"I've had Occlumency training. I'm probably close to being a fourth-level adept. But it doesn't matter for _your_ secrets, because I swore the solicitor's oath to you. I can't help you conceal a crime and am duty bound to inform the authorities if you tell me you're planning to commit one. Other than that, anything you tell me is covered by magical client confidentiality and can't be revealed by Legilimency or Veritaserum. So what's on your mind?"

Harry considered whether to reveal to the man that Voldemort lived. Finally, he decided that he was not ready to reveal that, not even to his solicitor. But there were other steps he could take. "How much is a pensieve, Artie? I have some personal memories that I'd like to leave with you. Memories I want locked away unless I tell you to review them or ... unless something happens to me. Can we do that?"

Artie's eyes shot up in surprise. "Of course. And you don't even need to buy a pensieve. The goblins came through with the asset list and you already own one. A good one, complete with a shrinking enchantment so it's easy to transport. I'll get it from the vault and have it for you by next week. You can copy the memories you want then and I'll put them in a safe place."

"Thanks, Artie." Harry looked at his watch. "It's late. I'd better get home."

"You and me both, Harry. Elizabeth always has a fit when I work through dinner. She'd be even worse if she knew 'work' consisted of sitting downstairs having a few pints with Mr. Y while we waited for you to finish your session."

Harry laughed. "So I'm starting wand training with this ... Tonks person on Saturday morning, right? Where are we meeting?" Artie pulled out some parchment and jotted down the address to a building further down Diagon Alley which was home to a local dueling club. There was a large room with magically reinforced walls that could resist damaging spellfire. Harry smiled. "Damaging spellfire" was one of his favorite phrases.

_**4 July 1992**_

By three o'clock on Saturday afternoon, Harry had changed his mind and decided that "damaging spellfire" was actually one of his least favorite phrases, a conclusion he reached while lying flat on his back in the dueling room and wondering if any parts of him were still on fire. He'd arrived at that morning at 10:00 as per Artie's arrangements. Tonks seemed very serious at first, mainly because it was her first teaching experience and, like most Hufflepuffs, she was earnest and conscientious to a fault. Accordingly, the first two hours were spent on nothing but healing and shielding spells, with a particular emphasis on Renervate, Episkey and Protego. This was after she presented Harry with an emergency portkey to St. Mungo's that she'd insisted Artie provide "in case anything went _really_ bad."

At noon, Harry treated Tonks to lunch at the Leaky Cauldron, and she began to loosen up a bit. She admitted to being a bit nervous around Harry due to more than her lack of teaching experience. Although she knew Harry was "on the outs" with his family, he was still the eldest son of James Potter, who was a senior auror and would likely be supervising her at some point. She had been a little leery of getting caught up in the "Potter Family Drama," but she also wanted income of her own as she was a Hogwarts graduate and felt uncomfortable still relying on her parents for spending money. Harry assured her that all of his tutoring was kept confidential and that James Potter would never find out from him that she was his tutor. By dessert, she'd even admitted two personal secrets to him. First, she was a Metamorphmagus with the power to change her own appearance at will, a talent she'd manifested since early childhood. She even showed off for Harry by briefly turning her hair bubblegum pink. That was what clinched her position at the Auror Academy. She'd wanted to be an auror anyway, but there was an unofficial government policy that all but required known Metamorphmagi to work for the government in some capacity. The other secret was that she and Harry were distant relatives. Her mother was a private healer named Andromeda Tonks _nee _Black and Harry's late grandmother Dorea Black was Andromeda's great-aunt. She admitted when asked that she was a cousin to Sirius Black but claimed that she never knew him as she'd only been a small child when he went to prison. She indicated that her mother had been on the outs with the Black family due to marrying a Muggleborn, and she didn't think Andromeda had seen Sirius in years at the time of his arrest.

After lunch, the two finally got down to combat magic, which was what Harry most wanted to learn. She gave him the usual lectures about how he shouldn't be dueling in the Hogwarts corridors, and he reassured her that he merely had a strong interest in dueling competitively and the DADA teachers at Hogwarts were traditionally of poor quality to which she could only agree. He did not mention that the last one had been an agent for a still-living Voldemort.

And so, the two spent the next three hours covering a variety of Second and Third Year combat charms and hexes. Expelliarmus, Diffindo, and Immobilus were obviously useful, but Harry was intrigued by the possibilities of Depulso and Oppugno. The former was the Knockback Jinx, which could fling the target back a good ten to twenty feet with considerable force. The Oppugno Hex was combined with targeting words and would cause the target to attack an enemy of the wizard's choice. For example, Avis could be used to summon a flock of birds, but Avis Oppugno would cause those birds to swarm against an enemy. But best of all, Tonks taught Harry how to perform Serpentsortia, the Snake-Summoning Charm.

"I figured as a Slytherin, this might be a useful Charm to know," she said with a wink.

"Indeed," Harry said mildly while itching to see how the conjured snake reacted to Parseltongue. As with Avis, combining Serpentsortia with Oppugno would cause the conjured serpent to attack Harry's enemy without further direction from him, but he suspected that any snakes _he_ conjured could to a lot more than that.

Their lesson ended at four, at which point Tonks cast the notification spell that informed the Ministry that Harry was once more forbidden to use magic. She also took back the portkey as Harry was not old enough to possess it without Ministry approval (which Hestia was currently trying to get). Then, Tonks headed home while Harry spent some time exploring Diagon Alley. He made a brief foray into Flourish &amp; Botts and ordered some books on dueling and defense training that would be owl-delivered the following week. He also took in an early supper at the Leaky Cauldron before heading home on the Knight Bus, which dropped him off at a petrol station about three blocks from the Dursley residence. Harry was quite pleased with how the day had gone and was looking forward to an hour or so of television followed by an early bedtime. Naturally, that was when things went pear-shaped.

Just as Harry was about to turn off the sidewalk and into the Dursley's driveway, there was a sudden flash of light accompanied by a loud "pop," and the boy was knocked flat on his back. He blinked his eyes for a few seconds and was surprised to realize that there was now a small creature sitting on his stomach, a pitiful goggle-eyed thing with long droopy ears and a filthy tea towel worn as a tunic. Harry recognized the creature as a house elf from the descriptions Blaise and Theo had made of their own family servants. Immediately, the elf began to shriek at him.

"THE POTTER CHILD MUST NOT RETURN TO HOGGYWARTS!"

"What?!" exclaimed Harry in confusion. "What is this? Who are you?"

"NEVER MIND WHO I IS! THE POTTER CHILD MUST NOT RETURN TO HOGGYWARTS! GREAT EVIL IS COMING THERE! WANTS TO _KILL_ POTTER CHILD!"

"Kill?!" Harry suddenly looked around in confusion. "We're on a _public street!_ You can't be seen here! It violates the Statute of Secrecy! And anyway, what is this evil and who wants to kill me? If it's Voldemort, I already know about him and I plan to kill him right back if I get the chance!"

"OOOOO!" wailed the elf piteously. "THE POTTER CHILD MUST NOT SAY THAT NAME!"

"STOP SHOUTING!" yelled Harry.

The elf's mouth snapped shut, and he grabbed his ears and pulled them down into a makeshift gag.

"Look," said Harry, who sat up as the elf jumped down to the sidewalk. "Let's start over. What's your name?" As he spoke, the boy looked around but saw no signs that any Muggles had noticed his confrontation with the elf.

"Oooooo!" wailed the elf more quietly. "Dobby cannot tell the Potter child his name! If it got back to Dobby's masters that Dobby had warned the Potter child of danger, Dobby's head would be mounted on the Wall of Shame!"

Harry considered that mental image for a second. "Well, then, I guess it's a good thing I don't know Dobby's name," he said drily. "Look, can you at least tell me more about this ... evil that wants to kill me?"

"No, no! Dobby can give no details! Dobby will already have to iron his ears for doing this much! Besides, why would Potter child want to go back to cold drafty castle where his friends don't even write him letters!"

Harry focused past the gruesome vision of the poor elf ironing its own ears as a self-inflicted punishment to the second part of that outburst. "_You're _the reason that my owl posts haven't been getting here!" he accused.

With that, Dobby began to hop up and down in agitation before finally reaching into his tunic and pulling out a stack of letters wrapped up in twine. "Dobby thought if Potter child thought Potter child's friends didn't care enough to write, he might not go back to Hoggywarts? But Potter child talked to his girl-child friend with Mugglesy speaking gourd so that did not work." Dobby looked at Harry with what he no doubt thought was a cunning expression. "If Dobby gives Potter child his letters, will he promise not to go back to Hoggywarts?"

"No, I will do no such thing. And stop calling me _'Potter child.'_ I'm nearly twelve. Call me Harry."

"Dobby knows this Potter child is called Harry. But Dobby does not know which Potter child is in danger and so must protect both!"

Harry closed his eyes and rubbed his temples for a few seconds. "You know that there is some ... evil coming to Hogwarts that will try to kill one of the Potter children but you don't even know which one? You do know that my brother Jim is the Boy-Who-Lived, right? People have been trying to kill him since he was a baby. I'm sure he's the one you should be bothering now instead of me."

Dobby shrugged earnestly. "Better safe than sorry?"

Harry sighed. "Dobby, listen carefully. I have to go to Hogwarts. If I don't, I can't get educated and become a wizard. If I don't become a wizard, my birth father will cheat me out of my inheritance, and if I'm _lucky_, I'll end up living in a cardboard box under an overpass."

"Better a cardboard box under overpass than a wooden box under ground, Harry Potter!"

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Not to me, Dobby. I'll die before I let James Potter beat me."

"Ooooo!" Dobby moaned once more. Then, the house elf suddenly froze, the way a small woodland creature animal might freeze upon detecting a nearby a predator. Slowly, Dobby turned his head to the right to stare off into the distance.

"Harry Potter must go into his mean family's house, _right now_!" Dobby suddenly hissed.

"What? What is it?" Harry asked suddenly concerned.

"Dobby must go! Dobby cannot be found here! Run home, Harry Potter! _Run for your life!_"

With that, the strange house elf popped away leaving behind the bound letters. Quickly, Harry scrambled to his feet and looked around, but he saw nothing out of the ordinary. He picked up his letters and then carefully made his way onto the grounds of 4 Privet Drive. Just then, he heard an unfamiliar noise from behind him. He looked back and realized it was a faint buzzing, but one growing louder every second. Suddenly, in the dim twilight, he saw a cloud of small winged figures, each no larger than a man's hand, rise up over the house across the street and head in his direction, buzzing angrily as they drew nearer. Harry's heart skipped a beat. Doxies – small venomous faerie-like creatures. One on one, they were a minor pest. The dozens heading his way? That was enough to eat the boy alive.

Knowing that he wouldn't have time to make it around the house to his stairway entrance, Harry ran to the front door as fast as he could, but it was already locked. He turned around and saw that the swarm was nearly upon him.

"_There had better be some sort of 'emergency exception' to the Underage Magic prohibitions,"_ Harry thought as his wand popped out of its wrist holster. **"**_**ALOHOMORA!"**_ The door unlocked itself, and Harry dashed inside, slamming and locking the door behind him. Inside, the Dursleys were all sitting in front of the TV. The three looked at Harry with a mixture of surprise and disgust. Then, before Harry could explain, Petunia screamed and pointed at the window. Harry looked over and saw that there was a pile of doxies clawing at the glass. He moved over to check the window.

"It's alright. The wards on the house are holding. They can't get inside." Harry exhaled, relieved to feel safe.

"What ARE those?!" shrieked Petunia.

"Doxies. Normally, they're just pests, but someone decided to send a whole swarm of them after me. They're venomous meat-eaters, but they can't get inside."

"You brought these things to our house," Vernon said quietly.

"I didn't_ bring_ them anywhere," said Harry irritably, his attention still on the doxies clawing at the window. "Someone sent them after me and they followed me here. We need to send a message to the Ministry. They have people who deal with this sort of..."

"You brought these things to our house," Vernon said even more quietly. Harry froze. Vernon Dursley never did _anything_ quietly. The boy turned towards his uncle just in time to see the big meaty fist a second before it smashed into his face. He dropped to the ground, dazed, his wand falling out of his grasp and rolling under the couch. Then, Vernon picked Harry up by the front of his shirt and shook him violently.

"YOU BROUGHT THESE THINGS TO OUR HOUSE!" he screamed in an absolute fury. Harry shook his head to clear it and glimpsed something in Vernon's eyes that had never been there before in any of his past rages. It was like some sort of fuse had blown in Dursley's mind. Vernon looked towards the window which was still covered in doxies. Then, with a sick grin, he picked up Harry limp body and carried him, past a hysterical Petunia and a terrified Dudley, to the back door. With a free hand, the Muggle jerked the door open. Then, he hurled Harry out into the backyard as far as he could. "SUPPERTIME!" he bellowed as loudly as he could before slamming the door shut and locking it.

Harry scrambled to his feet and then staggered towards the door, nearly falling as he did. He pounded on the back door in terror, begging to be let in. Then, he heard the buzzing and skittering of the doxie swarm as it rolled over the house towards his location. In the distance, he saw an owl heading his way clutching an official-looking letter of some kind in its talons. The poor creature tried unsuccessfully to change direction and escape before a quartet of doxies fell upon it and ripped it apart. The rest of the swarm had a bigger quarry – Harry.

The boy pounded once more on the back door and begged for the Dursleys to let him inside. Through the window, he could see the Dursleys staring at him with what looked like quiet satisfaction. Then, he screamed as the first set of tiny vicious talons dug into his back of his neck.

Vernon smiled.

* * *

**And we're back! And a week early, I'm pleased to say. I must also say that this is an unusually long chapter, but I really wanted to end with that damned creepy line "Vernon smiled." Future chapters will usually be between 3-5k. Also, please note that I've made a few minor changes to various chapters of HP&amp;TPOS, mainly to correct Countess Zabini's Italian and also to fix a very minor continuity error pertaining to the pig's tail that Dudley never actually got in this timeline.  
**

**The next chapter will upload on Friday, August 28, 2015. Will Harry survive the doxy attack? Or will I boldly change the direction of this entire story by killing off the main character in Chapter One of Book Two? The fact that the next chapter is entitled "Healers and Hospitals" may be some kind of clue.**

**AN: I got a lot of comments suggesting that the First Trelawney Prophecy that ends Year One is vague and that James was an idiot for giving it so much credence. Just to clarify, what you've seen is only the _ending _of a much longer prophecy. There's more to it that will be revealed later, and it's (IMO) a lot clearer than Sybil's prophecy about October 31, 1981. Cassandra Trelawney really was good at Divination _and_ she wasn't _drunk_ when she made her predictions. :)**

**QUESTION: As I was reading back over HP&amp;TPOS, I suddenly realized that I made Theo Nott one of the main characters in the book and never once described him. Then, I looked him up online and discovered that apparently JKR never once described him either except to say that a boy who _may_ be Theo is "pale." And AFAIK, there's never been a character in the movies who's even been hinted as being Theo. So with that in mind, are there any readers who can give me a canon (or failing that, a consensus fanon) description of Theo Nott. Also, I'd appreciate the same for Tracey Davis and Daphne Greengrass who are not really described at all in the books and who will be playing larger roles in Book 2. **


	36. HP&TSE 02: Healers and Hospitals

**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY**

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

**CHAPTER 2: Healers and Hospitals  
**

_**8 July 1992**_

Harry's eyes fluttered open painfully, and he took in his new surroundings in confusion. He was lying in a comfortable single bed in a sparsely decorated but rather homey room. Early morning sunlit filtered in through the window blinds and was reflected in the multicolored crystals of a mobile that was hanging over his head. Almost immediately, Harry sneezed due to the spicy aroma of dozens of multicolored candles situated around the room. Then, he bit back a hiss of pain as a burning ache rocketed through his entire body from the sudden movement. Instantly, as if in response to his pain, the crystal mobile started to jangle discordantly.

Barely a minute later, the door opened, and a middle-aged man with thinning blonde hair and a friendly face entered the room. He wore a flowing white robe with a blue caduceus symbol that reminded Harry of the robes Madame Pomfrey sometimes wore in the school infirmary. The robe was open in the front, however, and looked more like a doctor's lab coat, and Harry was surprised to see that the healer also wore a pair of Muggle trousers, a button-down shirt, a bowtie ... and fuzzy brown house slippers designed to look like small animals of some kind. "Good morning, Mr. Potter. So good to see you're back with us. Tonks is the name. Ted Tonks. I gather my daughter's been giving you defense lessons."

"Only one ..." the boy coughed painfully. His whole body was sore, and his throat was so raw he could barely speak above a whisper. "Only one session so far. Unfortunately ... we didn't cover cheap shots and doxy swarms on the first day. How did I get ... wherever here is?"

"_Here_ is the Tonks Clinic. My wife Andromeda and I operate a clinic out of our home in Hogsmeade for the benefit of locals who don't want to go all the way to St. Mungo's for minor ailments. Normally, Andie handles pediatric patients, but she's currently in France teaching a seminar on medical healing at Beauxbatons so you're stuck with me. Anyway, your solicitor Miss Jones had you brought in over the weekend because ... well, I gather it was because there might be some sort of complications if you went to St. Mungo's."

As the healer spoke, he calmly removed several burnt out candles and replaced them with new ones that sparkled in the sunlight coming in through the window, as if glitter had been mixed in with the candle wax. Then, he pulled some wire "half-moon" spectacles from a pocket and donned them while examining the arrangement of crystals in the mobile. Dissatisfied for some inscrutable reason pertaining to "chakras," he rearranged several crystals so that their reflected light would strike Harry in some more auspicious manner.

"What sort of complications?" asked Harry as he tried to figure out the purpose behind the healer's seemingly random actions.

"Well," he said, "severe doxy poisoning is the sort of thing you can go to St. Mungo's for without anyone batting an eye, Mr. Potter. But accompanied by a black eye, a fractured jaw and a concussion? That's the sort of thing that gets people talking, especially for someone in your circumstances."

At that, Harry remembered that had happened – that Vernon Dursley had struck him hard enough to nearly knock him out and then thrown him out to be devoured by the doxy swarm. _"Yeah,"_ he thought. _"Nearly getting murdered by your guardian who is also your estranged parents' brother-in-law might definitely get people talking."_

Harry shifted his position, grimacing in pain as he did. "What day is it?"

"Tuesday the 8th at quarter to nine in the a.m. You've been in a healing coma since around eight o'clock on Saturday night. The process by which doxy venom is neutralized is extremely painful, so I thought it best you sleep through as much of the experience as possible. You woke up a wee bit ahead of schedule," Ted suddenly glanced down at his feet and then looked back up sheepishly, "hence the badger slippers."

Harry laughed and then winced from the pain. "_So that was what they were supposed to be_," he thought to himself. "_Badger slippers. What else would a Hufflepuff wear around the house. I wonder if they come in a snake theme._"

"What can you tell me about what happened last Saturday night, Healer Tonks?" he asked aloud.

"Call me Ted, Mr. Potter. I'm Muggleborn, you see, and never really went in for Pureblood etiquette." There was a chime that rang somewhere nearby. "Ah, do hold that thought, Mr. Potter. I believe company's arrived that can answer all your questions better than I." Ted stepped out of the room for just a moment and then returned with Hestia Jones and, to Harry's surprise, Professor Snape. The latter was carrying several vials which Ted took and held up to the light to examine. The healer returned to Harry's bedside and handed one of the vials to the boy. "That will soothe your throat a bit and make speaking easier," he said. While Harry drank the potion, Ted waved his wand over the boy in a complicated pattern.

"Hmm. Alright, Mr. Potter..."

"Harry," he said less painfully. "I was Muggle-raised too, so if we're going to be on a first name basis, might as well be mutual."

Ted smiled. "Alright, _Harry_. I know you have questions, so I'm giving you five minutes to ask what you want from Miss Jones and Professor Snape. Then, you'll be drinking the rest of these potions the good Professor has prepared, and they'll put you back to sleep for the rest of the day and all night until the last of the venom is been neutralized. You'll be right as rain in the morning."

"Thank you, Ted." He looked over at the other two. Hestia looked horrified at his condition, while Snape wore his usual emotionless mask.

"I _knew_ we should have gotten you a personal emergency portkey," she spat. "And by tomorrow we _will_ have one for you even if I have to wring Violetta Edgecombe's neck to get it!"

"It's okay, Hestia," he said softly while trying not to move too much. "I'm alive. That's what matters. Although I would like to know how I got here. I thought I was done for. The last thing I remember is ..." His voice trailed off. The last thing he remembered was Vernon's smile.

Snape stepped forward. "I believe it would be best if you were to go first and tell us what you remember, Potter. Then, Miss Jones can fill in the gaps."

Harry nodded and told what he remembered from Saturday night. His strange encounter with Dobby. The swarm of doxies. How Vernon had sucker-punched him and thrown him out to die. Then, he looked concerned for a moment.

"Also, I remember using Alohomora to get inside the house. Am I going to be in trouble for underage magic?"

"Actually," said Hestia, "that little misdemeanor probably saved your life. It registered with the Office of Underage Magic, and they sent a First Offense owl notice to the Dursleys. As your registered solicitor, I got a courtesy copy and immediately knew something bad must have happened with those Muggles, so I apparated straight there. You were already unconscious, but I was able to shoo most of the doxies away from you and set up a protective shield. Then, just a minute or so later, the aurors showed up. Apparently, the doxies killed the Ministry owl that was carrying your Underage Magic warning."

"I saw that," said Harry with a sick expression. "They ripped the poor thing apart. It was awful."

"I've no doubt," she continued. "But the important thing for us is that the Ministry pays attention to its official owls, and when one of them gets killed while delivering an official legal notice, aurors automatically get dispatched to the scene. Two of them showed up and were able to eradicate the doxies. Then, I had one of them transport you here while the other auror and I went in to talk to the Dursleys. You'll be happy to know that all of your personal possessions are now at our offices. Well, except for this one." With a smile, she reached into her handbag and produced Harry's wand. The boy smiled in relief.

"Thanks. I was afraid Vernon might have snapped it."

"It had rolled under the couch. When it wasn't on your person or among your things, I used the Summoning Charm. Also, to answer your earlier question, you _are_ allowed to use underage magic for self-defense. The auror report made it clear that you were defending yourself against an unusually large doxy swarm, and I've already filed the paperwork to expunge that First Warning from your file."

Harry sighed. "So ... what happens next? Somebody wants to kill me, and the Dursleys are happy to help them."

Snape stepped forward. "What happens next, Potter, is that you will rest and allow Healer Tonks to complete his work. We shall return tomorrow morning to discuss your future living arrangements."

Minutes later, Harry was sleeping peacefully, and the three adults stepped out of the room.

"I noticed you didn't mention his uncle's status, Severus," said Hestia.

"Neither did you," he replied while staring off into space thoughtfully.

"Neither one of you mentioned it to me either," said Ted. "What about the bastard? Please tell me he's rotting in a Ministry holding cell."

"Not just yet, unfortunately," said Hestia. "While he was being interviewed by the auror, Vernon Dursley suffered a massive heart attack. He's presently in intensive care in a Muggle hospital."

"A heart attack, you say?" said Ted mildly. "How convenient."

The witch stiffened. "I was there, Ted. Neither the auror nor I did anything untoward ... no matter how much he deserved it. Anyway, that cut the interview short, but we have enough to be sure that Harry Potter is no longer safe at the Dursley residence. Although in their defense, Harry seemed to be fine there this summer until this doxy swarm business. Apparently, an actual attack on their home by magical creatures pushed Vernon over the edge." Her face hardened almost into cruelty. "Not that the Wizengamot will accept that as an excuse when we file charges." She turned to Snape. "I thought the house was supposed to be warded against magical creatures."

"It is," he replied coolly. "You'll notice that none of them got inside to attack the Dursleys. Unfortunately, the wards don't extend to cover the entire grounds, and in any case, they were never intended to protect Potter from outright treachery by his own kin." He thought for a moment. "And come to think of it, I doubt they can block out house elves. There are very few wards that can do so other than those placed on government facilities. The elf who assaulted Potter was named Dobby. Is there any sort of registry of house elf names?" he asked the solicitor.

"None that I'm aware of," said Hestia, "although the number of private families old enough and rich enough to have multiple house elves is fairly small... and overwhelmingly Pureblood."

"Hmm. And while I've been in the homes of many Purebloods who might conceivably bear Harry ill will, I am embarrassed to say that I've never paid attention to the names of any of their servants."

"I know. We're all just trained to ask house elves to carry our bags and fetch the afternoon tea, and then we just forget about them."

"Speak for yourself," muttered Ted. He was, in fact, both fond of and intensely protective of his own house elf. "Anyway, the boy obviously can't stay where he is regardless of what happens to this Dursley beast," said Ted. "Where are you going to send him?"

"Good question," Hestia responded. "There's an injunction that says he's not going to the Potters against his will, but they still have the power to veto a placement they disapprove of, which probably means no Slytherins. Longbottom Manor is a good possibility, but Augusta and the Heir are out of country and can't be reached."

"Why should the Potters have any say in the matter given the fact that their negligence led to the boy's current state?" asked Snape with a hint of edge to his voice.

"Because we have not yet _legally_ demonstrated that they are unfit guardians, and we probably _won't_ be able to until I can complete an interview with Vernon Dursley. I'd like to get a memory recording from him and Petunia about what happened so that we don't have to put Harry on the witness stand and turn this whole thing into a media circus, but I can't get in to see Vernon while he's in hospital."

Snape smiled cruelly. "_You_ can't, perhaps."

* * *

_**Two hours later ...**_

It had been years since Severus Snape had worn anything but wizarding robes. From an early age, he was eager to abandon his Muggle roots and everything that came with them, and the feeling of robes was part of that effort to escape. But he was still Muggle-raised, and basic Muggle fashion hadn't changed _that_ much since his school days. Nevertheless, Snape's students would have been amazed to see the man who walked into Charring Cross Hospital in the early afternoon wearing a black business suit with his hair scrubbed clean and pulled back into a ponytail. Only the most observant of watchers would have noticed how ill at ease the man felt, let alone attribute it to how uncomfortable he was with the odd sensation of wearing trousers for the first time in fifteen years.

Snape first checked with the front desk to find out that Vernon was still in ICU. Then, he placed a Notice-Me-Not Charm on himself and made his way there. It had been years since he'd last seen her, but it was quite possible that Petunia Dursley would recognize him, and Snape didn't want that ... not yet anyway. Near the ICU, he saw the vile woman and her enormous son sitting in a nearby waiting room quietly. He would deal with them later.

Soon, he found the room he was sought. _Room 535 - Vernon Dursley._ Inside, the room was quiet except for the beeping and wheezing of various medical devices. Immediately, he cast a mild Muggle-Repelling Charm on the room to keep the staff from intruding. He did not plan to be here long. Briefly, he examined the chart hanging next to the door, but Muggle medical terminology was beyond him. Not that it mattered. He had his own diagnostic techniques as one did not become a Potions Master without some understanding of healing magic. Several quick spells revealed that Vernon was sleeping under a mild sedative. His heartbeat was irregular but otherwise strong. While the doxy attack and the subsequent auror interview were both triggering events, it appeared that his heart attack was simply the result of obesity, lack of exercise and, curiously, the long term effects of extreme anxiety and stress. From a pocket of his coat, Snape produced a Calming Draught which he spelled into the IV drop plugged into the man's arm. Then, he pried the Muggle's mouth open and placed a single drop of Veritaserum on his tongue – not enough to compel the truth, as the man's health would not permit it, but enough to make him loose-lipped. Then, after giving the potions a few minutes to do their work, the wizard cast an Ennervate spell on the Muggle, and his eyes fluttered open.

"Who... who are you? You're not a doctor?" said Vernon weakly. Then, he noticed the wand in Snape's hand. "You're one of _them_, aren't you? Come to kill me for revenge? Well, get it over with, but leave my wife and son alone. They had nothing to do with it."

"I am not here to kill you, Vernon Dursley, but simply to find out what happened. Although I _may_ consider killing you depending on what I find out." Snape spoke coldly to the man. In truth, he had no immediate plans to kill Vernon, who he thought might presently be more valuable to young Potter alive.

"What is there to ask?" he said in a rasping voice. "The Freak brought those ... _creatures_ right up to the door of our house. I've known for years that one day his ... unnaturalness would endanger all our lives. I didn't want to give him the chance to do something even worse to us."

"The boy did not deliberately endanger you, Dursley. Not that I would have thought less of him if he had." Snape leaned in towards Vernon. "I _know_ about the cupboard, Dursley," he hissed at the man.

"You want me to feel guilty? You're wasting your time. I wanted the Freak as far away from my wife and son as possible. If we'd been zoned for it, I'd have built a shed in the back yard so he could stay out there."

"Why keep him at all if you felt such hatred for him?"

"We knew the Potters would never take him back. Why would they? He was a bad one from the start, always staring at us with those green eyes, waiting for his chance to strike. We tried to stamp the magic out of him before it was too late. But still, every day we could see it in him ... growing."

"See what?"

Vernon stared at him intently, almost feverishly, and the beeping of the heart monitor sped up noticeably. "_Evil_," he growled in a hateful whisper. Then, the man closed his eyes, and the beeping slowed. "Anyway, I did what I had to do to protect my family. Kill me if you want. I have nothing more to say."

Snape sneered at him as he raised his wand. "Then I will waste no more time _asking._" Vernon opened his eyes in time to hear Snape snarl the word _**"LEGILIMENS!**_" And with that, Severus Snape plunged into Vernon Dursley's mind. The intrusion lasted for several minutes before Snape staggered back in shock. He shook his head violently to clear it and then looked at Vernon Dursley anew now that he'd seen things from the Muggle's disturbed perspective. He raised his wand again and cast a Somnium spell before the other man could say anything. Then, he erased the last few minutes of Vernon Dursley's memories, dispelled the Muggle-Repelling Charm, and left the room.

Seconds later, he entered the family waiting room and cast another Muggle-Repelling Charm to keep anyone else from entering. Petunia stood up angrily at the sight of his wand, while Dudley recoiled from him.

"What is this? Haven't your kind done enough?" Then, she looked at Snape more closely. "_YOU!_" she spat.

"Yes, me. It's been a long time, Petunia. And before you start squawking at me or yelling '_freak_' at the top of your lungs, let me advise against doing either. I am here to find out what's been going on in that hell-house of yours. Do as I say, and I'll be gone inside of five minutes. Resist me and, well, it would be a shame if your husband suffers any sort of ... _relapse_."

Dudley paled at that while Petunia's face registered fear, then anger, and finally resignation. "What do you want me to do?"

"Sit down and look into my eyes," he commanded. _**"LEGILIMENS."**_ Snape did not spend as much time in Petunia's memories as he had with Vernon now that he knew which memories were the most salient. He _did_ make a point of reviewing Petunia's memories of interacting with Lily from the days leading up to Harry's birth to the time he was left with the Dursleys, and he was surprised to see that they matched Lily's description. Snape considered using Legilimency on the boy as well, but decided that he'd learned enough already. Also, he'd found studying the memories of both Vernon and Petunia to be ... profoundly unpleasant, and he thought the boy would likely be the same. As with Vernon, he erased the memory of his presence from Petunia and Dudley. Then, he left, albeit with even more troubling questions than the ones that had already been answered.

* * *

From the hospital, Snape apparated to Diagon Alley and went straightaway to the offices of Podmore &amp; Associates to inform Artie and Hestia of his findings. Not long after, they contacted Ted Tonks and asked him to Floo to their offices as well. Snape, Ted, Hestia and Artie talked about what Snape had learned from his invasive and slightly illegal assault on the minds of Vernon and Petunia Dursley. Eventually, he poured his observations out into a Pensieve so that they could observe things first hand. After an hour or so, they took a break. Ted went back to the clinic to review some obscure medical books and also write a quick letter for Iris to take to Andromeda.

Meanwhile, Snape quickly made his way through a list of Muggles he'd been putting together for months, as he interviewed doctors, nurses, teachers and various inhabitants of Privet Drive. Then, he went back to Hogwarts to raid the Restricted Section of the Library. Artie went home to his wife, Elizabeth, for a quick dinner, and then told her he'd be working very late that night. His expression was so grim that this time she didn't chide him about the late hours. She knew the look that said "_something bad has happened to one of my clients_" and simply kissed his cheek and promised to have the family's house elf leave a late-night snack for him. Around eight, the four reconvened to discuss their findings and spent several hours doing so. They also went through an entire bottle of Ogden's Finest, though not because it was a happy occasion.

* * *

**The next update will be posted on 8/31/15. "Mysteries and Revelations" in which Harry has another encounter with a house elf and then learns some unpleasant truths.  
**

**AN: Previously, I'd asked for suggestions on what Theo, Daphne and Tracey looked like. For future reference, the film version of this story that plays in my head has the following cast notes:**

**1\. The part of Theo Nott will be played by Charlie Korsmo (Hook, Dick Tracy) around age twelve and before he grew up to become a Republican lawyer.**

**2\. ******The part of Tracey Davis will be played by Mercedes McNabb (Addams Family Values) around age twelve and before she grew up to be a vampire. She has a reputation for being giggly and flighty which Harry and Blaise see through almost immediately to the shrewd operator underneath.****

**3\. The part of Hestia Jones will be played by Hayley Atwell in full "Peggy Carter" attire and attitude except that she's a kickass solicitor rather than secret agent. **

**4\. ****The part of Artemus Podmore will be played by Hugh Bonneville in full "Lord Grantham" attire but with a progressive working class attitude. **

**5\. The part of Ted Tonks will be played by Peter Davison (the Fifth Doctor) around age 40. Older than when he was on Doctor Who, probably around his Campion days, although he probably dresses more like Tristan Farnham. Also, it's somewhat amusing to me that I wrote this chapter over a month ago, but as soon as I realized Ted was Peter Davison, his speaking voice changed in my head and I had to rewrite half his dialogue.  
**

**6\. The part of Nymphadora Tonks will be played by Georgia Moffatt (because I never cared for the actress in the film).**

**7\. ******The part of Andromeda Tonks will be played by Michelle Gomez (Missy from Doctor Who). She is younger however, and does not dress like Missy, instead favoring contemporary Muggle fashion and hair styles.  
****

**8\. The part of Daphne Greengrass is still uncast but will be an "aloof, raven-haired beauty with blue eyes." Possibly a young Liv Tyler. It's difficult because I can't think of any actresses who project the image I ultimately have for Daphne while in their early teens. It's all Disney Princesses and Tomboys at that age, and neither of those fit Daphne. Michelle Tractenberg might also be a good fit if you can imagine a weird amalgam of her Gossip Girls character and Harriet the Spy. **


	37. HP&TSE 03: Mysteries and Revelations

**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY**

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

**CHAPTER 3: Mysteries and Revelations**

_**9 July 1992**_

The next morning, Harry awoke around 10:30 a.m. which was actually quite late for him. After years of cooking breakfast for the Dursleys, Harry would probably always be an early riser. Immediately, there was a soft pop, and a house elf appeared next to his bed, causing him to jump slightly. Unlike Dobby, though, this one seemed quite calm and was wearing a neatly pressed white uniform with a blue caduceus symbol over the heart.

"Good morning, Mr. Harry Potter, sir. Iris hopes that Iris did not startle you. Can Iris bring you some breakfast?" the female elf said cheerfully.

"Um, yes, thank you. Eggs and toast, if you please. Oh, and a glass of pumpkin juice."

"Certainly. And Master Healer Tonks has instructed that you also have a tall glass of milk and a nutrient potion." Iris popped away and returned barely a minute later with breakfast and the potion all on a four-legged serving tray that sat across Harry's lap. There was even a tiny thin vase with a daisy sticking out of it. "Can Iris bring you anything else, Mr. Harry Potter, sir?"

"No, thank you. No, wait! Actually, could I ask you a few questions? About... well, about house elves? I had an unpleasant encounter with one the other night. I'd heard of house elves but never actually seen one up close. I realize now that I don't know very much about you all."

"Of course not, Mr. Harry Potter, sir. A good house elf is never seen unless needed. Iris will answer your questions if she can, though she knows nothing about the wicked house elf that assaulted Mr. Harry Potter, sir."

"That's okay. I didn't expect you to. Though I don't know how wicked this Dobby bloke actually is. He did try to warn me that my life was in danger."

"Perhaps. But he also _put_ your life in danger by delaying you at the gate of the house of the bad Dursleys. Had he not intervened or simply waited until you were in your room to talk with you, you would likely have been safe from the nasty doxies."

"How do you know all that?" Harry asked in confusion.

"Iris heard Mr. Harry Potter say what happened yesterday morning, sir."

"You weren't here when I told Ted and the others what happened," Harry said with just a hint of suspicion.

Iris smiled. "A _good_ house elf is always close at hand, Mr. Harry Potter sir."

"Hmm. So why do you think Dobby was _wicked, _Iris?"

"Iris thinks Dobby Elf is at odds with his master or mistress. A good house elf is a reflection of its owner. If a house elf's owner is wicked, then a good house elf must try to heal him of his wickedness. Sometimes, such healing is not possible, in which case the house elf may become an extension of the owner's wickedness, but that is simply the way of house elves. But a _bad_ house elf will sometimes set himself at odds with a wicked master, will seek to become free elf. And a free elf is not a good house elf _at all_, sir. In time, even with best of motives, a free elf may become the wickedest elf of all. He risks becoming ... a _wild_ elf."

"And what is that?"

Iris shuddered. "Please forgive Iris, Mr. Harry Potter sir, but house elves do not like to think upon such things. It is ... unhealthy."

"Oh, I'm sorry, then. But can you at least tell me how house elves came to work for wizards? Was it by agreement? Or were you enslaved somehow?"

She smiled. "A slave is an unwilling servant. Only the wickedest house elves are unwilling servants. To be a house elf _is _to serve. It is what house elves are – what house elves were all born to do."

Harry blinked a few times. "But it can't have always been that way. Either there was a time when there were wizards but no house elves to serve them or house elves but with no wizards to serve. Right?"

"Ah. You speak of the Time Before. House elves do not speak of such things, for such matters are upsetting to wizards."

"Upsetting?" Harry asked gently. He was worried about somehow disrespecting or even frightening Iris, but she merely smiled.

"When wizards know how house elves came to be, it upsets them and makes them unhappy, so we do not talk of it. It reminds them of the Time Before because it was during the Time Before that house elves came to be."

"The Time Before?"

"Those days before wizards and witches bound Magic to their will. Those days when magic burned like the raging inferno and swelled like the stormy seas. Wizards are rightly proud of how they bound Magic to their will and do not like to be reminded of when it was free to do as it wanted. "

"Do you mean that wizards don't like to know about how house elves ... came into existence, so they ordered you never to repeat it?

Iris laughed. "Oh no, Mr. Harry Potter sir. No wizard ever gave the order. But the house elves saw how it distressed the wizards, so the house elves resolved never to speak of it. The best servants always anticipate their masters' needs."

"Would you speak of it if a wizard asked you?"

"Only if it were the _right_ wizard," she said almost mischievously.

From her response, Harry assumed that wasn't him. He decided to change the subject. "Forgive me, Iris. Please don't take this the wrong way, but ... you're very well spoken for a house elf from what little I know."

"Iris takes no offense, Mr. Harry Potter sir. Master Healer Tonks and Mistress Healer Tonks are good owners. They wish for Iris to speak properly to reflect well upon them before their patients. Also, Iris assists Master Healer Tonks and Mistress Healer Tonks with their healing arts for which precision of speech is often important. And so Iris, being a good house elf, complies with their needs."

"But not to the point of using any first person pronouns, though," he said with a smile. "You still say 'Iris' instead of 'I.' Why is that?"

The elf nodded at that. "'Iris' is the name given to me by my masters. To a house elf, a name is a gift offered to define the nature of our service. A house elf has no identity of its own beyond its name, nor does it need one. Now, eat up, Mr. Harry Potter sir, so you can finish getting well." She bowed to him and then popped away. Harry shrugged and ate his breakfast.

Half an hour later, Ted came in. Outwardly, he looked as jovial as the day before, but Harry thought he sensed an undercurrent of ... something. After a bit of small talk, Ted performed the same wand examination he did before and pronounced Harry completely clean of doxy venom. Then, "just to be on the safe side," he performed a second and much more complicated diagnostic spell. He frowned at the results.

"Is there a problem?" Harry asked.

"No, nothing showed up," Ted replied.

"You seem ... unhappy about that. Were you expecting something to show up?"

"Honestly, I wasn't sure. But hold off on the questions about that. I think Snape and the others should be present for that conversation. They're waiting downstairs."

Ted called out for Iris, and the diminutive nurse popped back into the room. "Iris, dear, fetch the clothes that Miss Jones brought for Harry. Harry, when you're dressed, come on downstairs. We'll be waiting in the first room on the left at the base of the stairs." He smiled again, but Harry felt that he was definitely worried about something, which only made the boy start to worry as well. Seconds later, Iris returned with some of his casual clothes and a pair of trainers, and the boy quickly dressed. He checked himself out in the mirror and was dismayed by the state of his hair but otherwise thought he looked fine. Minutes later, the boy entered a small parlor where Ted, Hestia, Artie and Professor Snape were already sitting. Harry took his seat and looked at the others expectantly. Snape spoke first.

"Mr. Potter, we are here today to discuss your future living arrangements, as well as to decide how you wish to proceed against the Dursleys for their treatment of you and, by extension, how you wish to proceed against the Potters who were responsible for your placement with them. But first, I wish to advise you of the results of my own investigation. Yesterday afternoon, I visited both Vernon and Petunia Dursley and used Legilimency against them in an attempt to learn the reasons for their conduct towards you."

Harry scoffed. "What _reasons_ were you expecting, sir? They hate me. That's all there is to it."

Snape looked oddly pained at that, as if he had unpleasant news that he did not wish to share but felt obligated to do so anyway. "Mr. Potter ... the Dursley's do not _hate _you _per se_." Harry started to interrupt, but Snape put up his hand and continued. "Allow me to finish, Mr. Potter. It would be more ... accurate to say that the Dursleys are ... _afraid _of you. More than afraid, actually. They are all three irrationally, pathologically _terrified_ of you. In the first months after your placement, the Dursleys kept you in the same nursery as Dudley. Petunia and Vernon only moved you to the downstairs cupboard because they each independently came to the deeply held conclusion that you would somehow harm their son if you were kept anywhere near him even though you yourself were but an infant at the time. Their subsequent efforts to, as Vernon said, '_stamp the magic_' out of you were driven by this fear which manifested within them both as a lengthy series of extremely disturbing and nightmarish fantasies developed over the course of a decade which demonstrated to them both how you would..." He hesitated and then took a deep breath. "How you would torture and kill them through magical means if you ever came into your wizarding heritage. Even without magic, however, they still remained utterly convinced of your intent to harm them through mundane means, as well as their own powerlessness to prevent you from doing so save through actively trying to crush your spirit."

Harry was dumbstruck at this announcement, and so Snape continued.

"To give but one example, there was an incident from when you were six or so when you spilled bacon grease on Vernon and in response he broke your arm. In _his_ memories, you deliberately attempted to throw hot grease onto him with the intention of burning his face and possibly blinding him, and it was only his quick reactions that saved him from serious injury. The broken arm was the result of self-defense."

"THAT'S A LIE!" Harry said furiously. "It was an _accident_! And he wasn't even hurt!"

Snape raised his hands again to placate the boy. "I _know _that, Mr. Potter. With Occlumency, I was able to review those images clearly with all emotional context removed, and it was obviously as you say – a simple minor accident to which Vernon Dursley grotesquely overreacted. _But_ when I reviewed the same memories _without_ blocking the Muggle's emotional responses, I was nearly overwhelmed by the terror he experienced from what he genuinely believed to be an attempt by you to seriously harm or even disfigure him. In all my years as a Legilimens, I have never encountered any phenomenon quite like this. The only comparable effect I can think of would be when the memories of someone placed under a very sophisticated Confundus Curse are altered due to the subject's desire to rationalize his own Confunded actions. However, this effect, whatever its origins or nature, is much more potent and persistent than any Confundus I have ever encountered."

Harry fought to calm himself and to consider what Snape was saying, but a few months of Occlumency training were nothing against the fury he felt now. "Do you mean to say ... someone _cursed _the Dursleys and that's why they treated me that way all these years?" Then, his face darkened as he abandoned completely his efforts to control his growing anger. "Was it the Potters?" he spat. "It wasn't enough to dump me off with Muggles – they had to curse those Muggles to fear and hate me?"

"Harry," said Artie gently. "It's not just the Dursleys."

Harry froze as Artie's words sank in. Artie looked over at Snape who nodded at him. Then, he continued. "Professor Snape also interviewed several of your teachers, your neighbors and even some of the doctors and nurses who remembered you from when you were injured by the Dursleys and taken to hospital. Understand, these are all people who would have seen and noticed your appearance, and with it, the obvious signs of neglect. The teachers and medical personnel were, in fact, required by Muggle law to report any of the abuse signs you clearly showed to Muggle law enforcement. None of them did."

"I ... I assumed that the Dursleys bullied them out of saying anything."

"Harry, your uncle is a mid-level executive at a Muggle drill manufacturing company, and not even in the main office," said Hestia. "Your aunt is a stay-at-home mom. Neither of them has the sort of standing to bully a teacher into ignoring child abuse, let alone a doctor or nurse. All of the people Professor Snape examined _knew_ that you were likely being mistreated. Originally, Severus feared that someone might have Obliviated them all for some reason connected with your placement with the Muggles. But the truth is ... all of them remember you clearly but actively _chose not _to get intervene because," the witch hesitated, as if grasping for a kind way to say it before realizing there wasn't one, "because something about _you_ made them recoil in fear and hatred."

Desperate to deny it, Harry tried to summon up a single memory of a Muggle who had ever treated him well. "There was a neighbor across the street. Mrs. Figg. She was always fairly nice to me."

"She's a squib, Harry," said Artie. "Arabella Figg was placed there by James and Lily Potter to look out for you. As a squib, she may not have been fully affected. And even she never informed the Potters of how you were being treated, although in her defense she likely did not fully realize the extent of your mistreatment."

Harry struggled to comprehend what all this meant. In his mind, he tried to review every interaction with a Muggle that he'd ever had. Then, he remembered his brief phone conversation with Hermione's mother the previous week... and how surprisingly cold she'd been. This from a woman he'd met exactly once and talked to for less than thirty seconds. He rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as he fought to regain his self-control. "_I've never met a grown-up who did anything to help me in any way_," he'd told Snape the previous year. And now he knew why.

"What's causing this?" he asked in a quiet voice. "What's been done to me?"

"Well," said Ted. "I've performed the most thorough diagnostic spells I know, and I can't find any sign of a curse or any other dark magic. The only way to find out anything more than we already have is to go to St. Mungo's ... which carries its own drawbacks."

"Such as?" Harry asked tightly.

"Well, first of all, the healers there would almost certainly insist on informing the Potters of anything they find. Second, if the top healers there _don't_ immediately find a cause and a cure – and I'm not confident they will – they'll want to keep running tests until they _do_ find it, which might mean keeping you out of school. Finally, well," he hesitated for a moment, "St. Mungo's is Ministry-run, and I'm afraid this might be sufficiently weird enough for the Unspeakables to be called in. A wizard who provokes an automatic fight-or-flight response in nearly any Muggle who interacts with him for any extended period would probably represent some kind of threat to the Statute of Secrecy. Your solicitors are bound to confidentiality as am I, but the St. Mungo's healers would be less so."

"So no St. Mungo's then. And I _suppose,_" he said sarcastically, "it also means we don't even prosecute the Dursleys because it will raise questions about me that we don't have answers for." He closed his eyes and went through another quick calming routine before the thought of Vernon walking away scot-free caused him to snap. Then, he looked up at his mentor. "Do you have any thoughts, Professor Snape?"

The man was silent for a moment before he responded. "Mr. Potter, I am, all modesty aside, an _expert_ on the Dark Arts. I am more qualified to serve as DADA instructor than anyone who has held that post in at least twenty years. The only reason I never pursued a Mastery in Dark Arts Defense is that doing so would require me to reveal to the Ministry how many illegal curses and hexes I know, as well as how many I have _invented_ that are not publicly known." He paused and then shook his head. "And I ... have _never heard of anything remotely like this_. It is a mystery and a deeply troubling one, and we must be absolutely cautious as we seek to unravel it. In any case, whatever the source of this malady, it seems to only affect Muggles. While your fellow students and teachers treated you with contempt throughout your childhood, you are presently one of the most popular students in your year, and all of your professors praise you without exception."

"The Potters aren't very fond of me," Harry said ruefully.

"James Potter hates everything connected with Slytherin House, a view which predates your birth by at least a decade. His son's views are nothing but a reflection of the father's. Lily Potter's views are ... more complicated, but it is not my place to explain them."

Harry started to ask Snape about that, but the man's expression made it plain that questions about Lily Potter would not be entertained. "Fine. So I can't stay with Muggles. Not a problem. Augusta Longbottom offered me sanctuary last Christmas. Can't I go there?"

"In time. Unfortunately, Lady Augusta and her grandson are abroad and incommunicado for another week. Until then, we need a wizarding household with sufficient warding to protect you against whomever sent the doxy swarm after you. But it must also be one to which James Potter cannot lodge a credible objection since he still remains your Head of House." Snape hesitated. "I am assuming, of course, that you do not wish to petition the Potters to allow you to move back in with them for the duration."

Harry closed his eyes as he thought through the ramifications of that idea, particularly in light of what he'd just learned. Honestly, the thought of living under the Potter roof right now filled him with equal parts fury and dread. "That assumption would be correct, sir," he said quietly.

"And for a variety of hyper-technical ethics issues that would only bore you," said Artie, "you can't just stay with Hestia or with me and Elizabeth or even with the Tonkses. So who does that leave us with?"

"I have one thought," said Snape. "One household that meets our particular needs and to which James Potter would not object."

Later that afternoon after the arrangements were all made, Snape apparated himself and Harry, along with the boy's shrunken possessions, to a hideously misshapen multi-story farmhouse in Ottery St. Catchpole. Next to the pathway that led to it was a battered, hand-carved sign that simply said "The Burrow." Harry regarded the tottering dwelling before him and then turned to his teacher.

"You have _got_ to be joking."

* * *

**The next chapter will be posted on Friday, September 4, 2015. "Meet the Weasleys (Pt 1)." Pretty much what it says on the tin. Sorry about the delay on this one - I got engrossed in Gilderoy Lockhart's dialogue in Chapter 11 and totally forgot what day it was.  
**

**RE: The Dursleys. The most important thing you need to know about me and the Dursleys is that I hate them. I don't mean I hate them for how badly they treat Harry. I mean I hate them as a concept. It is a standard trope that the protagonist in British children's literature is a poor mistreated orphan whose crapsack life finally changes for the better after he pulls the sword out of the stone or she finds out that she's really princess or he crushes his evil abusive relatives to death with a gigantic peach. The "Harry Potter" series is the only one I can think of which has this trope ... and ends every book but the last one with the child being _sent back to his abusive relatives for his own good. _It is also one of the few I can think of in which the abused protagonist implicitly fits into a setting in which Child Protective Services both exists and is handwaved away. (At least the Lemony Snicket "Series of Unfortunate Events" books rely on the conceit that everyone except the kids is too dumb to recognize Count Olaf while he's in disguise.) Frankly, I didn't want to do "the Dursleys are cartoonishly evil" and I didn't want to do "the Potters and/or Dumbledore are running around Obliviating CPS workers in order to keep Harry at the Dursleys because they too are cartoonishly evil" because both those themes bore me senseless. And I am convinced that the #1 reason for the "Dumbledore is evil" trope is that scene between Harry and Dumbledore in his office after Sirius's death where the old man gives the infamous "not as well-fed or as happy as I'd have liked" speech basically admitting that he knew how Harry was being treated and did nothing about it. I think that marks the exact moment when fans of the series started combing back through the first four books looking for signs that Dumbledore is not just incompetent but actively evil. And I DON'T want to do an evil Dumbledore story. **

**Well, not _now_ anyway. I actually _have_ an evil Dumbledore story that I had started but put on hold to work on this epic tale. Maybe I'll get back to it before the end of the decades. But I digress.**

**For the purposes of this story, the Dursleys were a pompous and obnoxious pair of social climbers who reluctantly agreed to raise the squib Harry Potter in exchange for financial compensation and a free house from James and Lily. And they raised Harry properly ... for a few months. Then, they went STARK RAVING NUTS, became convinced that Harry was some sort of demon-child, and responded as we've seen. And every single Muggle who interacted with Harry tacitly went along with it. And sometimes not even tacitly - we never did find out what that one teacher did to Harry that was so awful that he turned her hair blue with accidental magic. **

**So what is causing this phenomenon? Shhh. Spoilers. As for the Dursleys, you've seen the last of them for a while. I can envision a scene in which Harry confronts the Dursleys again, but I don't expect it before the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Possibly Lily and James will look in on them before then but not during anything I've outlined for the immediate future. Cheers.  
**


	38. HP&TSE 04: Meet the Weasleys (Pt 1)

**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY**

**CHAPTER 4: Meet the Weasleys. (Pt 1)**

_**9 July 1992**_

"You have _got_ to be joking," said Harry as he surveyed the majestic wreck that was the Weasley Burrow.

"Of course, Mr. Potter," drawled Snape. "I am, after all, known across the length and breadth of Magical Britain for my comedic stylings. Now come along." With that, Snape started down the pathway towards the house.

Harry followed, ignoring the man's sarcasm. "And I'll really be safer here than, say, a wooden crate in the alleyway back behind the Leaky Cauldron?"

"Despite its ... _eccentric_ design, you will find that the Burrow's protections are much more potent than they would appear. The eldest Weasley son, William, is an accomplished curse-breaker for Gringotts, and he has installed state-of-the-art wards of his own design. Which reminds me: You should probably consult with your tutors and add magical sensory training to your tutoring schedule. Had you taken time to develop magical awareness – admittedly something usually well beyond the First Year curriculum – you might have noticed that we have already passed through three layers of wards powerful enough to incapacitate us both were we not already keyed into them. You will also be pleased to know that the Burrow's wards, according to Arthur Weasley, include one which blocks uninvited house elves from entering the grounds. The house also has a Floo connection, so you will be able to resume your tutoring schedule tomorrow by traveling directly to the Leaky Cauldron. However, your next Occlumency session has been pushed back a week due to your time spent recuperating. Finally_,_ the grounds are large enough to accommodate a full-sized Quidditch pitch. Mr. Flint is quite eager to see what you can do in tryouts this September, and since the Weasley Terrors are also the Gryffindor Beaters, I expect you to return with at least some facility at dodging them."

Harry glanced up at his mentor with a measure of surprise. Snape merely looked down his nose at the boy. "I have grown ... accustomed to that trophy sitting in my office, Potter."

"To be honest, sir, I would never have pegged you for a Quidditch fan."

"I'm not. It's a ridiculous and insipid game made worse by the fact that our national obsession with it ensures that out of a student body of nearly 300, only twenty-eight students per year can participate in any organized sport." He sneered. "That does not prevent me, however, from taking pleasure out of _winning_ at that insipid game."

"Particularly in light of my father's notorious skill at it?" Harry asked mildly.

"_Particularly._"

"Mm-hmm. Out of curiosity, sir, do _you_ have a favorite sport?"

"Duelling, though the Headmaster has declined my requests to restart the old dueling club which was discontinued during the later days of the War. His understandable concern is that in light of my personal reputation and background only Slytherin Purebloods would sign up for it, and he is loathe to allow potential future Death Eaters to receive combat training under the school's auspices. As a child, I enjoyed soccer during the summers but never at Hogwarts. It would have been unthinkable for a Slytherin in those days to have professed a fondness for any Muggle sport, even the most popular one on Earth. That said, I do recall that when I first started at Hogwarts, there was a brief fad for cricket which even attracted Purebloods. Lucius Malfoy had organized a student cricket league which was still active during my first year, but it fell apart after he graduated."

"Lucius Malfoy is a cricket fan?!" asked Harry in disbelief.

"At seventeen, Lucius Malfoy was not yet caught up in the Dark Lord's orbit and was rather more open-minded about such things, much to the disappointment of his odious father, Abraxas Malfoy. Though to be completely honest, I always suspected he liked cricket simply because he thought the uniforms made him look dashing."

By that point, the two had made their way up to the front door of the house. Snape turned to his charge. "It goes without saying, Mr. Potter, that you are a guest in the Weasley home. You have skillfully cultivated a reputation for charm and bonhomie and for rejecting the snobbery and bigotries with which our house is regrettably associated. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley – and please note, _Mrs._ rather than _Madame Weasley – _will refuse any offer of financial compensation for allowing you to stay with them, so I would recommend you seize any opportunity to help their children with the chores. It will likely not be remotely as demanding as the labors piled upon you in your previous living arrangements. In any event, do nothing to embarrass Slytherin House during your time here."

Harry sighed in exasperation. "I'm not stupid, sir. And I'm not Draco Malfoy. But I repeat myself, I suppose. Anyway, I promise I'll be as charming as possible ... and I also promise to look up '_bonhomie_' in the dictionary as soon as possible and do that too. _But_ if they stick me with Ron Weasley in a room that's solid crimson and gold and plastered with Chudley Cannons posters, I can make no promises."

"Naturally, Potter. I would never ask the impossible of any of my students."

With that, Snape rapped sharply on the front door. Seconds later, it was opened by a cheerful middle-aged woman with flaming red hair who practically exemplified the word "motherly." Molly Weasley introduced herself warmly to Harry, invited both them inside, and asked the Professor if he would care "for a cuppa." Snape demurred politely. Instead, he reached into a pocket and produced a small box which, with a tap from his wand, instantly resized itself into Harry's trunk. While Snape and Molly made small talk, there was a rumbling from upstairs, and then Fred and George bounded down into the living room and over to Harry like two massive, overly affectionate ginger puppies.

"Harry Potter!" "Our ickle snakey friend!" "Welcome to the Burrow!" "The most exciting place on Earth!" "If you like de-gnoming gardens, that is!" Then, the two laughed as Harry tried to decipher their back-and-forth speech. Coming down the stairs behind him were two more figures: Ron, who didn't seem at all happy about Harry's presence, and the little girl he'd seen the year before at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters looking dewy-eyed at Jim.

"_Boys!_ Stop that foolishness at once! We have company here!" Molly gestured towards Snape, who looked at the Twins with a jaundiced eye. The two swallowed in unison. The Potions Master turned back to Molly.

"Mrs. Weasley, I leave Mr. Potter to your ministrations. On behalf of my House and Hogwarts, I thank you once again for giving the young man a place to stay for the next week."

"Oh, we're delighted to have the young man stay here. I've heard such great things about him from Percy and the Twins. And of course, the Headmaster told us all about how he helped to save our Ron from that awful Professor Quirrell."

Harry schooled his face into a bland mask at the mention of Quirrell. He wondered if Molly Weasley knew that Quirrell was actually both an agent and a host for Voldemort. He also wondered why Ron was giving him such a stink-eye over Molly's statement.

"I was happy to help, Mrs. Weasley. I'm just glad to know that Slytherins and Gryffindors can work together when it's for the Greater Good." He smiled over at Ron who continued to glare at him even as Molly praised Harry for his modesty. Then, she noticed that the girl had come down.

"Oh, Professor Snape, before you leave – I wanted our Ginny to have a chance to say hello. She'll be starting Hogwarts in September. Ginny, this is Professor Severus Snape. He'll be your Potions teacher."

The shy girl stepped forward and curtsied somewhat nervously.

"Good afternoon, Miss Weasley. I look forward to having you in my class room. I have every confidence that you will follow in the illustrious footsteps of your brothers William, Charles and Percival." The Twins were openly amused by their omission from the list of "illustrious" Weasleys. Ron, not so much. After a few more moments of chitchat (during which the Potions Master struggled not to show visible boredom), Snape gave Molly a schedule for Harry's tutoring and insisted on reimbursing her for the cost of Floo powder. Then, he said his goodbyes and exited quickly to Harry's private amusement. Although Harry was better at hiding it, he was slightly uncomfortable with the overbearing ... _cheerfulness _of the Burrow and was sure Snape felt even more so.

"Now then, boys, you show Harry upstairs," said Molly to her three sons. "He'll be staying in Charlie's room, since _he's_ made it clear he won't be home this summer." That last comment was surprisingly arch, and Harry briefly wondered what sort of family drama he'd wandered into. The other three boys did not react to Molly's comment and led Harry upstairs. Mercifully, Charlie's room was not done up in Gryffindor colors, but it was covered in Quidditch posters, mainly Puddlemere United and the Tutshill Tornados (which Harry thought were much more sensible choices than Ron's odd Chudley obsession). There were also an unusual number of pictures of dragons on the wall and nearly as many dragon models painstakingly painted and then hung from the ceiling with string. Harry put his trunk off to one side and sat down on the bed. It felt quite comfy. Then he looked up and noticed that Fred and George had followed him into the room.

"Well, we hope you like it here, Harrikins." "It'll be an interesting week with a guest." "Particularly one that sets Ronnikin's teeth on edge the way you do." Then, the two boys laughed together. It was mildly unnerving, but Harry supposed he'd get used to it.

"So I take it Ron wasn't happy with me coming here?" he asked.

"Ron's been in a foul mood almost since we got off the train." "Dunno why." "We reckon it has something to do." "With whatever happened at the end of school."

"Has he not told you?" Harry asked in surprise. "For that matter, has no one else? I assumed it would be all over the school."

"Just the broad details." "Quirrell went bad and tried to steal something from Dumbledore." "Jim stopped him, with various Lions and Snakes along for the ride." "We've heard that you saved Jim's life." "We've heard you were secretly in cahoots with Quirrell against Jim." "We've heard that you and Jim are secretly the same person pretending to be both a Gryffindor and a Slytherin as part of some mysterious plot." _Pause_. "Admittedly, that last one came someone who was too dense to notice that both of you share classes and eat all your meals in the same room." "Too dense or too paranoid. I think Time-Turners were mentioned." "So anyway, what did happen?"

Harry filed the word "Time-Turner" away for future research. "As you said: Quirrell went bad and tried to steal something from Dumbledore. He captured Ron, Jim, Hermione and Neville. Blaise, Theo and I helped them escape, and then Jim killed Quirrell by doing a Boy-Who-Lived thingy." He decided to leave out all references to Voldemort. Ron could fill in that bit if he chose.

The Twins looked at each other for a second. "So, would you have gone to help..." "If Hermione and Neville hadn't been there?"

"Beg pardon?"

The one with the mole sighed and finally spoke for the pair. "If it had just been Ron, would you have risked your life to save him?"

Harry opened his mouth, closed it, and then looked away as he considered the unexpected question. "_Would I have done all that for just Ron?_" The Slytherin side of him recoiled from the idea of heroic self-sacrifice, but as Snape was wont to remind him, he did have a powerful Gryffindor side.

"I'm not sure. I _think_ so. Maybe not with quite the same urgency, and I don't know if Blaise and Theo would have come along. But yes, I'm pretty sure I'd have at least tried to rescue Ron. Now Jim? I don't know. He _is_ a spectacular git. But Ron, I think, is just a guy caught up in his hero-worship and irrational Slytherin-hatred. I am _at least _65% sure I would have gone to rescue him if he'd been in danger even though we're not what I'd call friends. Or even people who like one another. Does that answer your question?"

Mole and Non-Mole looked at one another, nodded and smiled at Harry. "Yeah. And just to let you know – you won't need to pay us anything else starting this fall." "You risk your life to save our little brother?" "You get put on the safe list." "Which means you'll only get pranked if we do something that affects your whole house..." "In which case you probably wouldn't want to be the one who sticks out for _not_ getting pranked." "You can tell Zabini and Nott that goes for them too." "Just don't spread it around." "We don't want anyone to even know there _is_ a safe list."

Harry smiled. "Got it. And thanks. And for what it's worth, even if you don't want a weekly payment, I'm still interested in financing any ... special projects you have in mind."

The Twins smiled predatorily, and Harry wondered what fresh Hell he'd unleashed on Hogwarts.

* * *

Late afternoon found the four boys plus Percy out in the vegetable garden, where Harry was introduced to the fine old Weasley tradition of de-gnoming, which involved catching the diminutive little humanoids by the hair, whirling them about as fast as possible, and then flinging them over the garden wall. Apparently, it was a game the Weasley boys liked to play with a point system based on distance and "style." Harry struggled to conceal how appalling the whole thing was until finally one of the little creatures actually spoke with a loud "Giroff!" when he grabbed hold of it.

"Gah!" Harry said as he dropped the gnome. He looked to the other Weasleys who were all staring at him. "So, um, these things we're flinging about. Are they, y'know ... sentient?"

"Pfft! Gnome-lover," muttered Ron. The twins giggled at that, but Percy gave the other three a dirty look before actually answering Harry's inquiry.

"I'm pleased to hear you ask that, Harry, so that I'm not the _only_ person to ever de-gnome this garden who actually had any ethical concerns for the little pests. When I was a First Year, I asked Professor Kettleburn that very question about garden gnomes. His response was illuminating. The prevailing theory is that gnomes represent an early attempt by ancient wizards to create a servant race to handle menial tasks. This was thousands of years ago, long before the time of Merlin or Hogwarts, so no one knows exactly how they were created, but the results were obviously unsatisfactory. They are drawn to wizarding gardens because they were originally created to serve as gardeners, but they're not really smart enough to do that job effectively. All they know to do is dig up vegetables and other plants regardless of whether they're ready for harvest or not and then leave them strewn about. And to answer your actual question, while a rare few are smart enough to mimic random words and phrases, they're basically gophers in the bodies of tiny misshapen humans."

"Ah, Perfect Prefect Percy." "What would we do without your brilliant elucidation?"

"You actually know what '_elucidation' _means?" asked Harry in an mock-astonished voice. "Incredible!"

Percy, who was about to become annoyed with the Twins, looked at him in surprise and then smiled. He rarely found himself in the company of anyone was capable of diverting the Twins when they started picking on him or who would even bother trying.

"Anyway," continued Harry. "Be that as it may, is gnome-flinging really the best way to deal with them?"

"More or less," said Percy. "All things considered, it's surprisingly humane. Their bodies are so durable that they don't really take any damage from being hurled a great distance. And they're so dumb that if you fling them far enough they won't be able to find their way back to your garden for quite some time. Certainly, it's better than spraying them with gnomicide."

Percy did not mention that gnome-flinging was a time-consuming but reasonably enjoyable pastime. Other than Bill, he was the only Weasley child who had realized that the Burrow was actually warded against gnomes during the school year and that their parents deactivated that ward during the summers to give their more rambunctious sons something to keep them occupied for several days a week. Who _knew_ what the Twins would get into if they didn't have to spend three afternoons a week on gnome patrol?

Meanwhile, Harry had a brief image of pitiful gnomes choking to death under a cloud of poisonous gas and shuddered. "I suppose it is. So they were created as servants? Sort of like the house elves?"

"Yes. According to Professor Kettleburn, there were a lot of ancient attempts at creating magical servants. Gnomes, gargoyles, pixies, doxies, and others." Harry stiffened involuntarily at the mention of those vicious little doxies and the suggestion that some foolish wizard created the first ones. "Then, somebody created the house elves and that was as far as research into that area went. I guess ancient wizards decided that they didn't want servants more capable than house elves. Probably wise."

"Yeah, probably so," said Harry quietly, as he thought back to Iris's cryptic remarks about "the Time Before" and the danger of elves going "wild." Between Dobby and Iris, he wasn't sure what to think about house elves, but he could certainly see the wisdom in not creating any servants even _more_ powerful and intelligent than those creatures.

"Wow, Perfect Prefect Percy." "Is there any area into which." "Your genius does not extend?"

Percy made a face of long-suffering annoyance. Harry merely looked at the Twins in apparent confusion.

"Here's what I don't understand, Percy. Given the inherent benefits of the position of prefect, why haven't the Twins at least _considered_ trying to get it themselves? They're the smartest blokes in their year, no matter how hard they work to hide it. And a _truly_ _cunning _mischief-maker could wreak some real chaos if he could hide behind a prefect's badge."

The Twins looked at him as if that were the silliest thing they'd ever heard, but then they both blinked for a second in unison, and Harry could practically see the wheels turning in their heads.

"Harry Potter!" exclaimed Percy hotly. "You are a _guest _in the Weasley household. I'll thank you to use your Slytherin powers for good rather than evil while you stay here. _Do not_ encourage my brothers to abuse the prefect system as another avenue for their nonsense." The older boy tried his best to give Harry a stern look, but he could tell that Percy was struggling not to snicker at Harry's reverse psychology. For his part, Harry's face betrayed nothing but serene innocence.

* * *

After a few hours spent de-gnoming, Harry and the Weasley boys went into the house to wash up before dinner. As Harry came down the stairs, there was a burst of green flame from the fireplace as Arthur Weasley stepped through, dusting off Floo powder as he did.

"Hello, Weasleys!" exclaimed the man jovially. Then, he noticed Harry. "Ah, and hello to you as well! Mr. Potter, I presume!"

"Please, Mr. Weasley, call me Harry." He stepped forward and gave the man a firm but respectful handshake which the man returned with a smile.

"I trust you're settling in alright, Harry?"

"Oh, yes sir. Your family has been most gracious. I got to fling gnomes this afternoon! It was wicked!" Actually, it was merely a mildly enjoyable leisure activity, but apparently it was a Weasley family tradition, so Harry feigned what he thought was an acceptable level of delight.

"Haha! I'm glad to see your fitting right in. I remember long afternoons of gnome-flinging myself. But all work and no play makes Jack a dull lad. I'm sure the boys will have you out on the Quidditch pitch tomorrow for a few rounds."

"I'm looking forward to it."

"Now then, Harry, from what Professor Snape mentioned in his owl, you grew up Muggle-raised, am I right?" Surprised by the question, Harry simply nodded. "If you don't mind, could I ask you some questions about what it was like?"

Harry gaped at that. He didn't think that Snape had told the Weasleys _everything_ about what happened at 4 Privet Drive, but surely Mr. Weasley knew that he hadn't been treated well there. Did this strange man have some prurient interest in how the Dursleys had raised him? "In what sense, sir?" he asked evasively.

"Well, for starters, what's it like to have a house with ekeltricity?" Arthur asked, oblivious to the boy's confusion.

"Ekel ... tricity?" Harry said slowly. "Do you... perhaps ... mean _electricity, _sir?"

"Do I? Is that how you say it? Blimey!" And with that, the man pulled out a worn pocket-sized spiral notebook from one pocket and then a Muggle-style Biro ink pen from another. "Could you spell that for me?"

Harry dutifully did so as Mr. Weasley copied down the information. Privately Harry thought that this might well be the most surreal moment he'd experienced since ... well, since he'd gone gnome-flinging earlier that day. Their brief conversation was suddenly interrupted by a shriek from the kitchen from Molly.

"_ARTHUR WEASLEY! _That boy is our guest! Do _NOT _badger him with silly questions about batteries and rubber duckies and other such Muggle nonsense! Now go get cleaned up! Supper's nearly done!"

Arthur sighed. "Yes, Mollywobbles." He smiled at the boy and mouthed "_We'll talk later" _before heading upstairs to wash up.

"_Rubber duckies?!"_ thought Harry, as he mentally recalibrated his standard for what constituted surrealism among wizards.

* * *

Dinner was an enjoyable affair, and Molly Weasley was an excellent home cook. Afterwards, the family and Harry spent time listening to the Wizarding Wireless, playing chess and other games – Mr. and Mrs. Weasley taught Harry to play cribbage, and over the course of a game, he explained as best he could the true purpose of rubber duckies. Arthur Weasley was visibly disappointed to learn that they were merely children's toys designed to make bath time more enjoyable. Apparently, he and some of his Mugglephile coworkers were convinced that the things had some kind of deep religious significance. He also briefly took Harry outside to see his pride and joy: a 1966 Ford Anglia 105E Deluxe. According to Mr. Weasley, Expansion Charms allowed it to carry the whole family comfortably. Also, it could both fly and turn invisible, although apparently not both at the same time. After proudly announcing that fact to an amazed Harry, Mr. Weasley suddenly blushed and then asked the boy to please not tell "Mollywobbles" about that last bit, as she was apparently unaware of the nature of his "special modifications."

At ten, the family went to bed, though unwillingly on the part of Ron and the Twins. As Harry followed the Weasley children up the stairs, something caught Harry's attention. The third step from the top of the landing nearest Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's room squeaked – loudly. Both Percy and Ron stepped on the offending step without even thinking about it, while the Twins stepped over it, also without seeming to think about it as if they'd had years of practice avoiding it. What really caught Harry's attention, though, was that Ginny _also_ avoided the offending step. After a second of hesitation, Harry deliberately made a point of stepping on the squeaky board and noted both its noise and its position.

Around 2 a.m., Harry awoke with a gasp from a vivid nightmare involving Vernon Dursley's cheerful smile and the sensation of a dozen chittering doxies crawling up his back. He sat up in bed, grateful that one of the benefits of his Occlumency exercises was that he no longer cried out after nightmares. Though to be fair, he rarely cried out from nightmares before "The Doxy Incident" – that was one habit the Dursleys had quite literally beaten out of him at a very early age. Just as he was about to lie back down, he heard a faint sound from outside. Peering out the window into the moonless night, Harry could just barely make out the form of Ginny Weasley in nightgown and robe as she crept towards the family's private Quidditch pitch. Curious, Harry went to his trunk and pulled out his omnoculars. With them, he was able to watch Ginny as she deftly picked the lock on the shed with what looked like a hair pin. Then, she pulled out a broom (belonging to one of her brothers, he assumed) along with a Golden Snitch. She then spent the better part of two hours running basic Seeker drills, and very successfully from what Harry knew of the game. It was obvious that the young girl was quite skilled at flying, particularly considering that she was most likely self-taught, and she showed a clear understanding of the standard Seeker training regimen. After her impromptu training session ended, Harry watched as Ginny returned the broom and Snitch to the shed, which she relocked without difficulty.

Harry smiled and then went downstairs, careful to avoid the squeaky step. When Ginny made her way up to the back door of the house, she was startled to see Harry waiting just outside the door with two glasses of water. "I've read that it's important to rehydrate after a training session," he said with a smirk.

She froze and then looked at him angrily. "How much did you see?"

"Everything from the lock-picking on. Good technique, by the way. Did the Twins teach you to pick locks?"

"No! They just left a book on the topic hidden in _my _room because they didn't want Mom to find it!" She studied Harry's face for a moment. "So you've been watching me for the past two hours then? That's a bit ... _creepy_, isn't it?"

He laughed. "I promise my intentions were honorable. I didn't want to rat you out to your parents, but I also wanted to make sure you didn't get hurt. Those were some pretty aggressive Seeker drills you were running. Was that a Sloth Grip Roll towards the end there?"

She took the proffered glass of water with a smile. "Yeah. That was actually my first time to try it." Then she hesitated. "So you're really not going to tell on me?"

"I promise I will pretend complete ignorance of your late night shenanigans provided you promise to be careful. Some of those drills can be dangerous. But anyway, it's obvious that you want to play Quidditch, and it's equally obvious that your family doesn't want you to – presumably because you're '_the baby girl_' or some such rubbish – so you're taking the initiative for yourself. I respect that. It's a perfectly Slytherin response."

Ginny looked annoyed at that. "Weasleys aren't Slytherins."

"Not true. Your grandmother Cedrella Weasley was a Slytherin, although admittedly she married into the family."

"How did you know about her?!" she asked in surprise.

"I have a keen interest in wizarding genealogy, and I did a brief study of the Weasleys and their connections to Slytherin House last fall. I was saving your grandmother's Sorting to annoy Ron with and just haven't had the chance yet."

She laughed at that. "Grandma was Cedrella Black before she married Septimus Weasley, for which she got blasted off the Black Family tapestry. There hasn't been a child with the surname Weasley to go into Slytherin in a hundred years or more. We're Gryffindor through and through."

"Like the Potters until I came along," said Harry with a grim smile. "You know, believe it or not, the Hat offered me Gryffindor. Said I would do best in Slytherin but Gryffindor was definitely an option."

"The Hat?"

"Oh, crap. Sorry, I wasn't supposed to say. That's how you get Sorted – by a magical talking hat that reads your mind when you put it on. The Twins actually had Ron convinced that troll-fighting was involved. Just act surprised when you find out the truth, okay?"

She nodded, not entirely sure she believed the Slytherin about one of the most important choices in her entire life being decided by a magical headgear. "So you could have been in Gryffindor? With your brother?"

Harry's face darkened a bit before he shook it off. "Yeah, if I'd been inclined to spend the next seven years pretending to be something I'm not and living in the shadow of more famous relatives all just to please my parents. I said no – and the Hat actually congratulated me on being sensible enough to take its advice."

By that time, the two had made their way inside and were talking softly, but not so softly that they weren't heard.

"Ginny? Harry?" asked Mrs. Weasley from the top of the stairs. "What are you two doing up at this hour? It'll be dawn soon!"

Harry stepped forward before Ginny could say anything. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Weasley. It was my fault. I woke up from a nightmare. You know, about that doxy attack. So I came down to get some water. Ginny heard me and came down to keep me company. I'm sorry we disturbed you."

"Oh! Oh, that's all right, deary! Do you need a Dreamless Sleep Potion?"

"No, thank you. I'm feeling much better now. We were just about to head back up to bed."

"Well, good night then. Or good morning, I suppose." She smiled at the boy and then went back upstairs.

Ginny was giving him a look. "Has anyone ever told you that you're a skillful liar?"

"Not really, since typically anyone who actually realized I was lying to them probably wouldn't find me very skillful. I notice you didn't jump forward to say '_actually, he was just watching me practice Quidditch at 2 a.m._'" Harry smirked.

The girl snickered. "Fair point. Anyway, I guess I am a little tired now, so I'll see you at breakfast, I suppose?"

"Wouldn't miss it."

The two climbed the stairs, this time with Ginny making sure to step on the squeaky step, apparently to reassure her mother that she was going to bed. With a smile, Harry did likewise. _"When in Rome,"_ he said to himself.

* * *

**The next chapter will be posted on September 7, 2015. "Meet the Weasleys (Pt. 2). Quidditch, Cedric Diggory, Gambling. All this plus a surprising communication from the Potters.  
**

**AN: I'm looking forward to seeing what the traffic for this story is now that the nargles are no longer infecting 's tracking system. **


	39. HP&TSE 05: Meet the Weasleys (Pt 2)

**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY**

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

**AN: Updated on 9/25/15 for (of all things!) a physics issue with the Quaffle.**

**CHAPTER 5: Meet the Weasleys (Pt 2)**

_**10 June 1992**_

A few hours later, Harry awoke at dawn out of an ingrained habit to get up and make the breakfast. Then, he looked around the room and realized once again that he wasn't that person anymore. Still, as he stared up at the ceiling of Charlie Weasley's dragon-infested bedroom, he found it impossible to fall back to sleep. Unbidden, his thoughts returned to what Snape, Artie, Hestia and Ted had told him – that there was some magical aura surrounding him that triggered an instinctive fear and dislike in Muggles. And apparently, if he stayed around them long enough, violent rage. He was safe here among the Weasleys, but the knowledge of his ... condition only made him angrier that he'd been abandoned by the Potters. Granted, his birth-parents couldn't have known that some outside force would drive the Dursleys to the brink of madness, but still, if the Potters had checked in on him even once, they'd have known about his treatment. Worst of all, now that he knew the truth, he actually felt a perverse sense of, well, _pity_ for the Dursleys. After all was said and done, he really had ruined their lives with his "freakishness." Eventually, his brooding was interrupted by the smell of fresh coffee and the sound of sizzling bacon. He got dressed and went downstairs where he found Molly Weasley hard at work on an English Breakfast for eight.

"Oh, good morning, Harry! Did you sleep well?" she asked while stirring a skillet of scrambled eggs.

"Very well, Mrs. Weasley," he lied. "I'm sorry I woke you last night."

"Oh think nothing of it, dear. I'm just so sorry you had to go through an experience like that. Doxies are nothing to treat lightly, and Professor Snape said you'd run into a score or more."

"So I was told. I was very fortunate that the aurors showed up when they did." He looked around the kitchen at the numerous pots and pans Mrs. Weasley had in operation. "Can I help with anything?" he asked.

"No, Harry, but thank you for asking," she said without looking up from the stove. She was using magic, of course, with several spoons and whisks operating themselves. Harry was amused. Mrs. Weasley was clearly a fine cook. So was Harry for his age, which was what allowed him to appreciate her skill. With that, an idea began to form in his mind, and he began asking Molly some general questions about what kind of magic was used in cooking. To his surprise, there was no spellwork. The stove, the pots and pans, and even the mixing spoons were all magical items and required little effort to activate and set in motion.

Minutes later, Arthur Weasley came down and was also surprised to see Harry up so early. "Goodness me, Harry. I hope we didn't disturb you."

"Not at all sir. I'm an early riser. I used to have to cook breakfast for my relatives at about this time."

"Er, yes. Well, you needn't worry about that here, Harry. You're a guest after all." Arthur made a bit of a face at the mention of Harry's relatives, and the boy was curious as to what he and Molly had been told about them. Hopefully nothing in depth – he loathed the idea of being pitied for his upbringing and would have been utterly humiliated if they'd known that Vernon had actually tried to kill him.

Percy and Ginny came down soon after, with Ginny blushing just a bit at the sight of Harry. Ten minutes after that, Molly had finished setting the table, at which point she stomped over to the stairs and bellowed: "FRED! GEORGE! RONALD! GET DOWN HERE IN THREE MINUTES OR YOUR BREAKFAST GOES TO FEED THE PIGS AND CHICKENS AND YOU THREE CAN HAVE COLD TOAST!"

Two minutes and forty-five seconds later, the three boys bounded downstairs to the breakfast table and joined the rest of their family. Despite himself, Harry found himself enjoying the boisterous family, and even Ron was starting to loosen up a bit, though he still seemed uncomfortable around Harry.

About halfway through, breakfast was interrupted by the arrival of an owl post. Molly retrieved the letter, gave the owl a treat, and sent it on its way. Even from his seat, Harry could see that the letter had a Hogwarts seal on it. Molly opened the letter and made a face as she read it.

"What is it, Molly?" asked Arthur.

"A letter from Minerva about the text book requirements for this year," she said distractedly.

"It's a bit early for our school lists, isn't it, mum?" asked Percy.

"Oh, it's not the full list. She's just giving me a heads up about the DADA books. Apparently, Flourish &amp; Blotts informed her that there will be more required texts than usual this year." Harry thought he noticed a flash of concern cross Molly's face.

"Speaking of books," said Ginny. "I've been meaning to ask. When we go to pick up my school supplies, can I get a new diary? I've nearly filled up the one I've been using."

"Hmm. We'll see, Ginny. We'll see." Molly spoke distractedly while still reading the letter. It occurred to Harry that she must be worried about the cost. With five children at Hogwarts this year, any increase in the number of required texts might mean a significant increase in the family's education expenses. Not that Harry could help with that – if the Weasleys wouldn't accept a fair payment for putting him up for the week, they'd certainly never accept charity to help with school supplies. He shrugged internally and went back to his eggs and sausages.

* * *

After breakfast and washing up, it was finally time for Harry's initiation into the traditional wizarding sport of Quidditch, a game that until now he'd seen but never played. Out on the Weasley pitch were Harry, Ron, Percy and the Twins. Ginny was there "to watch." They were joined by Cedric Diggory, who was both a neighbor and the Seeker for the Hufflepuff team and who had been a friend of the Weasley children for most of their lives. He was eager to get some practice in over the summer as he was still smarting from Jim Potter beating him in under five minutes during their last match.

To the surprise of the Weasleys, Cedric was joined by three other children: Tamsin Applebee, a rising Third Year who would be starting as a new Chaser for the Badgers; Susan Bones, a Puff in Harry and Ron's year who was in Harry's study group and who had a poorly concealed crush on Cedric; and Herb Fleet, a Fifth Year who had been the Puff's struggling Keeper for the last two seasons. Susan and Percy were both reluctant to play, but Harry rather skillfully goaded both of them into it and then presented the idea of having Ginny play too so that the teams would be even. Luckily, there were two extra brooms that used to belong to Charlie and Bill before they received new ones as graduation presents.

The four Weasley boys were all reluctant to allow their "baby sister" to play and especially to let her play Seeker against the older and more experienced Diggory. Harry just looked down his nose at them all and bet them each a galleon that she'd catch the Snitch before Cedric did. The desire to acquire free money overtaking their protective instincts, the brothers all agreed, though not before giving Cedric a few intimidating looks. For his part, Harry asked if he could take turns as both Seeker and Chaser – letting Ginny play Seeker first – as there would be openings for both on the Slytherin team in the coming year. Everyone agreed to switch up teams after a few matches.

With only ten players, each team played with only a single Beater and only two Chasers. This gave the Twins the rare experience of playing against each other. For the home team, Ginny was Seeker, Ron was Keeper, Harry and Percy were Chasers, and Fred was Beater. For the away team, Cedric was Seeker, Herb was Keeper, Tamsin and Susan were Chasers, and George drew the short straw and was Beater against his four siblings.

As the teams were getting ready to kick off, Harry walked over to Ginny, who was visibly pale at the thought of playing Seeker against Cedric. Harry reassured her in his own inimitable style.

"Look, it's okay. Just do your best. I only really need you to catch the Snitch during the first match. If you do, I'll make four galleons off your brothers, which I'll split with you 50-50."

"You bet on me?! Are you _nuts?!_" Ginny whispered urgently. "You expect me to beat _Cedric Diggory_ who's been playing for his house team for a year?!"

"Who's been playing for the _Hufflepuff _house team for a year," he whispered back. "Which means that he'll be honorable, he'll be chivalrous, and he'll be all about fair play. He won't go all out to embarrass someone he thinks is a complete amateur who's hardly ever been on a broom before. And he'll also be distracted watching the performance of his own team's Chaser and Keeper. They're the weak links in the Hufflepuff team, which I assume is why he brought them all the way out here for a pick-up game. Stay close to him. Don't show off. Ask him lots of innocuous and slightly dumb questions about the game, about Hogwarts, about whether Snape is as awful as Ron says, whatever. If you notice Applebee or Fleet doing anything stupid, ask him if they're supposed to be doing that. Then, when you see the Snitch, ask him about Herb doing something particularly stupid whether he is or not, and when Diggory looks away, go for the Snitch!"

"That's cheating!"

"Nonsense. There's no rules against Seekers talking to one another during a match. If the Great Cedric Diggory is so easily distracted, that's his fault, not yours." Harry turned and looked towards the Twins and Ron. "More importantly, if you catch the Snitch before Diggory – even _once_ – your brothers will _never_ say anything about you playing Quidditch again."

Ginny narrowed her eyes at Harry before turning away and heading to the center of the pitch. Her reaction gave no sign as to whether she would follow his advice or not. He shrugged and took his own place. Seconds later, the game started. The balls were practice balls enchanted for casual use. The Bludgers wouldn't hit as hard, the Snitch wouldn't fly as fast or as irregularly, and the Quaffle was would fall slower and could be recovered more easily before it hit the ground. Unlike real matches, pick-up matches were timed, and if no one caught the Snitch within a preset time limit, it would let out a loud whistle and drop to the ground, signifying that the match was over with no points awarded to either team for catching it.

Very quickly, Harry realized something that came as rather a shock: he was _really_ good at flying. He didn't know if he was as good as Jim, but he was _very_ good for an inexperienced player with only a few hours of classroom training from Madam Hooch (whose primary goal was to make sure none of the First Years crashed and died under her watch). This realization of Harry's came right around the time he effortlessly dove between two crisscrossing Bludgers to catch the Quaffle that Applebee had overthrown towards Susan. Without even a second thought, he swooped back up and then fired the ball directly through the goalpost past the astonished Fleet. The Puff Keeper successfully blocked the next three goal attempts, but Harry remembered Marcus Flint mentioning the boy's "tells," and he quickly got into a rhythm that the other boy couldn't match. Nor was he a ball hog. Harry soon got a feel for when Percy was open and in better scoring position, and once he was confident that Percy could reliably catch and throw the Quaffle, he was generous in setting his fellow Chaser up to take the point.

Unfortunately, if Herb Fleet couldn't keep up with Harry's sense of rhythm, Ron was equally hopeless against Tamsin Applebee, who was _very_ good and had scored almost as many points on him as Harry and Percy had scored together against Fleet. Finally, Fred called a time out and headed towards Ron to chew him out when Percy intervened.

"Let me talk to him," Percy said.

"I've got more Quidditch experience than you," said Fred irritably.

"I know, but I've got more Big Brother experience than you, so back off and let me talk to him," said Percy with surprising firmness. Fred grumbled but did not interfere as Percy flew over to talk to Ron. Harry and Fred were too far away to hear anything, but Harry did notice that Ron gave sullen looks in the direction of both Twins ... and him. But after a few seconds of conversation, he seemed to buck up and gave Percy a serious-looking nod. The game resumed, and Ron's performance improved quite noticeably.

Suddenly, there was a wild commotion, and Harry had pull up short to dodge the blur that flew straight down in front of him, one that narrowly evaded a Bludger as it plummeted. It was Ginny flying straight at the ground and followed closely by Cedric Diggory. At the last second, Ginny pulled out of her dive and skirted along just inches above the grass with one hand outstretched. Then, she pulled up, her arm raised in triumph. The girl, who was not yet eleven, had caught the Snitch before the star Seeker of the Hufflepuff house team! Her brothers stared in complete astonishment, while Harry grinned for a brief second before schooling his face into a mask of near-boredom, as if it were perfectly obvious what was going to happen.

"Gentlemen, I believe that will be a total of four galleons. I promise it will be put to good use."

* * *

Of course, after Ginny's spectacular score, Cedric wised up and realized that while Ginny was not of his caliber, she was no complete amateur either. He upped his game accordingly, and while Ginny would catch the Snitch once more (and come close a few times), that was nothing compared to Cedric's five saves. At that point, Harry and Ginny traded places, and Harry performed a little better against Diggory, with the latter winning seven to four before they called it a day. Harry demonstrated an uncanny eye for spotting the Snitch and an absolute fearlessness for diving after it, but a handful of flying lessons back during the previous Fall were no match for a year of intensive team workouts plus two summers of Seeker training camps. At the age of fourteen, Cedric already had serious aspirations of professional Quidditch and apparently might actually have the chops for it. And while he'd planned to use the day's activities to get some extra practice for his Keeper and Chaser, he was delighted to play against two Seekers who actually made him work for the Snitch. On the way back to the house, the Weasley brothers paid Harry the Galleons they owed – three cheerfully, one (Ron) grudgingly – and when they weren't looking, he passed half the Galleons to Ginny with a wink.

After dinner, Harry grabbed a quick shower, dressed, and headed to the Floo for his first tutoring session since the doxy attack. To his surprise, he was accompanied by Percy. In light of the attack, Mrs. Weasley was uncomfortable just letting Harry go off to Diagon Alley by himself. Meanwhile, Percy was happy to have an excuse to get away from the Twins and spend his time in the Flourish &amp; Blotts reading room while Harry was getting a two-hour tutoring session in advanced potion-making from Tonks in Room 13 of the Leaky Cauldron. Harry was a bit surprised when, at the end of the session, Artie Podmore showed up. He was even more surprised when he heard the message the man was sent to convey.

"The Potters are inviting _me_ to Jim's birthday party?!"

"It would be more accurate to say that they want to celebrate both your birthdays simultaneously since you are twins after all."

"First time for everything, I suppose. So what's the catch?" the boy asked.

"No obvious ones. They know you're not with the Dursleys. In fact, given James's position with the Auror Corps, I'm sure he's had access to the official report on the doxy attack and the auror's interview with the Dursleys. So far, we've just said that 4 Privet Drive is unsafe because you were attacked there by a suspiciously large doxy swarm, but the Potters likely know that Vernon actively tried to feed you to the little beasts. Maybe this is their way of making amends. Or maybe this is their way of sounding you out one whether you plan to expose what Vernon did as a way to have them declared unfit guardians. Which we _could_, but it would probably also reveal the truth about your ... little problem."

Harry considered that. He absolutely did _not_ want the Potters finding out about the effect that his aura triggered in Muggles. It would probably confirm every one of James's paranoid fears about Harry following "the Dark Path," whatever that was. If sharing a birthday party with Jim could divert them from that, it might be worth it. Plus, Hermione and Neville could go to their house-mate's party and firm up their Gryffindor relationships without feeling bad about ditching him.

"Just to be clear," he said. "I am _not_ moving in with the Potters full time."

"Of course not. But look at it this way. This will be your first chance to see Potter Manor. That's part of _your_ birthright. When you eventually become Lord Potter, it will be the seat of _your_ House. I think it's high time you at least got a tour of it."

Harry thought about that. "If it's my birthday, can I invite friends?"

Artie hesitated. "They said you could invite anyone except the children of accused or convicted Death Eaters. Which, since any guests will have to be keyed into the wards for the day, is not an unreasonable request."

"_But it __**would**__ exclude Theo," _Harry thought. "_Although, if I invited Theo, I would have to invite Draco too, which would probably be a disaster. If nothing else, that would ensure some bit of unpleasantness with the Weasley children, and Ron aside, they've been far too nice to me to put up with that._"

"Okay, I'll go. But I'm going that morning and leaving that afternoon. I'll owl you a list of people I'd like to invite next week after Augusta Longbottom gets back and I can ask her advice. Let me know if the Potters disapprove of any of them before we send out invitations." He thought for a moment. "Was Serena Zabini ever accused of being a Death Eater?"

"I don't think so. I'm pretty sure she was living abroad for the entirety of the War."

"Then why do people talk about her in nervous hushed whispers."

Artie coughed. "Well, I imagine it's because she's been married seven times... and also widowed seven times. And each dead husband left her an increasingly larger inheritance."

Harry blinked in surprise and then remembered his exchange with Blaise when Zabini first asked to join Hermione's study group.

* * *

"_Can you resist the temptation to insult anyone's parentage for several hours at a time?" Harry asked archly._

"_If everyone can go that long without insulting my own parentage, then certainly," Blaise replied evenly._

* * *

"_Oh," _Harry thought now. _"So __**that's **__what he was talking about! I __**really **__need to get better at asking followup questions."_

* * *

**An early update today as it's Labor Day and I have things to do later. Speaking of which: Happy Labor Day! If you're not working today, thank a Union member. **_"Labor is prior to, and independent of, capital. Capital is only the fruit of labor, and could never have existed if labor had not first existed. Labor is the superior of capital, and deserves much the higher consideration." _\- Abraham Lincoln

**The next chapter will be uploaded on Friday, September 11, 2015. "Ron's Day," in which Harry and Ron finally have it out. Also, _Jim Potter!_  
**

**RE: last chapter. Obviously, when Snape was a lad, he played "football" rather than "soccer." But I've already loaded that chapter a total of three times due to mistakes I'd missed and I just couldn't be buggered to do it a fourth time just to correct a throwaway line. Please excuse my horrible laziness, but it was the start of a four-day weekend.**


	40. HP&TSE 06 - Ron's Day

**HARRY POTTER &amp; THE SECRET ENEMY**

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

**CHAPTER 6: Ron's Day  
**

Just after nine o'clock, Harry and Percy returned to the Burrow. Harry had made a point of introducing Percy to Artemus Podmore, and the two actually compared a few "war stories" during their brief conversation, Artie having been a prefect himself during his Hogwarts days. When they passed through the Floo, Molly was there to greet them both with a late night snack. Ron was also reading on the couch, but almost immediately, he slammed his book closed and stalked up the stairs. Harry sighed and decided it was finally time for him to do something about Ron's hostility.

A bit later, Harry knocked softly on Ron's door.

"Who is it?" Ron asked.

"It's Harry. Can I come in for a second?"

There was a long pause before Ron finally opened the door. "What do you want?"

"Just to talk. I come in peace, I promise."

Ron didn't say anything. Instead, he left the door open as he went to lie down on his bed. Harry came in and looked around, closing the door behind him. He'd been joking with Snape about a room decorated in Gryffindor colors and Chudley posters, but apparently his words had been prophetic as they described Ron's room to a T. Harry sat down in a chair next to the door while Ron just stared up at the ceiling over his bed.

"Ron, I know you're ... not happy that I've been staying here. Honestly, it wasn't my preferred option either. Not that your family isn't wonderful. They are, and I'm honestly a bit jealous of you for having them. But I didn't have any other options, and I'm here for the rest of the week, so I'd really like for us to at least try to get along instead of feeling like you're mad at me for breathing too loudly or something. Now, have I actually done _anything_ to you for you to dislike me as much as you do? Or is it still just that I'm in Slytherin? Because, you know, we _did_ all team up to fight Voldemort just last month. I think that ought to earn me at least a little credit, don't you?"

Ron closed his eyes and was silent for a few seconds before he spoke. "_We_ didn't fight ... You-Know-Who."

"And what is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"_We_ didn't. _You_ fought him, and then Jim fought him and drove him off. In the meantime, Zabini and Nott freed the rest of us from our bonds, Neville nearly killed himself taking down the flame trap, Hermione was the one who _figured out_ how Neville could take down the flame trap, and I ... stood around like a great useless lump. My best friend was fighting You-Know-Who, and I ran like a coward."

"Ron, you ran like a sensible person. I was trying to get Jim to follow _your lead_ and run up the stairs when Voldemort blasted us. We were all First Years. None of us should have been trying to fight Quirrell, let alone Voldemort. You can't blame yourself for not fighting against a much more powerful enemy when the Boy-Who-Lived only beat him through some weird Dark-Lord-Slaying power that he doesn't even understand himself. And anyway, if that's what you're upset about, why are you taking it out on me?"

"Because you're the one flashing all your galleons with summer tutoring that my family couldn't afford in a million years!" Ron said hotly.

"Ah! Well, I am sorry about that. No, wait a minute! _I'm not sorry at all! _I spent _ten years_ being treated like a house elf by a family of Muggles so awful that they make Draco Malfoy look like a Hufflepuff prefect! I'm not going to apologize to you or anyone else for finding out at the age of eleven that I'm not a penniless orphan but instead a trust fund baby who'd been abandoned by neglectful parents! Particularly not when I'm using that money to better myself instead of blowing it on Quidditch brooms and chocolate frogs!"

Ron shrank back from Harry's tirade, and he had no response.

"Now then," continued Harry more calmly, "you're upset that I'm trying to better myself and am spending money to do so. Well, you don't _need _money to better yourself as a wizard, though I admit it does help. But what have _you _been doing this summer to improve yourself that _doesn't_ require money? Have you even finished your homework?"

"It's not due till September!?" Ron said, horrified.

"So? I've finished mine. Hermione's finished hers. I'll bet you another galleon that Lily Potter made sure that Jim has finished his by now. The people who are at the top of their class don't get there by making excuses or procrastinating. If you're so worried that you can't properly help Jim on his little _adventures_, then you either work to improve yourself until you_ can_ help him or else you find another friend. Because while it pains me to say this, Jim _is_ the Boy-Who-Lived, so he's probably going to have insane lunatics coming after him for the rest of his life."

Ron glared at Harry, but as the boy's harsh words sank in, he leaned back and resumed staring at the ceiling. "Whatever. It looks like it'll be the second option anyway. Jim doesn't want to have anything to do with me."

"Oh, come on! I saw you two at the train station, and you were thick as thieves."

"Well, that was before we got home. Since then, I've sent a half-dozen owl posts, and he hasn't responded to even one. I figure that after I ran from You-Know-Who, he doesn't think he can count on me and he cut ties. I can hardly blame him, really."

Harry thought on that. "Has he sent you an invitation to his birthday party?"

"His mom sent an invite for me and the Twins. I gather they invited our whole Gryffindor class _and_ the whole Quidditch team _and_ the children of any influential Ministry officials who might possibly have met Jim somewhere. It's not exactly Jim and his close friends or anything."

Harry rubbed his temples for a few seconds. "So you're invited to his party, but no personal communications. I see. Tell me, Ron, has anyone mentioned anything to you about my run-in with the crazy house elf?"

"The crazy ... what?!"

"The night I was attacked by that doxy swarm, I had an encounter with a strange, mentally-addled house elf who tried to warn me that one or both of the Potter Twins would be in terrible danger at Hogwarts this year. And out of a twisted, poorly conceived attempt to discourage me from returning to school in the fall, he had been intercepting my incoming and outgoing owl posts. And I _assume_ he's been doing the same thing to Jim."

Ron sat up excitedly. "You mean ..."

"I _mean _that Jim has probably spent the past several weeks brooding over the fact that none of his friends have sent him any owl posts or responded to any that he'd sent out. Now, you do what you want, but my recommendation is that tomorrow morning you have your Mum contact Potter Manor via Floo, talk with Lily, and _see_ if Jim has tried to send owl posts that weren't answered. If the answer is yes, maybe they'll even let you go over and visit Jim personally."

"Wow! I will! Um, and ... thanks ... Harry."

"No problem, Ron. I'll see you tomorrow." Harry sighed, wondering how he had become the Gryffindor House agony aunt and how long it would be before distraught Lions came to him for romantic advice.

* * *

_**11 June 1992**_

The next morning, at Ron's request, Molly Floo-called Potter Manor and spoke to Lily. Apparently, Harry's theory had been correct: Jim had not gotten any owl posts from any of his friends so far that summer. Lily was quite pleased at the thought of Ron coming over as Jim "really needed to have some friends around." Harry overheard that bit from the kitchen table and filed the comment away for future consideration. A half-hour later, Ron stepped through the fireplace to visit Jim for the rest of the day.

For his own part, Harry spent most of the morning going over Occlumency exercises, reviewing notes from various tutors on areas of improvement, and preparing a preliminary list of friends and associates who he thought the Potters might allow to come to the party. He spent the afternoon flying with the Twins and later talking with them about some of their more interesting pranking ideas. They had a good laugh over the prank Harry had pulled on Jim during the previous Easter Break involving the Potter invisibility cloak. While they disagreed with the sentiment, they both thought that "Slytherins Rule! Gryffindors Drool!" was hilarious. Ron returned at 5:30, just before dinner (and just in time to hear Harry's story), and he seemed oddly subdued. After dinner, Harry pulled him aside and asked if everything was okay with Jim.

"Huh? Oh ... yeah, everything's fine. It was like you said. He just hadn't gotten any of my owl messages. He asked his... your ... anyway, he asked Mrs. Potter if I could start going over there more often – two or three times a week if Mom will allow it, or maybe a few weekend sleepovers."

"That's ... good, right?" asked Harry.

"Yeah, it's just... well, you were right about how I need to be a better wizard if I'm going to stay friends with Jim. He's gotten a really ... focused since we left King's Cross. Anyway, I'm about to head upstairs. Jim gave me a book to start reading." Ron held the book up, and Harry recognized it as an old DADA text – the same edition, in fact, that Tonks was using to teach him. He said nothing about that, though, as Ron walked away to speak with the Twins about whether he could join them in their Quidditch weight-training sessions.

"Why do I suddenly feel an sense of impending doom?" Harry muttered to himself as he watched the boy head up the stairs.

* * *

_**Earlier that morning...**_

The main fireplace in Potter Manor was situated in its Great Hall, so that as a visitor steps out of the Floo Network, he is confronted by a large wall sporting scores of paintings of past Potter Lords and Ladies, all of whom stare down imposingly upon any new arrivals. In the center was a truly enormous portrait of Guy du Poitier who had been the first of his line to sit on the Wizengamot in its earliest iteration and who founded what would become the Ancient and Noble House of Dupoitier (which was renamed House Potter centuries later once the last vestige of the family's French roots were excised). Sir Guy's portrait was a good fifteen feet tall and eight feet wide and would not have fit in any room in Potter Manor smaller than the Great Hall. Like most of the pictures facing the fireplace, du Poitier's painting predated the creation of moving portraits by centuries, so the legendary figure was both silent and still, but that did nothing to reduce his prominence. And so it was that when Ron Weasley stepped out of the fireplace and looked around, his very first impression was of the legendary Potter founder looking down on him in judgment.

Almost instantly, Lily Potter swept into the room. "Hello Ron! So glad you could make it. Come on, I'll show you up to Jim's rooms." Lily's smile relaxed Ron a bit, but he was still nervous. It was one thing to know that Jim Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, was also a son of the illustrious House Potter. It was another to actually come into a home with such pedigree, an ancestral manse only a few centuries younger than Hogwarts itself. Out of reflex, he looked down at the orange Chudley Cannons jersey he was wearing, the one with the persistent grease stain his mother could not remove, and for a second, he actually wished he'd followed Molly's wish that he "dress up" to meet the Potters. Granted, Lily herself was wearing comfortable Muggle clothing, but Ron still felt overwhelmed by the Manor's grandeur.

"Jim has rooms? Like, more than one?"

"Well, he has his bedroom, of course. But over the past few weeks, he's taken over the room next door and, well, converted it into a sort of training room."

"For spell training?"

"Physical training," Lily said in an odd voice. "He's been working really hard." She led Ron out of the hall and up a flight of stairs. "So, Molly said that the problem was some house elf stealing owl posts. What was that all about?"

"I don't rightly know, Mrs., um, Lady Potter. It's just what Harry said. There was a house elf who told him either he or Jim or maybe both would be in danger at Hogwarts, and it stole all their mail to make them feel like they wouldn't be wanted at school."

"An odd strategy. But then, house elves can be odd creatures. Honestly, I've never been completely comfortable with them, not even with the ones we have here, but they've assured me that they are capable of keeping out any foreign house elves. Oh, and Mrs. Potter is fine. I'm not big into the whole '_your Ladyship_' thing when I can avoid it." She hesitated. "How is Harry?"

"He seems fine to me, Mrs. Potter. He's been getting along well with my family, and he was the one who gave me the advice to get Mum to call you about the mail. He spends his days studying and flying with the Twins, and he's started getting special tutoring in Diagon Alley. My brother Percy is escorting him to make sure he's safe."

"Good, I'm glad to hear he's being looked after," she replied with a bit of sadness in her voice. By that point, they'd gotten to the top of the stairs, and Ron noticed an odd rhythmic "thump-thump" sound coming from farther down the hall. Lily sighed.

"From the sound of things," Lily said, "I don't think Jim has quite finished his morning work-out. He may ask you to wait for a few minutes."

She hesitated and then looked at Ron intently. There was something in her expression that Ron was too young to understand. Mostly parental concern such as he might recognize in his own mother's eyes, but Lily's emotions were tinged with deeper subtleties that were beyond his experience.

"Ron," she said, "be patient with him. What happened at the end of last term with Quirrell and ... well, it affected him. More than I thought it had at first. I don't think the changes he's going through are ... necessarily bad, but he may be a bit ... intense, possibly to a degree that might worry you. But regardless, I _know_ he considers you to be his best friend. And I think he really _needs_ a best friend right now, so please remember that if he acts a little ... difficult at any point. Okay?'

Ron wasn't really sure what Lily Potter was talking about, but he knew that Jim was _his_ best friend too, so he nodded solemnly at her. They continued on down the hall, and the rhythmic thumping grew louder. As they approached the door, Ron noticed that the thumping sound was accompanied by a loud grunting in Jim's voice.

Lily opened the door and led Ron into "the gym." It was a thirty-by-thirty room with a big bay window that had heavy curtains to block out the sun. The only illumination came from magical orbs hanging from the ceiling which left the room rather dim and gloomy. It also smelled strongly of sweat. There was a brand new set of free weights and other exercise equipment near the door. The Twins had a similar setup, albeit smaller and second-hand, as Beaters were expected to have more upper body strength than the average Quidditch player. Just past the weights, Ron was disturbed to see what looked like a darts board ... except that instead of darts, it had what looked like small throwing knives embedded into it. Well, into it and all around it – Jim wasn't a very good shot with a knife yet. Speaking of whom, the Boy-Who-Lived was in the far corner in cut-off black sweat pants and a grey tank-top. He was barefooted and had tape around his hands, which he was using to assault a heavy leather punching bag that looked almost as big as himself. He was also utterly drenched with a few seconds, he noticed Ron and Lily's presence, and acknowledged his friend's arrival with a breathless smile.

"Ron! _pant_ It's great to see you, _pant_ buddy! Give me just _pant_ thirty more seconds to finish this set of reps, okay?"

Ron, who had no idea what "reps" were, nodded. Lily watched her son for a few seconds and then said tightly, "I'll leave you boys to talk. Send a house elf for me if you need me for anything. Lunch is at noon." Then, she left, stopping only to look back at Jim with an unreadable expression. For his part, Jim nodded without even taking his eyes off the punching bag. Then, he took a step back and began targeting the bag with a series of side kicks that came up high enough to strike a man in the stomach or even the solar plexus. He did a total of twenty kicks with each leg, each accompanied with a fierce guttural "Kai!" before he finally took a break and came over to Ron, pausing to pick up a towel and a bottle of water off a nearby table. He gave Ron a warm smile and stuck out his hand.

"I'd give you a hug but I'm kinda sweaty," he said still somewhat breathlessly.

Ron happily shook Jim's hand. "That's okay. What was that you were doing over there anyway?"

"It's called Taekwondo. It's a Muggle style of hand-to-hand combat. Korean originally. There's a squib my Mom found who runs a dojang – that's a Taekwondo training center – in London. We Floo him in two days a week for training. I started it a few years ago, basically just fooling around, but I've gotten a bit more serious this year after ... well, after what happened. I'm limited in how much time I have for wand magic during the summer, and also I've learned the hard way that a wizard still needs to be able to take care of himself unarmed since you never know when a bad guy can steal your wand away."

"Oh," said Ron quietly. He was surprised to learn that wand-magic was allowed _at all_ during the summer but said nothing about that. The two boys looked at one another uneasily as if neither knew what to say. Finally, Jim sat down at the table and gestured for Ron to sit opposite him.

"Okay, first things first, I guess. Mom said that there's some crazy house elf that's been stealing everybody's mail. What's the story there?"

"Well," said Ron tentatively, "all I really know is what Harry told me last night."

"Harry was at your house last night?" interrupted Jim, almost suspiciously.

"Yeah, he's staying with us till next week when he moves in full-time with Neville. Anyway, last week, while Harry was outside at his relatives' place, he had some kind of encounter with a house elf. The elf told him that either he, or you, or both of you maybe, would be in danger at Hogwarts this year. So to discourage you both from returning, it had been stealing any letters your friends had sent to you so far this summer." Ron hesitated. "As well as, you know, any letters you might have sent out to your friends."

Jim said nothing but took another sip from his water bottle, so Ron continued.

"Anyway, the elf gave Harry his letters back and left, but then this _huge_ doxy swarm showed up and attacked Harry before he could get inside the house. After that, they decided to move him away from those Muggles. The Burrow is warded against house elves. Bill ... that's my oldest brother, the curse-breaker ... anyway, when he was at Hogwarts, there was some Slytherin he'd gotten into a feud with during Seventh Year, and the Slytherin sent a house elf to do some pranks around the Burrow during the Summer. So he made sure we had wards against house elf intruders. That's why they sent Harry to us."

Jim nodded at that. "How badly was Harry hurt?"

"I don't know really. He seems fine now."

"Do they know who the house elf belonged to? Who it is that's plotting to kill us?"

Ron was startled at that. He hadn't really thought about things in terms of possible murder plots, and it was disturbing to him that such ideas were the very first place Jim's mind seemed to go. "I, uh, don't know anything about that. I don't think Harry knows either."

"Probably not," said Jim. Then, he looked away, frustrated. "Not that they'd tell us if they did know. Better that we never know anything important so we can pretend that the world is all sunshine and roses."

The bitterness in Jim's voice troubled Ron. During First Year, Jim had always been openly hostile to Slytherins, especially Harry, and he'd come to Hogwarts with a huge ego that exploded messily the first week of school after that first Potions class. But after that, he'd gradually calmed down and developed both self-discipline and social skills. By the end of the year, he was basically a likeable if hot-tempered boy with a lot of friends, albeit few outside his house and none in Slytherin. _This_ Jim, on the other hand, looked like he was on the verge of developing nervous tics.

"Jim, you're kind of scaring me a bit. What's been going on the last few weeks?"

Jim rubbed his hand across his mouth as he tried to decide how much to reveal to Ron. "I've ... learned things this summer. Things I wasn't supposed to know." He laughed nervously. "It's funny. I used to get so mad at my parents and at Dumbledore for keeping things from me. For treating me like I was a child. And now, I understand why they did and part of me wishes that I could go back to being that ignorant child."

He looked at Ron intently. "And, I'm also sorry, but a lot of it is stuff I can't tell you. Not yet. Maybe not ever. You know that Voldemort," Ron twitched, "read our minds last year, and the things he learned from us ... from me, nearly led to his full resurrection. If he or one of his servants learns what I've learned, it could be a disaster. I want to learn Occlumency, but my parents are fighting me on it. Mom has said that I need more self-discipline and that she'll talk to Dad again once I get my blue belt."

Ron didn't even know what Occlumency was, let alone how Taekwondo belt rankings worked, so he had difficulty in processing what Jim had said. "So, you received some secret information about ... You-Know-Who that your parents didn't want you to have. Do they know that you know?"

"No, and honestly I'm afraid to tell them. I don't think they'd try to Obliviate it out of me, but I can't take the chance. I can't go back to just ... stupid blithering ignorance."

"How can I help?" Ron said earnestly.

Jim hesitated. "Before I answer that ,.. I have a confession to make. You said that a house elf had been intercepting any owl posts I sent out. That's a good thing actually, because I only sent you one letter, just a few days after ... after I learned the truth. I'm glad you didn't get it. It was ... cowardly for me to say what I said in a letter instead of to your face. You deserve better. I assumed you'd actually gotten the letter and that was why you never wrote back to me."

Ron's stomach clenched. This was it. This was when Jim would cut ties with him because the Boy-Who-Lived couldn't be saddled with a coward who ran at the first sign of trouble.

"I said a lot of things in that letter. About how sorry I was that you were put into danger just for being my friend. About how sorry I was that I'd been a jerk all year to so many people. About how I finally understood for the very first time that being 'the Boy-Who-Lived' was about more than going to society events and having children's adventure books written about me. Being 'the Boy-Who-Lived' necessarily implies that other people _die_. One of the things I learned this summer that I _can_ tell you is that all four of my grandparents died before I was born. I already knew that, of course, but I never knew that they'd all been _murdered by Death Eaters_ as revenge for my parents standing up to Voldemort. I also learned the real reason that my parents sent Harry away – they were both afraid he'd be killed just for being around me."

He took another swig of water and then looked back up at Ron. "So, after everything I just said, do you still want to be my friend? Knowing what the cost might be? Knowing that someday Death Eaters might come after you or your loved ones just because of our connection? You're already one of a handful of people alive today who've seen Voldemort's face and lived to tell about it. I remember how incredibly brave you were during the chess game on the way to the Philosopher's Stone – how you were willing to sacrifice yourself to ensure that I would make it to face Voldemort. Are you sure you want to press your luck again?"

Ron was rendered nearly speechless by what Jim had said. He'd been so ashamed of what he considered a moment of weakness in the Mirror Room that he'd forgotten about the chess game, about how he'd deliberately sacrificed his own piece to allow Jim to advance more quickly, and how he might have died but for Neville's quick thinking. And now, after weeks of self-doubt, Ron finally started to feel his Gryffindor courage stir once more. "Like I said, what do you need me to do?"

Jim grinned and exhaled the breath he didn't even notice he was holding. Ron was stunned to realize how afraid Jim had been of being rejected. Of being rejected by _Ron Weasley_. No one in the _world_ had ever cared that much about being Ron's friend.

"Well, we won't be doing much today. We'll have some lunch, maybe fly for a while later. And then we'll make plans and schedules. We both have a lot of training ahead of us."

Ron nodded. "Right. Training to fight ... Voldemort." He shuddered at the name, but he was still proud to be able to say it, as Jim was proud for him. Despite that, the other boy shook his head.

"No, Ron. We're not training to fight Voldemort." Jim's expression hardened. "We're training to _kill_ Voldemort."

* * *

**The next chapter will be uploaded on September 14, 2015. "Countdown to a Birthday Party." Neville! Augusta! Quiche Lorraine! Musical Theater! All this PLUS James apologizes! **

**RE: Jim's current attitude. A significant portion of HP fandom was openly appalled by the scene in Dumbledore's office at the end of OotP, the one where the old man reveals (among other things) that he concealed the Prophecy from Harry for _years_ for the stated reason of allowing Harry to hold onto his "childhood" for as long as possible. It seems to me that most fans are wholly unpersuaded by Dumbledore's reasoning, particularly in light of what his childhood with the Dursleys was like. It's a common trope in HP fiction for Harry to learn the Prophecy early and to spend years preparing himself to fight Voldemort. But since this story is frequently about subverting the standard tropes, I wondered_: _What if Dumbledore was _right_? What if telling an already traumatized 11-year-old child that he has to be the one to kill Voldemort and no one else can do it is a terrible idea almost certain to instill deep psychological problems in that child? Problems like paranoia, depression and an obsessive interest in nearly anything, from Taekwando to the Dark Arts, that might give him an edge against the greatest dark lord in living memory. Thus, Jim Potter, who learned nearly all of the Prophecy in the last chapter of Year One, has basically gone all Bruce Wayne and decided at the age of 11 that he shall train like mad until he is a match for Voldemort. The problem, of course, is that, unlike Bruce Wayne, Jim's not the protagonist.:)  
**


	41. HP&TSE 07 - Countdown to a Birthday

**HARRY POTTER &amp; THE SECRET ENEMY**

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

**CHAPTER 7: Countdown to a Birthday**

_**15 July 1992**_

Harry remained at the Burrow for another four days. During that time, Ron only made one more all-day trip to Potter Manor, though he took up running and weight-lifting while at home at the Burrow and, to Harry's surprise, finished most of his homework. Even more surprising, he showed a little humility and asked Harry (who was top of their year in DADA) a number of Defense questions that the Slytherin was happy to answer. At the stroke of noon on Wednesday, July 15th, Harry was to use a portkey that Lady Augusta had sent via Artie which would take him directly to Longbottom Manor. There, he would spend the rest of the summer with Neville. But he had one last thing to take care of before he left the Burrow.

On the morning of the 15th, Molly Weasley rose at seven o'clock to make breakfast as usual when, to her surprise, she found it was already in progress. As she descended the stairs, she was surprised by the sound of bacon frying and the smell of fresh coffee already made. And in the middle of her kitchen, whistling cheerfully as he whisked egg yolks into a bowl of fresh milk, was Harry Potter.

"Harry? What in heaven's name are you doing up this early? And cooking breakfast?!"

He turned and smiled at the woman. "Well, it's like this, Mrs. Weasley. This is my last day here, and I wanted to do something to show my appreciation for all the kindnesses you and your family have shown to me. Now, I was four years old when the Dursleys decided I needed to learn to cook for them ... to 'pay them back' as it were for the privilege of being allowed to live under their roof. Simple things when I was little, but increasingly fancy and complicated meals as I got older. And they never gave me any compliments or encouragement, just complaints when everything wasn't absolutely perfect. So I have been waiting over _seven years_ for the chance to cook something nice for people I actually _like_. And honestly, there aren't many people I like right now better than the Weasleys."

At that, Molly's eyes misted a bit, and she came over and hugged the boy. Harry stiffened at first – he wasn't used to hugs or other displays of affection – but he relaxed into it.

"I know you'll be very happy at Longbottom Manor, but I promise you'll always be welcome here if you ever want to come back, Harry."

"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley."

"Now, what are you making for us?"

"Quiche Lorraine, Eggs Benedict, and Raspberry Scones."

"Goodness me," Molly said in amazement.

As the rest of the Weasleys came down, they were all equally impressed at Harry's skill in the kitchen. Mr. Weasley thought it a kind gesture, but he said that Harry shouldn't have spent money on food for them since he was the guest. Harry's eyes took on a mischievous gleam.

"Well actually, sir, your sons all pitched in with the expense. They each gave me some of their allowance last week, and I used that to buy the ingredients." He turned to the four surprised Weasley sons. "I did tell you it was for a good cause," he said with a smile.

Molly, now convinced that all four of her sons must have known of this surprise breakfast, went around and gave each of the startled boys a bone-crushing hug. Ginny, of course, knew exactly when and why the four had given up money to Harry – to pay off the bet they'd made over her Seeker's contest against Cedric Diggory – and she nearly laughed at the looks they were all giving him, looks that all seemed to say "_dammit, now I owe the __**Slytherin **__for this_." Once breakfast was over, Percy, the Twins and Ron all immediately began clearing the table as Percy told their mother to sit and relax while they took care of the washing up.

Harry rose from the table. "While you're taking care of the dishes, I have one final surprise for you all." He darted upstairs and returned a moment later with paper sack marked with the logo of Flourish &amp; Blotts from which he pulled several wrapped presents.

"Harry," said Molly, "You shouldn't have."

"It's just a small token of my regard, Mrs. Weasley. I hope you'll accept them and enjoy them all."

The Weasleys didn't know what to expect beyond the fact that from the shape of the presents they were all books. Molly was afraid at first that he'd bought the children textbooks. She was concerned about the school expenses but also was afraid her children would be embarrassed by charity. In fact, however, none of the books were school books but instead were more personal gifts. For Ron, it was a copy of **Flying With the Cannons**. For Percy, **Prefects Who Gained Power**. The Twins, Harry had said, would have to share their gift, as **Madcap Magic for Wacky Warlocks** might be too dangerous for Hogwarts if they each had their own copy. Ginny's gift had no title, as it was just a very nice blank diary so that her parents wouldn't have to buy her one. Arthur was thrilled with his gift which was the only Muggle-written book of the bunch, a layman's introduction to Muggle electrical and automotive technology. Finally, for Molly, Harry had been pleased to find a book at Flourish &amp; Blotts called **Mastering the Art of Magical French Cooking**. Harry explained to Molly that the original version was written by a famous Muggle named Julia Child who introduced millions of ordinary Muggles to French culinary techniques, explaining them in ways that someone without professional chef training could understand. Thanks to Petunia Dursley, it was literally one of the first books he learned to read. And apparently, Gaston Legard, the legendary head chef of Summerisles, learned about the book at some point and adapted it for the magical cooking techniques used by witches and wizards. All in all, the Weasleys were quite happy with their gifts, even Ron, and Harry was happy to have (hopefully) done a little bit to counteract Slytherin House's poor reputation.

* * *

At noon, Harry said his final goodbyes, pulled out the portkey Artie had given him (a small flower vase with a cursive "L" inscribed on it), and said the activation world: "Sanctuary." Portkey travel was a profoundly unpleasant sensation, though he supposed he'd have to get used to it. After he recovered from the feeling of being dragged navel first through a plughole, Harry found himself at the front door of Longbottom Manor. On hand to greet him were Neville and Augusta Longbottom and two house elves.

As Neville stepped forward to welcome his friend, Harry was surprised at the boy's appearance. Since leaving Kings Cross, Neville had grown an inch, his hair had lightened, he'd lost a good bit of baby fat, and he had a _tan_! Harry hadn't thought the British could even get suntans. Certainly, he'd never managed it in ten years of summertime yard work.

"Neville! Great to see you, friend. And you as well, Lady Augusta. It seems that life in the Amazon agrees with you both."

Both Longbottoms laughed at that, and then Lady Augusta introduced the two house elves as Lumpen and Hoskins and directed them to carry Harry's trunk up to his room. She also reassured Harry that, as house elves bonded directly to the Manor, Lumpen and Hoskins would be able to ward off any unwelcome house elves, as a house elf's power is always greatest within its own domain. Then, she and Neville led Harry to a sunroom where they took lunch. It was the first chance for the boys to talk since they left Kings Cross back in June. Harry was amazed to hear about Neville's remarkable adventures in the Amazon jungle, including an unsuccessful quest for a rare flower which might hold the cure for lycanthropy, an encounter with a mysterious race of leopard people who lived in a city of gold deep within the jungle, and a desperate flight for his life after he accidentally breached the ancient lost temple of the Cult of the Nameless Xoanon! It was all very ... Gryffindorish, surprisingly so for a boy who'd previously expressed a desire to spend his whole summer just puttering around the family greenhouse repotting the venomous tentaculae. In comparison to Neville's holiday, Harry suddenly thought his run-in with a single hyperactive house elf and a storm of doxies seemed somewhat ... boring. Nevertheless, Neville and Augusta were suitably horrified at how close Harry came to dying, so apparently he'd won the "death-defying sweepstakes."

"Alright, then," said Augusta. "That's quite enough about near-fatal experiences. My old heart isn't up to hearing any more." Neville, who'd seen Augusta's impressive dueling skills on display that summer in Brazil, resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. "Now, I understand, Harry, that you found a tutor for the summer break?"

"Yes, Lady Augusta, a former Hufflepuff who's going to the Auror Academy in the fall. She's the daughter of Andromeda and Ted Tonks."

"Ah, yes. I remember their marriage announcement in _The_ _Prophet_. I think I may have heard Cygnus Black's screams of outrage all the way here in Lancashire. Have you found her satisfactory?"

"Very much so, ma'am, although she's only teaching me in the areas I'll be studying at Hogwarts: Charms, Transfiguration and Defense on the weekends and then Potions on every other Thursday night. I'm also studying estate management, etiquette, wizarding history and ... some other things on Tuesdays and those Thursdays not given over to Potions."

"An ambitious schedule. May I ask the long term goals behind all this self-study?"

Harry exhaled. "Aside from wanting to stay at the top of my class and beat Jim? It's in the back of my mind that if I can take some of my OWLS early and pass at least four of them, I can petition for emancipation. Obviously that's some time away, but if I push myself, it's doable the summer after my Third Year."

Neville whistled, while August merely nodded with some approval.

"As I said, ambitious. Also, and do excuse an old woman's nosiness, but do those 'other things' include Occlumency training?"

Harry glanced over at Neville who blushed and mouthed "_Sorry._"

"They do, Lady Augusta."

She sighed. "I hope you will proceed cautiously. There is an element of danger in such training, as well as a lifelong distrust from many members of our society if your training becomes common knowledge." She grimaced. "And I must say it angers me that such training is even necessary. Yet another way in which _James Potter_ has failed in his paternal obligations, I suppose."

Harry was surprised at the hostility contained in that last comment. "How so, Lady Augusta?"

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise for a second. "Oh, of course. How silly of me to have assumed that someone would have actually _told _you what you have every right to know. You are the Potter Heir Presumptive, Harry. Somewhere in the Potter family vault should be a ring that will be yours when you become Heir Apparent, though your father has the absolute discretion to give it to you early if he chose to do so, as most Lords do for their Heirs. Every Wizengamot House has such rings, one each for the Head of House, the Consort and the Heir Apparent." She raised her left hand to display a gold band with a green stone inscribed with the letter 'L' on the ring finger.

"Among other benefits both magical and mundane, your Heir's ring would help to defend against Legilimency, the Confundus and many other lesser mind-altering spells – though not the Imperius of course – without the need for formal Occlumency training. Naturally, the Wizengamot does not tolerate its members, whether current or future, being subjected to casual psychic manipulation." She turned to Neville who was suddenly very intrigued. "And before you ask, Neville, I plan to present you with the Longbottom Heir's ring as a birthday present. It's presently at Gringotts being refurbished. I only wish it had been ready for you last year, as it might conceivably have protected you from Professor Quirrell's spells."

Neville smiled at that. Harry also smiled for his friend, although it was tinged with sadness. One more thing James Potter had kept from him.

"In the meantime, Neville, I would like for you to rest and enjoy yourself for the next two weeks or so. It was an eventful trip to the Amazon for us both, and you should recover from it. But if you wish to join Harry in receiving additional lessons, I will be happy to arrange it for the month of August. But don't go getting any funny ideas about '_emancipation_.' You will take your OWLS during Fifth Year like your father and grandfather before you, and you will do as well on them as they did."

"Yes, Gran," he said respectfully.

"Now, kindly show Harry up to his room and get him situated. After that, I imagine you'll be wanting to show him _the pool_... assuming you can find something to wear." She laughed loudly at that while Neville made a sour face and shook his head. Then, he rose from the table and led Harry away towards the stairs.

"What was with that crack about the pool?" Harry asked.

Neville snorted. "You remember how Uncle Algie tried to drown me when I was seven? Well, since then, I've always been afraid of large bodies of water ... until I got all my memories back. I decided that this summer was the time to conquer that particular fear, so while we were in Brazil, I learned to swim. Once I got over my jitters and mastered the basics, I really enjoyed it. So Gran sent word to the house elves to get the pool in the backyard cleaned out and filed with water. I haven't tried it yet, but I'm looking forward to it. Do you swim?"

"Never learned how. I suppose I ought to. The way things are going, I'm sure my life will depend on it at some point. But why did she think the idea was so funny?"

Neville coughed. "Well, you see ... I learned to swim while deep in the jungle from some local boys in one of the indigenous tribes and ... _theydidn'tusebathingsuitssoweallwentnaked."_ He said that last bit as fast as possible, but Harry still understood it and couldn't suppress a bark of laughter.

"I see. So that new tan of yours – it's all over, I take it?" Neville didn't reply, but Harry was amused to realize that having a suntan didn't stop a person from blushing furiously.

* * *

Three days later, invitations to Potter Manor as personal guests of Harry Potter on the occasion of his and Jim's joint birthday were sent to the following individuals and/or families (with Hermione and Neville told to simply accept Jim's prior invitation so as to not insult their house-mate):

_Miss_ _Hannah Abbot_

_Amelia Regent Bones and her ward, Miss Susan Bones_

_Misses Margaret &amp; Millicent Bulstrode_

_Miss Tracey Davis_

_The Right Honorable Amos Diggory and family_

_Sir Malcolm Finch-Fletchley (O.B.E.) and family_

_Mr. Marcus Flint_

_Daniel Lord Greengrass and family_

_The Right Honorable Hestia Jones, Esq._

_Miss Olivia Kolumbiko_

_Samuel Lord McMillan and family_

_Howard Lord Montague and family_

_Mr. Madanapala Patil and family_

_The Right Honorable and Mme. Artemus Podmore, Esq,._

_Healers Edward and Andromeda Tonks and family_

_Mr. &amp; Mrs. Arthur Weasley and family_

_The Lady Serena Zabini, Dowager Contessa di Provence and her son, Mr. Blaise Zabini_

Lady Augusta assisted with the invitation list, guiding Harry through the absurdly overcomplicated process of properly addressing witches and wizards within various strata of British wizarding society. More importantly, she helped him to understand the potential benefits and ramifications of each invitation. Apparently, the Potters had just sent out invitations to Jim's friends, ignoring their families (including siblings attending Hogwarts and several scions of Wizengamot families who would likely be offended at being excluded). According to Augusta, it was a faux pas to invite children to a party at a landed estate without at least a courtesy invitation to their parents and the rest of their immediate families. Most people overlooked it, however, as (a) James Potter had been offending high society with his tactlessness and lack of social graces for so long that most people were used to it and (b) any chance to bask in the reflected glory of the Boy-Who-Lived was aggressively sought by most high society and government types, even if James in years past had insisted on such garish frivolities as a limbo contest and a Muggle bouncy castle.

Harry, however, had no interest in bouncy castles – if he was going to share a birthday party with the Git-Who-Lived, he was going to use the opportunity to network like hell. Consequently, when a friend he wanted to invite was the child of someone who either Augusta or Artie thought might be important to Harry's longterm goals, the entire family got an invitation. Friends not from particularly important wizarding families – like the Bulstrode sisters or Marcus Flint – got regular invitations with the understanding that they'd be allowed to bring family or a date if they wanted. Harry _did_ invite the entire Muggle family of Justin Finch-Fletchley, in part because of their financial connections and in part to rub Jim's nose in the fact that the _Slytherin_ Potter was more open-minded about Muggles than the Gryffindor Potter.

Lady Augusta was also a font of gossip about wizarding high society, much of which would be at the birthday party whether they liked the Potters or not. Initially, Harry assumed that all the attention and gift-giving was what made Jim such a spoiled brat, but Augusta corrected him. Apparently, since Halloween of 1981, Jim received literally hundreds of gifts every year on his birthday and at Christmas. To their credit, James and Lily thought that unseemly in light of their personal wealth, so they placed all gifts of cash or valuables into the Jim Potter Charitable Trust, which did things like raise money for St. Mungo's, Hogwarts and other non-profit wizarding ventures. They also made a big show of donating all the tangible gifts – toys, clothing, etc. – to needy wizarding children. Consequently, Jim's birthday had evolved over the years into a major charity event with wizarding elites of all stripes donating to the less fortunate by way of ceremonially giving something nice to the Boy-Who-Lived who then passed it along through the appropriate non-profit group. Jim himself probably only got presents from his parents and a few select family friends, but even people like the Malfoys who would never be allowed to set foot on the grounds of Potter Manor still sent gifts to the Boy-Who-Lived which he opened once before handing them off to be donated away.

Finally, while Augusta herself had never been to Jim's birthday party before, she had read press accounts and listened to gossip from friends who had gone. Her observation was that, however crude or obnoxious Jim had been during his first year at Hogwarts, he was _surprisingly_ adept at handling himself in front of the press so as to ensure positive coverage. That might change now that he was approaching his teens, an awkward stage for most children, but he'd been giving interviews to journalists for years now. Augusta also noted with visible disdain that there would probably be what she referred to as a "_press availability_" in which he might conceivably be expected to participate (although she thought it would be madness for the Potters to actually _encourage_ Harry to talk to the press given the state of their relationship). She pulled old _Prophet_ accounts of past birthday parties so that Harry could get a sense of what to expect. He was amazed to learn that Jim Potter had given his first public interview to the _Prophet_ at the age of _seven._

* * *

_**30 July 1992**_

On the day before Harry's official birthday, he attended a much quieter affair at Longbottom Manor to commemorate Neville's birthday. Augusta hosted a small intimate luncheon attended by the rest of the Longbottom family, and Harry was introduced to Cousins Reginald and Enid and their families. None of them seemed to harbor any ill will over Algie Longbottom's banishment the previous year as far as Harry could tell, and they all applauded warmly as Augusta presented Neville with his Heir's ring. He would be eligible to take the Lord's ring after he'd turned fifteen and passed his OWLS.

Later that afternoon, after the Longbottom cousins had departed, another group of well-wishers showed up: Hermione, Blaise and most of the members of their study group. Only Anthony Goldstein and Theo Nott were absent. The former was in Hamburg for the summer with his parents, while the latter was still at Malfoy Manor, though each sent Happy Birthday wishes to both Neville and Harry. The rest arrived around four and had a light afternoon snack, during which Neville and Harry each opened the gifts brought for them by their friends. Neville was delighted to see that Harry had bought him a wand holster similar to the one Harry himself wore. He was much less pleased when, on is first attempt to use it, his wand shot out of his hand and knocked a pitcher of lemonade over onto the table, splashing both Hermione and Padma. A quick Scourgify from Augusta cleaned them both up instantly, however, and Harry assured Neville that with a little practice, he'd soon get the hang of it.

After lunch was over, the group portkeyed together to London, where a large rental van picked them all up up (along with several parents and chaperones) and carried them to the West End for an introduction to British musical theater. Hermione and Justin Finch-Fletchley and their parents saw to the arrangements, and they decided that _Phantom of the Opera_ with its gothic storyline and 19th century setting would be the most accessible show for young Purebloods. The other children were astonished at what Muggle special effects were possible in a theater and how Muggle technology could create what seemed like magic to the uninitiated. For his part, Blaise admitted that he'd enjoyed the show, but he still wished that Hermione had gone with _his _suggestion of going to the cinema to see the recently-released _Batman Returns_. However, Hermione and Justin agreed that the Purebloods already looked down on Muggles enough without suggesting to them that Muggle law enforcement consisted of heavily-armed vigilantes dressed in scary animal costumes.

* * *

_**31 July 1992**_

On the morning of Harry's birthday, he rose early to prepare. The party officially started at noon, but by special arrangement, he was to go over to Potter Manor at nine o'clock. Attire for the day was "Muggle semi-formal" according to the invitation, so Harry dressed in khaki slacks, a blazer, an open collar shirt with a pullover sweater, and loafers. Neville (who deferred to his friend on Muggle fashion choices) and Augusta would accompany him, and Hestia, Artie and Snape would meet him at the Manor. Like all the other guests, their invitations contained special portkeys that were keyed to their blood, names and magic and could not be used either by anyone else or to carry a passenger. At the stroke of nine, the three activated their portkeys. Several disorienting seconds later, Harry was standing in the Great Hall of Potter Manor where, to his surprise, several aurors were on hand to check invitations and verify identities. Also waiting for him were Professor Snape, Hestia, Artie and a second woman. The last three wore slightly anachronistic but still appropriate clothing, but Harry was amused to see that for Snape, "Muggle semi-formal" consisted of the same jet-black robes he wore every day at school.

"Good morning and happy birthday to you both!" said Artie jovially to Harry and Neville. "Harry, I don't believe you've met my wife, Elizabeth." A middle-aged woman with black hair and a warm kindly face stepped forward.

"It's a pleasure to meet you all. Especially you, Harry. I know from what he's told me that Artie is quite fond of you."

"Thank you, Madame Podmore," said Harry. "The feeling is mutual."

"Oh, please, call me Elizabeth. I know it's short notice, but I was hoping that after this affair is over, you three might come by our house for dinner."

Harry looked back at Lady Augusta who nodded. "We'd be delighted Elizabeth."

Then, Artie stepped forward, bowed and kissed Lady Augusta's hand before turning back to Harry. "Your parents have prepared a light breakfast in the dining room. Most of the guests won't arrive before noon, but a few of their closer friends are already here. I believe they'd like to show you around the grounds before too many people arrive arrive."

Harry nodded at that. He found himself strangely nervous. The last time he'd interacted with the rest of his family, it was when he served them all with legal papers in front of Dumbledore's office. The time before that was when he was still a baby. Reflexively, he started going over various Occlumency exercises in his head. It wouldn't do to get emotional here in enemy territory.

The formal dining hall had a table big enough to seat twenty, which was why the Potters rarely used it except for formal meals. When Harry and his group arrived, his parents and brother were already there. James and Lily were visibly nervous, while Jim seemed aloof. Also present was a doughy man with beady eyes who Artie introduced as Peter Pettigrew, James's own lawyer. Although Pettigrew gave his best shot at a charming first impression, Harry took an immediate and instinctive dislike to him. Everyone took a seat, and after a moment of uncomfortable silence, James finally spoke.

"I would like to begin, if I may, with an apology." James paused to take a deep breath. "Harry, my conduct for the past year has been ... reprehensible. I am deeply sorry for the circumstances that led to your placement with Petunia and Vernon who we now know were completely unfit guardians. I will still say that, at the time, we genuinely believed that you were a squib and that placement with Muggles was advisable because of the potential danger of Death Eaters trying to get to Jim through you. That said, we certainly should have been much more proactive in making sure you were looked after properly. More importantly, the Howler I sent you after your Sorting was completely indefensible. All I can say is that, frankly, I have had a lifelong bias against Slytherin House that was only made worse during the War when the Death Eaters recruited from that House almost to the exclusion of the other three. They weren't all Slytherins, of course, and after all these years, it is still sobering to think that my best friend and a fellow Gryffindor, Sirius Black, was secretly one of You-Know-Who's strongest supporters. But that was over a decade ago, and I need to accept that Slytherin today is not what it was back then. You and your friends have courageously fought directly against You-Know-Who and helped Jim to drive him away even though you had every reason to be bitter enough to leave Jim to his fate. And I thank you for that from the bottom of my heart." He hesitated once more. "In light of everything that's happened, do you see any possibility of forgiving us and reuniting with our family?"

Harry was quiet for a moment. "I suppose that would depend. Do you see a way to accept me as your Heir Presumptive and eventually your Heir Apparent despite my Sorting?"

James swallowed. "Yes. Yes I do."

Harry stared at him for a long time. James Potter wasn't as easy to read as the typical Gryffindor from school, but he was ultimately still a Gryffindor. Frankly, Harry wasn't sure he was being entirely sincere, but if not, at least he was making the effort to fake it. As a Slytherin, he could respect that at least.

"Then perhaps," said Harry slowly, "some token of good faith might be in order? For example, I gather there's an Heir's ring somewhere?"

Before James could say anything, Peter spoke up. "Unfortunately, the ring was lost on the night You-Know-Who attacked the house at Godric's Hollow. James has commissioned a new Heir's ring, but the enchantments are very high level and anyway it will have to be certified by the Wizengamot. We estimate that a new ring will be available sometime next year."

"What was it doing at Godric's Hollow instead of in the Potter vault?" asked Snape sharply.

James took a second to suppress his annoyance at being interrogated by his old school rival. "I still _was_ the Heir when we moved there, Severus. That house was a wedding gift from my parents. I took the Lord's ring after my father died, but I was still in mourning and, as the saying goes, I was 'unwilling to put away childish things' by putting away my Heir's ring and moving back into the Manor. Besides, a Fidelius on the Manor would not have worked properly anyway because of its size and extensive ward scheme, so we still thought Godric's Hollow was safer. Obviously, we were wrong. Anyway, on Halloween Night 1981, the Heir's ring was sitting in a dresser drawer in the nursery Harry shared with Jim. Both the dresser and that whole room were destroyed in the backlash, and the ring wasn't found among the wreckage."

Harry stared at James and Peter with his eyes narrowed while he tried to guess whether they were lying about the ring and, if so, to what purpose. Then, Hestia spoke up.

"Let's pass over the ring for right now. What sort of relationship do you propose to have with Harry going forward in light of everything that's happened? Are you now saying that you want him living here at Potter Manor? Because that's clearly been off the table so far on your part, and at the moment, I think Harry feels the same."

"At some point," said James, "I hope Harry will consider moving back here, but I understand if he feels uncomfortable with that. At the moment, the injunction he got effectively prevents him from living here unless ... well, unless Severus moves in along with him which frankly I don't see happening." Snape's derisive snort registered his agreement. "But right now, Harry, you're living with Augusta Longbottom who I find completely acceptable as an acting guardian if she is willing to fulfill that role. In the meantime, I hope that you will at least consider coming to visit us and perhaps even stay over for Christmas holidays. I know we got off on the wrong foot before and I blame myself entirely for that. But I really do want to get the chance to know my Heir. I hope that we can start with that today."

Harry simply nodded. "Speaking of today, what's the schedule? I know it's a joint birthday party, but up until this year, it was just 'The Boy-Who-Lived's Birthday Party' and also a major social event. Where will I be fitting in?"

Peter spoke up. "The story we'll be presenting to guests and to the press is basically the truth. That you were wrongly identified as a squib in infancy and your parents sought to place you with Muggle relatives for your own health and safety. That your wizarding heritage eventually manifested and you received a Hogwarts letter. That you are still in the process of acclimating to wizarding culture and so did not wish to immediately move back in with your family. While your Sorting was a bit of a shock, you and your father have worked past that, and we ask that the media respect your privacy during this time of transition etcetera etcetera."

Harry's eyes widened. "And that's what you consider ... 'basically the truth'?"

Peter shrugged. "For media purposes, anyway."

"Speaking of which," said Jim, who had been silent up to now, "is Harry talking to any reporters today? The press conference is at eleven. Are you sending him into the meat grinder on his first day back?" Even James and Lily looked at Jim in surprise. There was a harshness to his remarks that he'd never displayed in the past when it came to dealing with the media.

"You have a press conference scheduled on your birthday?" asked Harry in surprise. Lady Augusta had mentioned the possibility, but he'd still thought the idea absurd until now.

"From time to time," Jim said with surprising bitterness, "the Boy-Who-Lived is expected to put on a show for his adoring fans. It's not all about fighting dark lords ... _unfortunately._" Jim muttered the last word almost too softly for Harry to hear.

* * *

**The next chapter will be uploaded on Friday, September 18, 2015. "The Birthday Party (Pt 1)." Rita Skeeter! Luna Lovegood! Marcus Flint! Daphne Greengrass! Hell, even Marietta Edgecombe will be there! **

**AN: If you're curious about the status of the Potter Heir's ring, most of your questions will be answered within the next two chapters. But feel free to speculate wildly between now and then.:)**


	42. HP&TSE 08 - The Birthday Party (Pt 1)

**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY**

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

**CHAPTER 8: The Birthday Party (Pt. 1)**

After breakfast, the Potters gave Harry and the Longbottoms a tour of Potter Manor while they waited for the press to arrive. As it happened, the adults on both sides thought it best that Harry attend the "availability" but not participate unless one of the interviewers pushed for it. Today, the members of the press included two reporters from _The Prophet_ (one of whom was the infamous gossip columnist Rita Skeeter) plus a photographer; Xenophilius Lovegood, owner and sole employee for _The Quibbler_, which was either a satirical magazine or the ravings of a madman depending on who you asked; a reporter for the Wizarding Wireless; _three_ reporters from _Teen Witch Weekly_; plus another five from various foreign papers. When the time came, Harry accompanied the Potters to the parlor where the press availability was to be held, but he sat in the back and did little except smile winningly while James Potter provided an edited but plausible explanation of why no one had ever heard of him before. James also asked the assembled journalists to "respect Harry's privacy and that of the family during this challenging time."

Despite that admonition, Harry actually did get a few questions, but mostly innocuous ones. "_How are you adapting to wizarding life?_" "_What was life like in the Muggle world?_" A question from _Teen Witch Weekly_ about what kind of hair-care products he favored (he name-checked Lavender Brown as having introduced him to Sleekeazy). Finally, a pinched-face woman in a horrific leopard-print outfit and pince-nez glasses who identified herself as Rita Skeeter asked about rumors that James had sent him a Howler on the first morning of classes out of anger over his Slytherin Sorting. James started to answer, but Harry interrupted with an answer of his own.

"As I'm sure you're aware, Miss Skeeter, the Howler was more than a rumor, seeing as how it went off in front of several hundred of my fellow students. However, that was nearly a year ago, and my father and I have worked diligently to move past it and rebuild our relationship." Harry turned towards James and smiled at him, and to his relief, the man at least had the good sense to smile back in front of the reporters. "While it was somewhat embarrassing at the time, I do understand that it was a great shock to everyone for me to be the first Slytherin Potter in over 200 years or more. Indeed, apparently the first Potter to go to _any_ House other than Gryffindor in that time. However, my father has profusely apologized for sending it, I have accepted his apology, and together we've moved on. My goal now is to show the entire world that there's nothing wrong with being a Slytherin Potter. That I can uphold my family's traditions of honor and courage despite personally being more cunning than brave. And most importantly, that Slytherin House has more to offer Wizarding Britain than just the bigoted lackeys of a failed dark lord who was destroyed by my brother more than a decade ago."

"Well said, sir! Well said indeed!" exclaimed Xeno Lovegood, who started applauding, and several other reporters, after a moment of confusion, joined in. For her part, Skeeter just looked at Harry speculatively before writing something down on her pad. Harry wasn't sure, but he also thought she gave a quick glance in the direction of James and Peter while she was writing.

* * *

Soon after, the press conference ended with the remaining questions focused on how much money the Potters expected to haul in today and what were some of their proposed projects for the Charitable Trust. Afterwards, the group moved to the front lawn of the estate, where buffet tables were set up on one side (decorated in Gryffindor colors, naturally) with smaller tables arranged for people to sit and eat in the middle. On the opposite side was a single long table already covered in gifts from Jim's adoring fans, as well as from people who merely found it politically or socially expedient to act like Jim's adoring fans. Ginny was among the throng already surrounding Jim, as was a hyperactive young girl who looked like a slightly smaller Daphne Greengrass. There was another girl there with blonde hair and big blue eyes who caught Harry's attention, mainly because she kept looking back and forth between Jim and Harry with an increasingly perturbed expression. Beyond that group, James Potter was shaking hands with a group of older and more socially important well-wishers. Harry recognized Dumbledore, of course, along with Minister Cornelius Fudge, DMLE Director Amelia Bones, and Chief Auror Rufus Scrimgeour. Dumbledore noticed Harry looking in their direction, and he smiled and raised a glass of punch in salute. Harry nodded back at him respectfully.

During the press conference, James had mentioned that this year's event was expected to bring in over 20,000 galleons for charity. As he took in the spectacle, Harry remembered his own previous birthdays and once more fought down feelings of bitterness. True, the past was past, and there was nothing to be done about it, but it still gnawed at him at times like this. Before James Potter showed up in Little Whinging the year before, it was the practice of the Dursleys to have him make breakfast on the morning of July 31st and then lock him in the cupboard all day while they left and did something enjoyable outside without him. When they returned, they'd all make a point of telling him how much fun they'd had. Then, they'd give him a gift. One year, it had been a coat hanger; another, a piece of string Dudley had found. For a moment, Harry wondered which was worse: to never have one's birthday celebrated at all except as a cruel joke or to have it coopted every year as a public relations event venerating a cultural myth instead of an actual human being. He concluded that even as staged and meaningless as the Boy-Who-Lived's Birthday Gala was, Jim still had the better end of the deal.

At 12:15 on the dot, Jim made a short and well-delivered speech welcoming everyone to the party, which was apparently bigger than in years previous due to the presence of a number of guest who would not have been invited in years past – mostly friends of Harry's, but also people like Arthur and Molly Weasley who did not normally travel in the Potters' social circles. Jim also introduced Harry to the assembled crowd, but mercifully, the older twin wasn't asked to give a speech himself.

After Jim finished, Harry made the rounds of guests, some of whom he knew quite well but most of whom he didn't know at all. He was pleased to note that everyone he'd invited had shown up, even if James, Jim and other Gryffindor types were giving some of his guests the stink-eye. Their loss, he supposed. He made a point of introducing himself to Scrimgeour, perhaps the highest-ranking official in the British wizarding government who was also a Slytherin alumnus. The older man shook his hand cordially and related the "_hilarious_" tale of the Howler Lily had sent to James that went off in the main office of the DMLE. Harry noted that the Scrimgeour, who had a reputation for being secretive and taciturn, today made a point of telling the story loudly enough for everyone (including James) to hear from across the yard. Harry wasn't sure, but he thought he could hear his father's teeth grinding from forty feet away.

Harry also took the opportunity to introduce Scrimgeour to Marcus Flint who happened to be walking by. Since his arrival, Flint had looked as nervous as a cat in a rabid dog factory, but he'd pulled himself together and made a decent impression on the Chief Auror. To Marcus's surprise, Scrimgeour had remembered his great-grandfather, Caractacus Flint, the same one who had been Prince of Slytherin in the 1870's, though there was no hint that Scrimgeour himself was aware of that title. Caractacus had been a legendary senior auror during the late 19th and early 20th centuries, and he'd been Scrimgeour's mentor in his first days out of the academy before dying heroically in Spain in 1938 fighting against fascist wizards loyal to Grindelwald. The leonine auror encouraged Flint to keep his grades up and, if they were satisfactory, to come and see him after graduation. Then, he shook Harry's hand and moved on to other guests.

"Did Rufus Scrimgeour just ask me to come and see him after graduation?" Flint asked with a slight tremor in his voice.

"Yes. Conditional on good grades, of course," replied Harry as he took a sip of punch.

"I nearly threw up on his shoes."

"I'm glad you didn't. You never have a second chance to make a good first impression. By the way, how _are_ your grades?"

Marcus exhaled. "I retook my Potions and Transfiguration OWLS last week. Those were the two I flunked the first time. I have another week before I get my results back, and I'm a complete wreck over it. How's your Quidditch training coming?"

"I played a pickup game against Cedric Diggory. He beat me to 7-4."

Marcus looked at him in surprise. "That's actually not bad for your level of experience. We might have just found our new Seeker."

Harry shrugged. "Actually, I think I prefer Chaser. Naturally, though, I'll take whatever position the Captain offers me."

The other boy rolled his eyes. "For Merlin's sake, Potter, stop trying to suck up to me. I'm already so deep in your pocket, I feel like yesterday's handkerchief." Harry laughed and then directed Flint's attention towards Ludo Bagman, the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, since professional Quidditch was Marcus's fallback plan if he didn't have the grades for a Ministry job.

* * *

After separating from Marcus, Harry made the rounds and eventually introduced himself to the parents of Justin Finch-Fletchley, mainly as an experiment. Both the elder Finch-Fletchleys were polite (naturally, as they were well-bred and it was an important social setting), but now that he knew what to look for, Harry could sense the barely concealed disdain that both of the Muggles had developed for him after just a few minutes. Harry quickly moved on, but he could hear Justin behind him whispering angrily to his parents about their rudeness. Harry shook his head sadly and headed for the punch bowl.

Along the way, Harry crossed paths with two more House-mates: Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis. After a year in the same House, the two were still a bit of a mystery to Harry. Individually, he thought he had them pegged: Daphne, the aloof raven-haired beauty who carried herself like a forgotten member of the House of Windsor; and Tracey, whose "ditzy blonde" persona was a calculated performance that caused less astute Slytherins to ignore her as a threat. The _mystery_ was how the Heir Presumptive of House Greengrass and a Halfblood being raised by her Muggle single mom were already best friends long before arriving at Hogwarts, not to mention why Lord and Lady Greengrass would treat the apparently unrelated Halfbood practically like a third daughter.

"Thanks for the invitation, Potter, unexpected as it was," said Tracey.

"Well, there's safety in numbers, so I invited every Slytherin in my class who I didn't think was an aspiring Death Eater. Don't feel like you're obligated to me or anything over it."

"Don't be stupid, Potter," snapped Daphne. "You invited my family to the social event of the season, one my mother has wanted to come to for as long as I can remember. Of course you think we both now owe you an obligation."

He sighed in a long-suffering manner. "You wound me, Greengrass. But then, you're both good at that. Lots of people still refuse to speak to me on a first-name basis, but you two are the only ones who invited me to use your first names and then _changed your minds_ for some frivolous reason."

"It wasn't _frivolous_, Potter," said Tracey angrily. Daphne tried to interrupt her, but she ignored her friend. "Draco and Pansy put pressure on Daphne to break ties with you. They threatened to make things difficult for me in the house because of ... you know." And he did – Tracey's status in the House was at that time even more precarious that his own. They were both Halfbloods, but he at least was the Potter heir. No one knew anything about Tracey's parentage except that her mother was a Muggle who had a liaison with an unidentified wizard.

"Well," said Harry, "Draco is no longer a concern of mine. Actually, he never was a concern of mine, but now he's ... I don't know. Is there such a thing as anti-concern? Anyway, I promise you both that you owe me no obligation for your invitation to this party." He smiled. "Of course, an invitation to the Potter New Year's Eve Ball is another matter."

Daphne's eyes lit up and then narrowed dangerously. "What do you want in exchange?" she practically hissed with eagerness.

"Nothing specific right now. Let's just say you'll owe me a favor to be repaid later ... Daphne."

"If you don't want anything, why did you invite us in the first place? Just to get on a first name basis?"

"Don't be silly. Your sister Astoria already told me I could use _her _first name, and after ten minutes of chatting, your mother adores me. I think she's looking for a son-in-law... not that I'm remotely interested in that right now, but give it three or four years and, eh, we'll see what develops. To answer your question, Daphne, I invited your family because I wanted to meet your father. And also to make sure your father met some other people."

Daphne looked around suspiciously and saw her father at a table some distance away talking animatedly with Augusta Longbottom and Madanapala Patil. "What are you scheming, Potter?"

"Not scheming, Daphne. Just ... building bridges. Your family is in the import-export business. The Longbottoms have magical plant nurseries and farms on three continents. The Patils have mining operations across India and Southeast Asia. If the three families pooled their resources, they could break the near-monopoly on imported potions supplies currently maintained by the Selwyn family. And for pity's sake, call me Harry."

Tracey gave him a concerned look. "The Selwyns are a powerful family, Pott– ... Harry. And they'll make dangerous enemies."

"Good. That's the only kind worth having," Harry said with a wink. Then, he gave a slight bow and left the two girls behind to whisper furiously about what he'd said. Tracey was right, of course. The Selwyns were powerful and dangerous. They were also flagrant supporters of Voldemort who had evaded prosecution with an Imperius claim even flimsier than Lucius Malfoy's and a much bigger pot of bribes. As far as Harry was concerned, it might be Jim's job to "fight the bad guys" with ridiculous heroics, but that wouldn't stop Harry from doing what preemptive damage he could before it ever got to that point. He had money, he had skilled political and legal advisers, he had the backing of House Longbottom, and in a few years, he'd have the status of Heir Apparent to House Potter. And he was of the strong opinion that the Death Eaters would be a lot less fearsome during the next War if they started off from a position of bankruptcy.

* * *

About half an hour later, Harry was standing by the punch bowl watching his brother still standing among a crowd of boys and girls. Jim's full attention was on Cedric Diggory, who was apparently talking about some Seeker tricks he'd picked up at a training camp. Neville, Ron and a few other boys were also listening intently, as was Ginny, but the other dozen or so girls clustered around them mostly seemed content to bask in the presence of the Boy-Who-Lived. In particular, Lavender Brown was standing at Jim's side in a somewhat proprietary manner. Gathered around were Susan Bones, Hannah Abbott, Astoria Greengrass, the pale blonde girl who Harry had identified as Luna Lovegood, Parvati Patil, and several others he didn't know.

Padma Patil was _not_ among Jim's groupies, however – Harry had noticed her across the lawn, sitting at a table with Olivia Kolumbiko, Margaret Bulstrode (Marcus's opposite number among the Slytherin Seventh Year Prefects) and Percy Weasley. Presumably, Padma was grilling the three about strategies for becoming a prefect. He'd been surprised the previous Christmas when Percy had mentioned that he thought Olivia should have been Head Girl. The older boy almost seemed to have a crush on the aloof Slytherin prefect. Harry was scanning the crowd looking for Hermione when she came up right behind him and said his name, causing him to jump and spill some punch.

"Gah! Don't do that! I swear, Jim Potter has an invisibility cloak and he's not as stealthy as you are!"

Hermione laughed. "Speaking of Jim, have you had a chance to talk with him yet?"

"Yes, we had a lovely family reunion when I arrived this morning," he replied.

"No, I mean one-on-one." Harry noticed that his friend had grown serious.

"Not yet. I wasn't really planning on one either. Why do you ask?"

She hesitated and then leaned in so they wouldn't be overheard. "He pulled me aside earlier to talk to me in private. He wanted to apologize for arguing with me last September and calling me a 'Mudblood.'"

Harry sniffed. "Really?! He's _just now_ apologizing for that?!"

"Shh," hissed Hermione, not wanting to make a scene. "He apologized the day after it happened, but it was the sort of mealy-mouthed apology one might expect from a sulking boy whose parents made him give it. The apology he gave today seemed sincere. A bit _too_ sincere, actually."

"How can an apology seem _too _sincere?" Harry asked in confusion.

Hermione hesitated. "Maybe I'm just being overly dramatic but from the way he talked ... it felt like ... well, like the sort of apology you might give to someone you felt you'd wronged and wanted to make amends to while you were in the process of putting your final affairs in order."

Surprised at that morbid description, Harry looked back towards Jim. Although it was too far away to hear clearly, it seemed like Cedric must have mentioned their Quidditch match at the Burrow. Harry noticed Cedric pointing at a blushing Ginny and then towards him. Jim looked over in his direction and frowned. Apparently, he was not pleased at the thought of his twin playing Quidditch for Slytherin. Suppressing a smirk, Harry headed over to the group of children along with Hermione. As he approached, the Lovegood girl looked back and forth between the two of them with a slightly nauseous expression. Finally, she focused her full attention on Jim, literally turning her body so she couldn't see Harry at all. Jim could still see Harry's approach, and his expression darkened.

"Are you feeling okay today, Jim?" Luna suddenly asked with some concern. "The wrackspurts and fury-flies in your head have all suddenly grown unusually aggressive." Several of the people around the girl groaned or rolled their eyes. Jim was one of them.

"Luna, I'm fine. And I don't have wrackspurts in my head because, as I've said a dozen times, _they don't exist._"

"Well, if you don't have wrackspurts in your head, silly, why did you feel the need to tighten down your Boy-Who-Lived mask before the party even started?"

Lavender made a face and muttered the word "Looney" under her breath. Luna didn't seem to hear it, but Ginny did, and she narrowed her eyes at the other girl menacingly.

"Luna," said Jim in annoyance, "I don't know what the heck that is supposed to mean, and I still say there's no such thing as wrackspurts. Or nargles. Or Crumple-Horned ... whatever they are."

"Snorkacks," Luna said cheerfully.

"Which. Still. Don't. Exist!" snapped Jim. "Although if wrackspurts can explain the headache you're giving me right now, maybe there's something to them." He turned towards Harry who had walked up to stand beside him. "But it's more likely my headache is simply because I sensed my brother's approach. What do you want, Harry?"

"To wish a happy birthday to my little brother?" Harry said smugly. "That's what this shindig is for, I suppose. Also, I wanted to introduce myself to this charming young woman and maybe hear more about ... rocksports and niggles? Harry Potter, at your service." He held out his hand towards Luna, but at this point, the girl seemed almost in shock as she looked back and forth between the Potter Twins in mounting horror. Then, she drew a breath as if to scream before abruptly fainting. Only Jim's Seeker reflexes allowed him to catch the girl before she collapsed, and he lowered her carefully to the ground before sending Neville and Cedric off to look for the girl's father.

Harry and Hermione knelt next to the stricken girl. "Okay, whatever that was, I didn't do it," Harry said.

"Shush, you," said Hermione as she patted the semiconscious Luna's hand. The girl stirred. Then, she suddenly leaned forward and began whispering into a surprised Hermione's ear.

At that point, one of the other girls who Harry didn't know spoke up in a snotty voice. "Humph. Well, that's Looney Lovegood for you! Always making a scene of some kind."

"Be nice, Marietta," warned Ginny in a low but surprisingly dangerous voice.

"Ginny, dear, I know you haven't had the chance to make very many friends living out in the sticks in Ottery St. Catchpole, but you're starting Hogwarts in a month, and you can do better for yourself than Looney Lovegood."

Ginny started to retort, but before she could, Harry stood and moved towards the other girl excitedly. "Hey, I know _you_! I should have recognized you from the start! You must be Vincent Crabbe's little sister. He's told me _so much_ about you! Harry Potter, delighted to meet you!" He held out his hand eagerly as if waiting for her to produce her own for a gentleman's kiss. The girl looked back at him in horror.

"My _name _is Marietta Edgecombe, and I am _not_ related to Vincent Crabbe in any way!" she sniffed angrily.

"_Really?_" asked Harry in apparent surprise. "But the resemblance is just so ... _uncanny_!"

Marietta's eyes flashed furiously, and then she turned and stormed away, followed by several of the other girls who Harry neither knew nor cared about. Jim turned towards Harry in annoyance.

"What was that about? She doesn't look anything like Crabbe."

"I know, Little Brother, but this is a formal garden party. I couldn't very well come right out and _say_ that I thought she was a boorish little snob, now could I?" Behind him, Ginny openly laughed at that. Ron gave her an angry look but said nothing.

At that point, Xeno Lovegood ran up and helped his daughter to her feet. Luna still seemed distraught and actively avoided looking at either of the Potter Twins. She whispered something to her father who turned towards Jim. "I do apologize, Mr. Potter, for all this drama. I think my Luna has had enough excitement for one day. I'd best get her home." Then, he led the still shaken girl away.

Jim shook his head. "Marietta was right about one thing. She does like to cause a scene."

Ginny turned towards him angrily. "That's not fair, Jim. You know it hasn't been that long since her mother died! And right in front of her, no less!"

Jim blushed, while Ron stepped forward. "Ginny, that's enough. We're guests here."

"Yes," said Harry with asperity. "Specifically, Ginny is _my_ guest to this party, seeing as how Jim only invited you and the Twins. And personally, I'm not at all offended by Ginny standing up for her friend."

Jim held up a hand to stop Ron from responding. Then, he looked at Ginny who seemed to be seeing the Boy-Who-Lived in a new light. "Ginny, I'm sorry if you were offended by what I said about Luna. And I'm sorry for her loss. I'm just a bit stressed out. It's been a long day, and it will be a while before I'm done. Everybody, if you'll excuse me, I need to go freshen up a bit. In about half an hour, we'll be opening the gifts. I'll see you all then." With that, Jim quickly left the group. Ron gave Harry an angry glare and then wandered off to scarf some more appetizers. Harry shrugged. His relationship with Ron had apparently moved past overt hostility, but that didn't mean he cared very much about the boy's feelings. Instead, he moved over to Hermione.

"What was that she whispered to you?"

"Well, it was a bit odd, even for wizards. According to her, it seems that everyone has tiny little invisible firefly creatures called nargles which float around our heads and infest the brains of anyone with whom we interact and successfully confuse in some manner. But that's not the odd bit."

"It's ... not?" said Harry, who thought the idea of nargles was quite odd indeed. Hermione just turned to look at him with an peculiar expression.

"No, the odd bit, assuming that what she said wasn't complete nonsense, is that the nargles that float around your head and the ones that float around Jim's head don't like each other, and when you get too close to one another, they go into a cannibalistic frenzy and start eating one another."

Harry blinked. "Ooookay, you're right. I guess that _is _the odd bit." As he spoke, Harry glanced over Hermione's shoulder and noticed Blaise standing alone near the door to the manor house aggressively not looking in his direction in a manner that would alert any competent Slytherin to the fact that he urgently wanted to talk. "_There are times,_" he thought to himself, "_when the Slytherin need for misdirection is just ... tiring."_

"Would you excuse me for a minute, Hermione," he said. "Blaise is over there pretending he doesn't want to speak to me. I better go see what he doesn't want me for."

Hermione shook her head in amusement. "Slytherins," she said.

* * *

Five minutes later, Jim was in a ground floor bathroom slashing some water on his face. He'd tried to do something with his unmanageable hair and for once was jealous of Harry's styling skills. Briefly, he thought about getting Lavender to do a "make-over" on him as she and Parvati had done for his brother. Then, he shook his head. At this point, the last thing he wanted was to be accused of following his Slytherin twin's lead even on something as inconsequential as hair style. As Jim studied his own face in the mirror, he shuddered briefly and wondered if there was anyone else capable of seeing the emotions he saw reflected in his own eyes. Probably not. People saw what they wanted to see, and everyone wanted to see him as the Chosen One, the Savior of the Wizarding World, instead of what he was: a drowning twelve-year-old boy. "_Heh. Or maybe that's just the wrackspurts talking,_" Jim said to himself with a snort as he thought back over his strange encounter with Luna. Then again, all of his encounters with Luna were strange ones, so that was nothing new. The boy took a deep breath and exited the bathroom. Then, he immediately jumped when someone called out his name. He quickly relaxed, though, as it was one of the few people in the world he still trusted completely.

"Oh, hey Uncle Pete," Jim said to his godfather, Peter Pettigrew.

"Are you okay, son? You seem ... upset. Is it because _he's_ here?"

"No, it's okay. Like it or not, this is Harry's birthday too, and he deserves to be here."

Peter snorted softly at Jim's sentimentality, as if he didn't believe Harry deserved to share anything at all with Jim. "Well, whatever happens, always remember that your parents love you. And while your dad may have some ... paternal obligations towards Harry, I'll always have my godfatherly obligations to you and that will never change. Got it?"

The boy smiled. "Sure thing, Uncle Pete."

With that, Peter looked around carefully to make sure they were alone. "And speaking of which, since I've got you here away from everybody, I have something for you. Your '_official_' gift is out on the table, but I wanted you to have something a bit more personal. One of my more disreputable clients told me where to find it in Knockturn Alley. _Do not_ let _anyone _know I gave it to you, okay?" Jim was surprised by his Uncle Pete's forcefulness and nodded seriously. From inside his coat, Pettigrew produced a small and rather battered-looking pocketbook bound in red leather. "Hide this away when you're not reading it and don't get caught with it, or neither of us will ever hear the end of it_._"

The front cover was blank, but when Jim opened the book up to look at the title page, he gasped. It was **Occlumency: A Beginner's Guide**, with the author identified only as "_Nemo_." The boy looked up at his godfather with a delighted and grateful smile. "Oh my ... wow. Thank you so much for this, Uncle Pete. I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything. _Really_. Say absolutely nothing! Your mom is scary when she gets angry, and anyway, I could get into a lot of trouble for giving this to a minor, but I know how much you want to learn this. _Please_ be careful with it, though. You'll be entirely self-taught, so go slow. The guy I got it from said to be sure you've mastered the exercises in each chapter before you move on to the next one."

"I will, I promise. And I won't tell a soul where it came from." Impulsively, he stepped forward and hugged the man. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Uncle Pete."

"Hush, now. That's what godfathers are for – to indulge their godsons. Now go and hide that and then get ready to open your presents. I'm eager to see what sort of cool swag you've gotten this year that your parents will fob off on some unworthy orphans."

Jim laughed and ran up the stairs with his new book. Peter watched after him with an indulgent smile and then took a sip from his punch glass. To be honest, he really was looking forward to the ceremonial opening of the Boy-Who-Lived's birthday presents. Well, one present, anyway. This annual Birthday Celebrationhad become a beloved tradition in Wizarding Britain, but Pettigrew suspected that today's festivities would be one for the history books.

* * *

**The next chapter will be uploaded on Monday, September 21, 2015. "The Birthday Party (Pt. 2)." Harry reunites with Blaise and then meets the mysterious Countess Zabini. Then, Jim opens his birthday presents ... with shocking results.**

**AN: The Harry Potter Wiki is vague about what year Marietta Edgecombe was in beyond the fact that she was friends with Cho Chang and is therefore usually presumed to be a year ahead of Harry. However, it's possible that she was Sorted after that and anyway there's a huge lack of characters in Ginny's year, so I made the authorial decision to say that she gets Sorted in 1992. For the same reason, Astoria Greengrass will get Sorted this year as well, even though there's a fanon consensus that she didn't get Sorted until 1993.**


	43. HP&TSE 09 - The Birthday Party (Pt 2)

**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY**

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

**CHAPTER 9 – The Birthday Party (Pt. 2)**

"_Would you excuse me for a minute, Hermione," he said. "Blaise is over there pretending he doesn't want to speak to me. I better go see what he doesn't want me for."_

_Hermione shook her head in amusement. "Slytherins," she said._

* * *

Ignoring Hermione's jibe, Harry made his way towards the house. When he got within twenty feet of Blaise, the other boy turned and walked through the front door into Potter Manor without giving any sign he'd even see Harry. With an annoyed sigh, Harry followed. Once inside, he found Blaise nonchalantly leaning against a wall next to the door leading to the billiard room.

"What?" said Harry irritably. "You're being all cloak-and-daggery. What gives?"

"First of all, daggery isn't a word. Second, my mom wants to speak with you. She's waiting in there." He nodded towards the door.

"Yeah, well, daggery _should_ be a word in any world that has _you _in it. And why are you both being so mysterious? She's had _two hours_ to come and speak to me and hasn't bothered. I did notice, however, that she found time to meet every eligible bachelor here, plus half the prominent married men, and to show each of them just enough interest to make all their girlfriends and wives jealous."

Blaise shrugged. "Everyone needs a hobby. Anyway, she planned on meeting with you later after the crowd thinned, but something happened that made her decide that we need to leave. Like, soon."

"What?" asked Harry, now concerned.

Blaise looked around conspiratorially. "She had a cup of tea," he whispered.

Harry stared at Blaise with narrowed eyes. "Oh no. You're not doing that to _me_, Blaise Zabini. Confusing people with sudden non sequiturs is _my _gimmick. Your thing is floating around at the edge of everyone's awareness until you nail someone with a sarcastic remark."

Blaise snorted in amusement. "Yeah, it is, isn't it? But anyway, I'm quite serious. Mom's had Divination training. Real training, not that crap they offer at Hogwarts. And she says she saw a sign of impending danger in the leaves from the bottom of her teacup, so we're leaving early. But before we go, she wants to meet with you, so go in and talk to her. And be respectful. She's my mom _and_ she's foreign nobility, so be _at least_ as polite to her as you are to Molly Weasley."

Harry sniffed. "I am always respectful to elders not named Potter, Blaise, even the parents of people as annoying as you." And with that, Harry swept imperiously past his snickering friend into the billiard room. Inside, Serena Zabini sat in an overstuffed chair next to the window as she delicately sipped from a tea cup engraved with a golden "Z" crest.

"Countess Zabini, I presume. Or should I say Contessa Zabini?"

"Either is acceptable, _Signor _Potter," she said in a cultured Italian accent. "Or even Comtesse, I suppose. I am of Sicilian descent with dual Italian and British citizenship and am heiress by marriage to a landed estate in France. To be honest, I never truly know where I am until I hear myself being formally introduced. So let us simplify things. You may address me as Lady Serena."

Harry sat down in a matching chair across from the Countess. Between them was a coffee table which held a tea tray, complete with service for two. The tray, cups and teapot all bore the Zabini family crest: a stylized golden "Z" pierced vertically with a stiletto. He thought it somewhat odd that the Countess would have summoned her own personal tea set for this meeting but did not comment on it. She was a Pureblood, after all.

"As you wish, Lady Serena. Blaise said you wished to speak with me. Also something about tea leaves that I didn't quite follow."

"Ah yes. My Blaise. _Il mio Passerotto bello_. He has told me so much of you, Harry Potter. You have made quite an impression on him and on many others. I expect great things from you, _Signor _Potter. _But_ – first and foremost, I am Blaise's mother, and I worry about him. Great people, often with only the best of intentions, frequently leave chaos and destruction in their wake, chaos and destruction that rain down upon those around them even as it leaves them largely unscathed. I worry, _Signor_ Potter. I worry about the cost Blaise may pay in the future for your friendship. _Le streghe siciliani_ have a saying: _Il destino è pagato nel sangue._ Destiny is paid for in blood."

As she spoke, the Countess poured a second cup of tea. "One lump or two," she said with a charming smile, as if she had not just been talking about chaos, destruction, and blood-soaked destinies.

Harry opened his mouth to respond with something sarcastic but caught himself. Then, he mentally rejected the next three progressively less sarcastic responses that quickly popped into his mind before finally settling for something boring but safe.

"One lump with lemon, please. Since you wished to meet with me but have not already forbidden Blaise from continuing our friendship, Lady Serena, there is obviously some way for me to reassure you that I will not bring any harm to your son. What would you ask of me?"

The Countess smiled approvingly at Harry's mannered response, as she handed him the cup of tea. Then, she opened an expensive-looking clutch purse and pulled out a deck of cards which she placed on the table between the two of them. "Shuffle the cards until you feel comfortable with them. Then, place them back on the table and cut them once." Harry looked down at the cards which appeared to be a rather worn Tarot deck.

"Is the deck magical, Lady Serena?" he asked cautiously.

"No more so than any other deck of cards in the proper hands, _Signor_ Potter," she replied.

Harry took a sip of tea while he considered that cryptic response. Then, he put the cup and saucer on the table before gingerly reaching out for the deck to shuffle it. "Blaise never mentioned any particular interest in Divination as a course of study. I do seem to recall he had little respect for our Divination professor at Hogwarts."

"Ahh, _Professoressa _Trelawney. An interesting woman. I consider her to be one of the most gifted seers of the current age. I also believe that she is a delusional and dangerously incompetent fraud. You may find, if you undertake a study of Divination, that the two descriptions are not mutually exclusive."

"How so?" Harry asked as he put the deck back on the table and cut the cards.

"_Le_ _persone ignorante_ believe that _'seers predict the future._' _Sciocchezza!_ A true seer is but a conduit. Magic itself predicts. Or more precisely, Magic declares an event that it wishes to see come to pass and then chooses a vessel through whom it shares that declaration with the world. Such a prophecy is not a mere prediction but a congeries of Fate and Magic. A True Prophecy _wants to come true,_ much as a river wants to flow downhill. And just as the river wears away at any obstructions to smooth its path downstream, so too does a True Prophecy shape a thousand tiny random events to inexorably ensure its own resolution. Magic itself speaks through _Professoressa _Trelawney, as it has through others of her line, but the woman herself likely never even remembers any True Prophecies she utters. Instead, she relies upon divinatory tools for her deliberate attempts at scrying the future, like a child playing in a puddle who is oblivious to the raging sea behind her."

The Countess reached out and took the cards. Harry took another sip of tea as he considered the woman's words. "You make True Prophecies seem almost ... sentient. And very powerful. Does free will truly exist for those caught up in such Prophecies?"

"You and I are as free as Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, Harry Potter. But if you read Genesis closely, you will note that it never says how much time passed between the moment God forbade them from eating the fruit of the Forbidden Tree and the moment they defied that commandment. Was it a day? A month? A hundred years? However long it was, the Forbidden Tree was always there, waiting for them patiently. So it is with True Prophecies. You are free to choose, but the Prophecy itself has the power to shape the world around you so that your '_choice_' is inevitably influenced to comport with its terms. And even if you finally escape the Prophecy yourself, the Prophecy still endures, waiting for the next person who can satisfy its requirements. True prophecies are wild magic – _'la Magia Caotica'_ as _le streghe siciliani_ called it in the days before my ancestors were driven from Sicily. Indeed, outside of house elves and their kin, True Prophecies are the most powerful manifestations of wild magic tolerated in the Wizarding world."

Harry thought back to what Iris, Ted Tonks' house elf, had said about the Time Before when magic was not yet bound by wizards and witches. "Forgive my ignorance, Lady Serena, but ... what is '_wild magic_'?"

She took a long sip of tea before replying. "Something I will not discuss further here in the House of Potter," she said with a grave expression. "The British wizarding government sends murderers, terrorists, rapists and thieves to Azkaban to be tormented for years by Dementors. _I Maghi Selvaggi – _the Wild Magicians who wish to summon _la Magia Caotica_? And sometimes those merely _suspected _of doing so? _They _are all quietly flung through the Veil of Death without the public ever learning their names. Be careful who you speak to and what you ask in reference to ancient forbidden magic, _Signor_ Potter."

Then, she smiled once more. "Happily, these cards are not so controversial. Through the act of wishing to know more of the future while working with divinatory tools, we invoke Magic within the boundaries set for it by our ancient forebears. In return, Magic shapes the cards or tea leaves or whichever tools we use in order to give us hints about the future rather than to outright shape that future for us. To modern wizards, such tools are no more frightening than wands or potions."

With that, she dealt nine cards off the top of the deck in a 3-by-3 pattern. Harry frowned. He didn't know anything about Tarot reading and had no idea what the various cards symbolized, but he assumed the "The Devil" in the bottom row was probably bad.

The Countess studied the cards for a few seconds. "_Interessante_. Seven of the nine cards are Major Arcana. Highly auspicious. Fate swirls about you like a gathering storm, _Signor_ Potter, much as I expected."

Harry considered asking why that was "expected" but decided against it. He'd talk to Blaise at school about it. Then, she began pointing out the cards and describing their significance.

"The top row represents your past. The Seven of Swords, the Wheel reversed, and Justice reversed. Betrayal and deception. A powerful but hidden negative force acting against you to prevent you from achieving happiness or gaining friends. A lack of accountability on the part of those charged with protecting you."

Harry straightened up in surprise. He wasn't much of a believer in Divination, but she'd pegged his childhood pretty well.

"The middle row represents your current aims and their likelihood of success: The Hanged Man, the King of Wands, and the Chariot. A decision point approaches - a moment of choice which will fix the course of your life irrevocably for good or ill. I see that you remain focused on the problems surrounding your family. Or perhaps your inheritance? Understandable, but see that those issues do not blind you to other, more pressing concerns. You are a natural leader and honorable too, after your own fashion, forging alliances through sheer charisma with those those who by rights _should_ be your enemies. There is a position of power which you seek, and you believe that self-control, subtlety, charm and an indomitable willpower will enable you to obtain it. You are most likely correct, but the journey will be more circuitous and more hazardous than you realize though perhaps not as long as you expect."

"Finally, the bottom row represents your future: The Emperor, the Devil reversed, and the Tower. A mentor approaches, one who may provoke distrust and fear within you and those around you. Despite that, he is the key that will free you from the shackles that bind you, and he will help you to achieve your destiny. Others will oppose you in your journey and seek your ruin. If you are clever, you can turn their treachery to your own advantage. If not, they will destroy you, and your destiny will remain unfulfilled. And ultimately? That destiny is to bring destruction."

Harry's eyes flashed up at that in alarm. "Destruction?" he whispered.

"That is not necessarily a bad thing, _Signor_ Potter, for the Tower can also represent creative destruction. You have the potential to become a powerful force for change, but for good or ill I cannot say. In retrospect, I should have done a larger card spread, but I thought our time might be too short. Still, I have enough for now. When the stars are once more in a propitious alignment, perhaps we may do this again and achieve a greater clarity." She scooped up the cards and put the deck back in her purse before looking up at Harry. "You have my permission to continue your friendship with _il mio Passerotto_, Harry Potter. Now, finish your tea, please."

Harry blinked in surprise at her abrupt conclusion. Then, he drained the cup before looking inside. The dregs were stuck to bottom of the cup in a vaguely spiral shape. He handed it back to the Countess who swirled the copy and then studied it carefully.

"Hmm, in light of other portents, there is definitely danger in the air. _Il Serpente Insidioso._The Treacherous Serpent. The mark of the snake with its head pointed down. Perhaps someone of Slytherin House plots against you or your brother. Perhaps a literal snake or something merely suggestive of a snake. Beyond those clues, I see nothing except that the danger is imminent." She looked up at Harry. "This is why tasseomancy is such a poor tool. More often than not, the signs left in the tea leaves are perfectly clear but only when it is too late to be of use. Regardless, I think it best that Blaise and I depart immediately. As with your notorious brother, _la fortza del destino_ will shield you from harm, but not necessarily those you call friend. You will see my darling _Passarotto_ at Hogwarts, but not before."

"You mean Blaise won't be riding the Hogwarts Express with us?"

The Countess studied him and then glanced down at his teacup again as if looking for confirmation. "No, that is not what I mean. Until next time, _Signor_ Potter." And with that, the Countess Zabini banished her tea set and then rose and left the room without another word, while Harry stared after her in befuddlement.

* * *

Minutes later, he was outside heading swiftly towards Hermione. From across the yard, Jim spoke to the assembled crowd, his voice magically amplified, as he opened each gift and described its contents for the public. _**"From the House of Longbottom – a Gringotts draft in the amount of 500 galleons."**_ There was a smattering of polite applause, but Hermione's attention was fixed on Harry's intense expression.

"Oh dear," she said. "Something ... Slytherin has happened, hasn't it?"

Harry stopped, distracted by her question. "What _exactly _do you _mean _by 'something Slytherin'?"

"Something generally alarming but also so arcane and overcomplicated that we mere Gryffindors can hardly begin to fathom it."

He stared at the girl for several seconds before shrugging. "Yeah, that's fair, I suppose. Anyway, I just spoke with Blaise's mom..."

"The Black Widow?! You didn't propose marriage, did you?"

"_**From Zonko's Joke Shop – two dozen Fanged Frisbees," **_Jim announced to more applause.

"No, and stop that! She was very nice and gave no outward sign of being a serial killer. Anyway, she's apparently into Divination and read my tea leaves _and _did a Tarot reading for me. And her conclusion is that there's some sort of danger around here. By the way, what does the word '_congeries_' mean?"

"A disorderly jumble. What sort of danger?"

"_**From cough the House of Malfoy – a Gringotts draft in the amount of 250 galleons," **_Jim announced. The applause was still polite but noticeably subdued.

"Well ... it gets kind of vague at that point. Something to do with a snake. Which could mean that a Slytherin will attack someone. Or a Slytherin will _be_ attacked by someone. Or maybe just that an actual snake will attack someone."

"So, you want to ... what? Tell your parents to evacuate the party because the Countess Zabini says some snake-themed event might occur?"

"I don't know!" he snapped irritably. "You're the intelligent and responsible Gryffindor. My instinct is to either run away or figure out how I can profit off whatever happens."

"_**From the Right Honorable Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic – a 1000-piece moving jigsaw puzzle depicting Hogwarts Castle and a Gringotts bank draft in the sum of 100 galleons,**" _Jim announced. More applause.

"Well, you know it's a danger but not what kind except that it's possibly Slytherin-related," said Hermione thoughtfully. "Have you considered the possibility that the prophecy is self-fulfilling and the danger is you causing a scene and making a fool of yourself in front of most of Wizarding high society and that awful gossip monger for the _Daily Prophet_?"

He opened his mouth to speak and then exhaled. "Well, I hadn't _until now_! How are you not a Slytherin yourself if you can think of that possibility on the fly?"

Hermione sniffed. "I won't dignify that with a response. Anyway, assuming the worst, who among the guests do you think is the person most likely to want to harm or kill someone?"

"_**From Peter Pettigrew, Esq., or as I like to call him, Uncle Pete – a handcrafted model of the Hogwarts Express," **_Jim announced as he pulled out the toy to show it to the crowd. It did indeed resemble the Hogwarts Express: a bright red train engine (though with a gleaming golden cattle-catcher mounted on the front which the real engine lacked) with six attached passenger cars and a black caboose at the end. There was a smattering of applause interrupted by an excited exclamation from Pettigrew himself as he pushed his way through the crowd in a panic.

"_Toy Train?!_ _It should be a new set of Quidditch gear_! _JIM! THAT'S NOT MY GIFT!_"

At that, Harry and Hermione froze, looked at one another, and quickly started moving towards Jim. James Potter, who was standing nearby, immediately drew his wand and yelled for Jim to put the train back in the box. But before the Boy-Who-Lived react, the train let out an unearthly whistle that sounded almost like an animal cry and started to writhe under its own power. Immediately, Jim screamed and dropped the train. Even from where he was, Harry could see blood pouring from a thick gash on Jim's wand hand. The train landed on the table, and its engine and first two cars lifted up off the ground as it let out another eerie whistle. The blood of the Boy-Who-Lived dripped from the razor-sharp cattle-catcher, and with a sinking feeling, Harry noticed that in its current position, the toy train did indeed resemble a snake poised to strike. It reared up and prepared to attack Jim again, but before it could do so, James lashed out with a Knockback Jinx and hurled the train away while Pettigrew stepped in front of Jim protectively with his wand drawn. Unfortunately, the train landed in the middle of the crowd of guests, most of whom began screaming and panicking.

One of the younger and less experienced aurors on guard rushed forward and fired a stunner at the train. Naturally, it had no effect as the train was not a living thing and stunners don't affect automata. Angered nonetheless, the train let out another ear-splitting whistle and then slithered towards the auror with incredible speed. At the last second, it leapt up into the air and impacted the auror in his left thigh. To the horror of everyone around, the unholy thing easily pierced both clothing and skin and then quickly wriggled _inside _the auror's leg, burrowing through his body as the man screamed in terror and agony. Instantly, he fell to the ground and started convulsing, his stomach bulging grotesquely as the train writhed around inside him. Over the panicked screams of the guests, Harry could hear James Potter yelling for everyone to get inside the manor house. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear Lady Augusta and Neville calling his name but he couldn't see either of them. He also heard a few pops around him as those guests who brought their own portkeys fled to safety. While there were both anti-apparation wards and wards against unauthorized portkeys set up over the grounds, they did not block exit portkeys. Harry was relieved to see Daniel Greengrass summon his wife, his two daughters, and Tracey Davis to his side as he pulled out a three-foot long silken cord that served as a portkey big enough for five people. With a soft pop, they were safely away.

Then, Harry was distracted by a different sort of pop, a much louder and wetter one, as the stomach of the stricken auror expanded and then tore. Hermione screamed, as did several others closer to the auror who were spattered with blood, while Harry fought down the urge to vomit. Out of a rip in the dead man's stomach, the blood-soaked train rose up and gave another hideous whistle before leaping out in pursuit of more prey ... _followed by two more identical trains_.

"My God!" Hermione gasped out in horror. "That thing can replicate itself with each person it kills!"

Harry felt a firm hand on his shoulder. It was Marcus who was dragging Harry with one hand while loosening his tie with the other. "Then let's make sure we're not next on the menu! INTO THE HOUSE, YOU TWO!" And just in the nick of time as one of the trains immediately started slithering in Harry's direction. The three students ran, but Harry's foot caught on something and he fell. He looked back towards the approaching train in terror. Then, a figure stepped into the train's path. It was Rufus Scrimgeour.

"_**PROTEGO!" **_the Chief Auror cried out, and a shimmering golden shield materialized in the train's path. The tiny gleaming cattle-catcher on the front of the train engine slammed into the base of the shield which immediately started showing signs of cracking. Scrimgeour's eyes widened. "Merlin preserve us! It's got an orichalcum tip!" Then, he yelled out hoping to be heard over the general cacophony. "EVERYONE! IT'S GOT AN ORICHALCUM TIP! _IT CAN_ _CUT THROUGH YOUR SHIELDS!_" Before he could say any more, his own shield spell shattered, and the train lunged forward towards the still prone Harry. Then, thrown off balance by the collapse of his shield spell, Scrimgeour stumbled between the two just as the train leapt up and penetrated the man's right leg just above the ankle. He screamed and fell to the ground. As with the auror, the train started wriggling effortlessly up into the man's leg, but before it could get all the way in, Marcus darted forward holding his necktie in both hands like a garrote. Swiftly, he wrapped it twice around the train at the gap between the caboose and the last car and began pulling at the two ends of the tie with all his might.

"A necktie?" exclaimed Harry. "That thing can cut through bone like water! How will a necktie hold it?"

Marcus snarled through gritted teeth. "Acromantula silk! It's the only decent necktie I've ever owned that wasn't part of a damned school uniform! _Now stop asking bloody fool questions, Potter, and come help me!_"

Harry jumped up and grabbed the two ends of the ultra-durable neckwear just above where Flint was holding it. The two pulled and strained while Rufus Scrimgeour screamed in pain. Finally, the train came back out of the hole it had made. With a triumphant roar, Flint whirled around with the train still caught in his tie, and then he brought it down as hard as he could on a nearby table. The foul thing was still moving, so he jerked the train up and slammed it down again and again, cursing it in anger the whole time. A cry from Hermione pulled Harry's attention away from Flint's efforts to smash the infernal device.

"Harry! Give me your jacket!" Without even asking why, Harry pulled off his jacket and tossed it to the Gryffindor who immediately used it to plug the large hole in Scrimgeour's leg. The Chief Auror was already semiconscious and moaning in pain. Hermione's voice shook as she struggled to contain her own panic. "He's bleeding terribly. Understandable, seeing as how his fiit was nearly amputated. We've got to get him to St. Mungo's. Help me get him up and in to the Floo."

"We don't have time for that," said Harry as he plopped down onto the ground and quickly began to pull his left shoe off. Inwardly, he marveled at his friend who'd had no Occlumency training of her own but was still able to resist panicking and instead apply First Aid to a horribly injured man. He also bit back his own anger that someone would put her into a situation where such poise was needed. "_We're kids,_" he thought bitterly. "_We shouldn't be in this situation, but somehow, it just keeps happening._"

"Why are you taking your shoes off?!" she exclaimed.

"Just one shoe and one sock, actually. Obviously, I can't reach my toe ring while I've still got a shoe and sock covering it. Think it through!"

By that point, he'd pulled off his left sock and removed from his pinky toe the tiny gold ring that Hestia Jones had procured for him a few days after his last encounter with the Dursleys. Quickly, he ripped open Scrimgeour's shirt and placed the ring on the old man's bare skin. "Give me your hand!" he commanded. Surprised, Hermione did as he asked, and Harry put her hand over the ring and his hand over hers. "Emergency Code Crimson!" he exclaimed, and with a pop, Hermione and Scrimgeour disappeared leaving a somewhat surprised and annoyed Harry behind. He shook his head and went to check on Marcus, who had finally slammed the train into the table enough times for it to stop moving.

"Where did you send them?"

"The emergency room lobby of St. Mungo's."

Marcus frowned at him. "Pfft! Not very Slytherin that. You've got a portkey, and you give it away to two other people?"

"Well, in my defense, I apparently can't judge weight limits very well. I had _expected _to go _with _them!"

Marcus snorted and then bent over to examine the wreckage of the train. "Hmm. The old geezer was right. There's a sharp pointy bit on the front of the train that looks like it's made of orichalcum."

"Ori-what?" Harry asked.

"Orichalcum. An alchemically-produced alloy of gold and some other metal, usually copper or aluminium but sometimes silver or platinum. Really hard to make. It's magic resistant, and if it's refined pure enough, it can slice through shield spells of all kinds. There was a question about it on the DADA OWLS."

As Marcus spoke, he and Harry looked to see that the general level of chaos was winding down. There were six more of the snake-trains – Harry blanched because that implied that at least two more people had died from their attacks – but all of them appeared to be contained in a floating sphere created by Headmaster Dumbledore. There were injured and crying people all about - Harry noticed James Potter tightly hugging a distraught Lily - but Snape, the Tonkses, and various aurors were administering First Aid as needed. Peter Pettigrew was attending to Jim, who sat on a table apparently in a state of shock while "Uncle Pete" gently wrapped a handkerchief around his bleeding hand and consoled him. Then, to his horror, Harry saw Hestia Jones staggering towards him, her dress covered in blood.

"Hestia! Come on, let's get you to a healer!"

"It's ... alright, Harry," she said in a dazed voice. "It's ... not my blood."

Harry froze. "What's happened, Hestia? Who got hurt?"

Hestia's face crumpled and she began to cry. "Those train things. They killed two aurors... and Elizabeth Podmore. Artie's wife is dead!"

Harry froze, horrified, as he recalled Lady Serena's warning about the price people might pay just for being his friend: _Destiny is paid for in blood_.

* * *

Soon, more aurors and healers arrived. The remaining toy trains were neutralized and collected by the aurors for investigation. Although there were three fatalities, the injuries were otherwise only minor and mainly from people knocked down as the crowd panicked, and the healers also passed out Calming Draughts to all the traumatized survivors. However, Jim Potter now had a brand new curse scar on his wand hand to go along with the "V" on the side of his head. Rufus Scrimgeour would spend the next three days in the St. Mungo's ICU but would ultimately recover, though his leg injury would never heal completely due to the cursed nature of his wounds. He might continue on with a desk job of some kind, but his days as Chief Auror were likely numbered. Despite that, several of the aurors at the scene congratulated Marcus Flint and Harry Potter for their quick thinking that almost certainly saved their boss's life, and both boys accepted the praise humbly. Even James Potter got into the act, and Marcus was shocked when the famous Slytherin-hating senior auror shook his hand.

An analysis of the package in which the cursed train arrived showed that it was indeed the package that Peter Pettigrew had ordered from Quality Quidditch Supplies. However, there were faint traces of house elf magic found on the box. While foreign house elves couldn't enter the grounds of Potter Manor, it was already clear that a house elf could interfere with owl posts, which was apparently how the switch was made. The detection spells used could not distinguish any one elf from any other of its kind, but the manager at QQS stated that the store didn't use house elves, so it was assumed that the same house elf who assaulted Harry Potter was probably the one responsible for substituting the cursed train for the gift Peter had originally sent. At the recommendation of Amelia Bones, however, all references to "house elves" were kept out of the press accounts, so that the mystery assailant hopefully would not learn that the authorities knew how the crime had been perpetrated. For similar reasons, Snape, Hestia and Harry privately agreed not to share the name "Dobby" with anyone they didn't implicitly trust, since a ham-fisted government inquiry would only get the poor creature killed before they could learn who its owner was.

As for the train itself, Albus Dumbledore and Amelia Bones both quickly identified it from bitter personal experience as the handiwork of the late Erasmus "Mr. Toymaker" Wilkes, a Death Eater who was killed in a firefight with aurors back in December of 1980, less than a year before the Boy-Who-Lived destroyed You-Know-Who. A master artificer and magical arms dealer, the Toymaker was believed to have been the chief weaponsmith for the Dark Lord. But even he had not been a Death Eater, Wilkes would still have faced a life sentence in Azkaban had he been taken alive due to innumerable counts of felony Muggle-baiting. A twisted sadist, Wilkes had lethally cursed scores of seemingly ordinary items and then reintroduced them to the Muggle world, apparently just out of a sick sense of humor. It was a young Ministry employee named Arthur Weasley who painstakingly tracked a dozen instances of Muggles dying under unusual circumstances back to Wilkes's handiwork, thereby paving the way for the raid on his home that eventually led to his death and the complete destruction of the venerable Wilkes Manor. For that, Arthur was awarded an Order of Merlin (Third Class) and promoted to head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. Despite Weasley's best efforts, however, samples of the prolific Erasmus Wilkes's macabre handiwork still continued to show up from time to time more than ten years after his death.

* * *

Late that night, an exhausted Peter Pettigrew finally stepped out of the fireplace in his Diagon Alley townhouse and shook the ashes from his cloak before hanging it on a nearby hook. He took a moment to pour himself a glass of Firewhiskey and then made his way to a patch of wall opposite the fireplace. Hanging from it was a moving black-and-white photograph of four fifteen-year-old Hogwarts students laughing and rough-housing together. As he approached the picture, the four Marauders stopped what they were doing and looked out at him with mixed expressions of disdain, anger and sadness, even from the image of the much younger Peter Pettigrew. In particular, the image of young Sirius Black looked out at him with utter hatred and started shouting muted obscenities, for the wizarding photograph did not produce sound. Normally, Peter found the sight of the enraged adolescent Black hurling silent vulgarities at him to be amusing, but it had been a long day and he was too tired to sneer. Ignoring the young Marauders, he placed his free hand over the picture and spoke the pass phrase. "No good. No evil. Only power." Immediately, the picture and the patch of wall it rested on both slid away to reveal a hidden room, one which shouldn't have been there since the picture had been hanging on an exterior wall.

Peter took another sip from his Firewhiskey as he stepped inside. To his left were boxes and crates full of jewels and galleons, as well as some Muggle currency. Mounted on the wall above them was an ancient family crest weathered by the passage of centuries. To his right was a bookshelf holding a number of tomes a few of which were too dark to be allowed even in the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts Library. The least dusty of them was the original draft of **Occlumency: A Beginner's Guide**. The copy which Peter had provided Jim Potter earlier that day had been carefully edited to remove some of the more ... politically unacceptable sections contained in the original text, but if the boy applied himself, he would indeed learn the principles of Occlumency from it. Well, after a fashion. Pettigrew could only imagine the look on old Nemo's face if he ever learned that the Boy-Who-Lived was studying Occlumency from his little booklet.

Next to the bookshelf were several cabinets packed with scores of cursed objects, including two more models of the Hogwarts Express that were each as deadly as the one unleashed at Potter Manor. It was a ghoulish collection quietly accumulated over the past decade, much of it representative of the mad sadistic genius of the long-dead Erasmus Wilkes. Pettigrew was disappointed that the Toymaker's little trinket hadn't eliminated Harry Potter despite the Tripping Jinx he'd sent the boy's way, but he supposed crippling Rufus Scrimgeour was an acceptable alternative. With a little luck, he could maneuver James in as his replacement, and wouldn't _that _open up some possibilities down the line.

Against the far wall sat a small table with an ornate sealed chest resting on it almost as if it were a shrine. Peter set the glass of Firewhiskey aside, pricked his thumb with his wand, and let a few drops fall on the chest. Then, he touched his wand to the bloodstains and said "I solemnly swear I am up to no good." The lock clicked open. Inside the chest were a number of glass vials and jars. Some were empty but several of the smaller vials contained hairs kept in magical stasis, each vial carefully labeled with the name of each person from whom the hair had been stolen. Peter hadn't used Polyjuice Potion for anything in years, but one never knew what the future might require. There was also a wand in the chest – 13 and ½ inches, yew with a phoenix feather core. He reached down and stroked it gently, and a shudder ran down his back.

Shaking off the sensation, Pettigrew removed one of the larger empty jars from the chest and unscrewed the lid. From his coat pocket, he withdrew a once-white silk handkerchief, now red and still soaking wet with the blood of Jim Potter. A discreet stasis charm had ensured that the blood would stay fresh until he got home, and after he put the handkerchief in the enchanted jar and sealed it, the blood would continue to stay fresh until the day he had need of it. Finally, he pulled a small velvet box from inside the chest and opened it. Inside was a gold ring inset with a ruby gemstone embossed with the Potter crest – the long-lost Potter Heir's ring. Peter smiled maliciously as he held the ring up to the light.

"That's always been the secret of my success, hasn't it, Padfoot, old boy," he said mockingly to the memory of the friend he'd betrayed and ruined. "I _always_ have a backup plan."

* * *

**The next chapter will be posted on September 25, 2015. "On the Necessity of Emotions" - As the wizarding world reels from a shocking attack against the Boy-Who-Lived apparently sent by a long-dead servant of the Dark Lord, Rita Skeeter takes up her poison pen, and Harry makes an important decision.**

**AN 1: Special thanks to reader "outside the crayon box" for helping out with Countess Zabini's Italian.**

**AN 2: "Marcus Flint" is an awesome name. It just is. It's the name you use as the secret identity for a super hero. It's the name of the mercenary played by Jason Statham who takes on a whole terrorist cell by himself. It's the name of Agent 008, the guy you call in when James Bond is in the hospital. Or maybe it's the name of the SPECTRE agent who PUT James Bond in the hospital. It is NOT the name you waste on a complete dumbass who blatantly cheats at Quidditch, who flunks his senior year of high school, who comes back for a makeup year and briefly serves as Draco Malfoy's _third-string henchman behind Crabbe and Goyle_, and who then vanishes completely for the last four books in the series. ERGO, the Marcus Flint is this fic is, at a minimum, on his way to being awesome. If I _ever_ get done with Prince of Slytherin, my next project may well be "The Adventures of Marcus Flint: Rookie Auror."**

**Well, that is, unless I kill the character off just as my readers all start to love him. Bwa-ha-ha.**

**AN 3: If it's not clear from the end of this chapter, I'll spell it out. Peter Pettigrew is hard-core. It always bugged me that canon-Peter wasn't used more effectively. He was always this cringing worthless lump that even the Death Eaters mocked and treated like crap even though he was the person most directly responsible for Voldemort's return. His reasons for betraying the Marauders were never made clear in canon. His reasons for following Voldie were never made clear in canon. Hell, the reason the other Marauders let him join was never made clear in canon, beyond the implication that James was once Gryffindor-Draco and Peter was his Crabbe/Goyle. **

**So, for purposes of this AU, assume that Peter was, in his own way, as smart and clever and as well-liked during his school days as the other three Marauders. Assume that the Peter you see here is what canon-Peter would have been if he hadn't spent 11 years as a rat for no plausible reason. Assume that Peter had very specific reasons for betraying his closest friends and becoming a Death Eater. Because he did, though you probably won't find out before Year 3. That said, while he is _a _secret enemy, he is not necessarily _the _Secret Enemy.**

**Oh, and if I haven't mentioned it, the part of Peter Pettigrew is not played by chunky 50-year-old Timothy Spall with ridiculous hair and teeth, but rather his smoking-hot 30-year-old son, Rafe Spall.**

**AN 4: Speaking of which...**

**1\. The part of Daphne Greengrass will be played by Georgie Henley from "Prince Caspian" except that she's aloof, sarcastic and never smiles. Oh, and her hair is better styled.  
**

**2\. The part of Astoria Greengrass will be played by Georgie Henley from "The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe" with the short bob-cut and relentless adorability (assuming that's a word).**

**3\. The part of Countess Zabini will be played by a 40-year-old Sofia Loren. Miss Loren's costumes will be designed by Coco Chanel and Edith Head. There are no circumstances under which Countess Zabini will ever wear a pointy hat.**


	44. HP&TSE 10 - On the Importance of Emotion

**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY**

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.  
**

* * *

**CHAPTER 10: On the Necessity of Emotions**

_**PANDEMONIUM AT POTTER MANOR!**_

_**BOY-WHO-LIVED NEARLY MURDERED AT BIRTHDAY BASH!**_

_**DEATH EATER SYMPATHIZERS AT LARGE?**_

_**by Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent to the Evening Prophet (July 31, 1992)**_

_Earlier this afternoon, one of the most anticipated annual events of Wizarding Britain was marred by horrific violence as a deadly cursed artifact was unleashed at stately Potter Manor during the afternoon fete celebrating the twelfth birthday of James Potter, Jr., "The Boy-Who-Lived." While in the process of opening presents sent by well-wishers – indeed, presents intended for charitable donations to the underprivileged! – our young Jim was tricked into unwittingly releasing the artifact which took the form of a model copy of the Hogwarts Express, a cruel mockery of a cherished memory from our collective childhood. The model train came to life and went on a rampage, killing two aurors and a party guest before it and the various replicas of itself generated during the course of its killing spree were neutralized by the swift actions of Chief Warlock and Hogwarts Headmaster Albus P.W.B. Dumbledore. At a press conference, Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, revealed that the cursed artifact bears the markings of the infamous and long-deceased Death Eater Erasmus "Mr. Toymaker" Wilkes, one of the most notorious servants of You-Know-Who. [See page 3 for an article about the so-called Toymaker's reign of terror that ended with his death in 1980.]_

_Director Bones was unwilling to speculate as to how a gift sent to the Boy-Who-Lived by Peter Pettigrew, a longtime confidante of the Potter Family, was replaced by the cursed item, though she assured reporters that Pettigrew himself was not a suspect. Interestingly, this year's birthday fete also marks the first time ever that a significant number of school-aged Slytherin students were in attendance at Potter Manor, invited one and all by the twin brother of the Boy-Who-Lived: Hadrian Remus Potter. Faithful readers may recall that it was this same Potter sibling's unprecedented Sorting into Slytherin House last September which provoked a public reprimand in the form of a Howler from his father, Lord Potter, over concerns that young Harry might follow "the Dark Path." True, Harry Potter did speak to this reporter of his strong opposition to the ideology of the Death Eater movement, stating that "Slytherin House has more to offer Wizarding Britain than just the bigoted lackeys of a failed dark lord who was destroyed by my brother more than a decade ago." But it is striking that the first public appearance of Harry Potter alongside his famous twin should be accompanied by the first major Death Eater attack in nearly ten years. This reporter can only hope Harry Potter was sincere in his assertions that he harbors no ill will towards his family over his decade-long exile from Wizarding Society. _

* * *

_**1 August 1992**_

Neville and Lady Augusta watched Harry uneasily from across the breakfast table, but neither felt comfortable saying anything to him. So far, Harry himself gave no sign of anger or offense over Rita Skeeter's remarks about him in the special edition of _The Prophet_ rushed out the night before. Neville was furious on his behalf over the thinly-veiled suggestion that he might have had anything to do with the attack on Potter Manor. Augusta, who was older and wiser, saw that the article was a two-pronged attack: Insinuate on one hand that Harry was a budding dark wizard while at the same time quote him directly on the subject of "the bigoted lackeys of a failed dark lord," a provocative statement which was certain to brand him as a blood traitor in the eyes of the more reactionary Slytherins. Both of them, however, were more worried at the moment by the fact that Harry was reading the offending article without any apparent reaction at all beyond calmly munching on a scone. Neville was reminded of the unearthly calm and poise Harry showed on his first day at Hogwarts after James Potter had sent him the Howler mentioned in Skeeter's report. Augusta, however, was more concerned about Harry's forays into Occlumency, a discipline sometimes abused by the unwary as a crutch to avoid dealing with painful emotions. Sometimes, a young Occlumens would go too far in suppressing such unpleasant feelings and, as a result, unwittingly turn himself into a heartless sociopath rather than deal with the pain of living.

In point of fact, however, Harry was _not_ using Occlumency to suppress his emotions at all at the moment. He _did_ use Occlumency immediately upon reading the salacious article, but only to the extent necessary to control his anger long enough to study the article objectively. Having done so, his anger was soon replaced by curiosity. Mentally reviewing the old _Prophet_ articles Augusta had provided, Harry recalled that Skeeter's earliest articles about the Potters starting back in 1982 were full of innuendo about possible marital troubles, suggestions that Lily was a gold-digger who had snared James with a love potion, rumors that James was probably cheating on her with some Pureblood, and eventually hints about accounting irregularities in the Jim Potter Charitable Trust. All of that lasted until Jim's fourth birthday party, after which Skeeter's coverage of the Potters abruptly changed from salacious to glowing and, at times, practically fawning ... until now.

"_Obviously_," thought Harry, "_the Potters – or perhaps Pettigrew – have something on Skeeter to keep her in line. But is she going after me because I'm not part of the deal and attacking me is her way of getting back at the Potters? Or is she going after me at the Potters' direction while they pretend to my face that they want to make peace?_"

Harry gave an internal shrug, as he didn't have enough information to guess which and wouldn't proceed against Skeeter until he had his answer. Anyway, while he stayed with the Longbottoms, he was fairly well inoculated against accusations that he was going dark, and he was planning on taking a more aggressive "anti-Voldemort" position in Slytherin House anyway, so in that sense, Skeeter was doing his work for him. Still, the woman was dangerous to his long term goals and would almost certainly be more so once he came of age. He mentally added "_find out what's up with Rita Skeeter_" to his to-do list and reached for another scone, politely ignoring the concerned expressions of Neville and Lady Augusta as he did so.

It was not until he reached the very bottom of Skeeter's article that he felt the need to reinforce his Occlumency shields so as to actively suppress his emotions. The last paragraph finally identified the three victims of the attack. Auror George Wyndham (_Hufflepuff, 1988_), Auror Xander Majid (_Slytherin, 1982_), and Madame Elizabeth Podmore (_Gryffindor, 1950_). The article listed their survivors, offered condolences to their families, and noted that funeral services for Mme. Podmore would be hold on Monday, August 3, with a public memorial service for Aurors Wyndham and Majid to be held the next day in Diagon Alley in the public forum in front of Gringotts.

* * *

_**9 August 1992**_

Harry and the Longbottoms attended Elizabeth's funeral together. James and Lily Potter were there, but Harry avoided them. Jim did not attend. It was a closed casket service, and throughout the proceedings, Harry tried not to think about what might be in that casket. Using the skills Mr. X had been teaching him. Harry had already isolated the memories of seeing poor George Wyndham die right in front of him so that those memories would not cause post-traumatic stress. But still, even with Occlumency, it was deeply troubling for the boy to think about the kindly woman he'd only just met dying soon after in such a horrible manner. At the funeral, he shook Artie's hand and gave his condolences, and the devastated man merely nodded and thanked him. Harry did the same for Artie and Elizabeth's son, Sturgis, who was noticeably cold in response. The boy suspected that Sturgis Podmore somehow blamed him for Elizabeth's death, and he was concerned to think that Artie might feel the same.

Harry's tutoring resumed on the evening of Tuesday the 4th (after the memorial service earlier that day). In most of his August lessons, Harry would be joined by Neville. However, Augusta had spoken with Hestia Jones, and the two had agreed that it might be best for most of their tutoring sessions with Tonks to take place at Longbottom Manor. Augusta, who was unwilling to trust her grandson's education to someone with no first name, contacted Andromeda Tonks who confirmed that her daughter had been christened as "Nymphadora." Suddenly more understanding of Tonks's preferences, Harry resolved never to tease her over her full name unless truly provoked. For security reasons, however, Harry's Occlumency sessions with Mr. X were still held in Room 13, although Hestia now oversaw them rather than Artie.

On Wednesday the 5th, Harry contacted Hestia to see if it would be possible to meet with Artie, and she told him that the older man would be back to work on the following Monday and she'd schedule an appointment for that afternoon. She'd argued with her boss and told him to take as much time to grieve as he needed to, but Artie had finally admitted that he found it difficult to remain home alone in the house he'd shared with Elizabeth for so many decades and that he needed some work to occupy himself.

The following Monday, Harry stepped out of the fireplace in the lobby of Podmore &amp; Associates and immediately wished he'd picked another day to come. The embarrassed secretary asked him to take a seat and inquired whether he needed any refreshment while studiously ignoring the sounds of angry yelling that were emanating from Artie's office. It sounded like he and Sturgis were having a row, and if the bits and pieces Harry could make out were any clue, it was about him. Apparently, the younger Podmore had accepted Rita Skeeter's insinuations at face value and was furious with his father's involvement with "_dark Slytherins_." Then, after some more heated argument, Harry clearly heard the words "_the reason Mother died._" Dead silence followed. Harry swallowed and tried to ignore the cold sensation in the pit of his stomach. The next thing he heard was the sound of Artie yelling "_GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!"_ at the top of his lungs. Seconds later, Sturgis Podmore exited of his father's office quickly, pausing just long enough to shoot Harry a hateful look before storming out of the building.

Artie stood in the open doorway and watched his son depart, his face still red. Then, he turned to Harry and, in a tired voice, politely invited him into the office. Taking a calming breath, Harry followed him inside.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, Harry. Sturgis ... well, he's not handling his mother's death as well as one might hope. It's been a difficult time for us both."

"I understand. In fact, that's kind of why I'm here. In light of ... what happened, I wanted to let you know that if you've reconsidered your agreement to represent me, I'll understand completely, and I'll be happy to release you and Hestia both from your vow."

Artie looked at the boy sadly. "Harry, what happened at Potter Manor wasn't your fault."

"Not entirely," Harry said quietly. "But would you and Elizabeth have been at that party if I wasn't your client? Besides, you and your son are both grieving. I don't want to come between you two at a time like this."

"And what about you, Harry? You saw George Wyndham die right in front of you, and you could have easily died yourself. How are you holding up?"

The boy shrugged. "I'm fine. That's why I'm paying for all these Occlumency lessons, isn't it?"

Artie looked at him strangely for a few seconds before finally speaking again. "Well, then. I appreciate your maturity and candor. I'll consider the matter carefully and let you know whether I'll be continuing your representation."

Harry nodded, but then Artie continued. "But for today, at least, I am still your solicitor. And while you're here, I have something for you. Something I've been meaning to get to you for weeks now, but one thing after another always got in the way. I think now is the right time." He stepped over to a cabinet from which he removed a small black marble dish that fit in the palm of his hand. He placed it on his desk, pulled out his wand and tapped the dish twice, causing it to instantly resize into a large bowl nearly three feet across.

"This, Harry, is _your _pensieve. You can resize it for portability by tapping it twice with your wand. And here's how you withdraw memories to place inside it for review or, if you wish, storage." He demonstrated by touching his wand to the side of his head, causing silver teardrops pour from his eye. With a gesture, he caused the silver liquid to float down into the basin. "There. The memory is now stored in the pensieve and is ready for viewing. All you have to do is lean forward and put your head into the bowl. Like this."

He demonstrated, and Harry followed suit. There was a blur of motion all around him, and then Harry and Artie were both standing in what appeared to be a large kitchen. To Harry's surprise, Elizabeth was there, along with another Artie who seemed oblivious to their presence. Harry gasped and took a step back, but the real Artie put his hand around Harry's shoulder, gently but firmly. "Shh," he said softly. "It's alright. Just watch."

* * *

"_So," said Artie. "That's the boy's story. What do you think?"_

"_Well," said Elizabeth. "I think I want to know why you're telling me all this, dear. You don't normally keep me so well-informed about your clients."_

_Artie grimaced. "I've never had a client like Harry Potter. And while I have tentatively accepted representation, I thought you deserved to know what we'd be getting into before we got into it over our heads. He's the estranged son of Lord Potter and the brother of the Boy-Who-Lived. The circumstances of his placement implicate Albus Dumbledore. And when it eventually comes out that the brother of the Boy-Who-Lived was Sorted into Slytherin and his father sent him a Howler about it the very first day, the press will probably have a field day. And on flip side of all that, the very fact of his connection to the Potter family means that we'd risk attention from Pureblood bigots and Death Eater sympathizers just by associating with him. It's a lot to consider."_

_Elisabeth's eyes flashed. "Artemus. Lemuel. Podmore. Answer me this one question: If you were a bachelor right now and didn't for some silly reason think you had to worry over your wife's concerns, would you hesitate for one second to take this boy's case?"_

_Artie looked down at the table, abashed. "No," he said quietly. "No, I wouldn't."_

"_Well, then," she said crisply. "How _**_dare_**_ you think that I would have any reservations on the subject just because we might incur the wrath of Purebloods or Wizengamot Lords or the mighty Albus Dumbledore! _**_I'm_**_ the Gryffindor in this family, not you! And I was taught by Albus Dumbledore that you always do what's right instead of what's easy ... even if what's right includes going up against Dumbledore himself!"_

_She took a deep breath and spoke more calmly. "And while __you__ were Sorted into Ravenclaw, husband, you've always had a lot of Gryffindor in you as well. That's probably why I married you." She reached out and put her hand over his. "Artie, from what you've told me, what was done to that child was ... monstrous. Simply monstrous. I don't think that you've ever told me of about a client of yours whose life story cried out for justice the way Harry Potter's does. I am __proud__ to think that my husband might play a part in winning that justice for him. Just as I have always been proud to be your wife."_

_Artie smiled, took Elizabeth's hand in his own, and raised it up to his lips to kiss it. The room then became misty and indistinct as the memory ended._

* * *

Harry looked around to find himself back in Artie's office. Artie looked down at the boy and started to speak, but was completely unable to do so. He blinked repeatedly and then looked away, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe away the tears that were filling his eyes. Harry simply looked at him for a moment that seemed to stretch for days, his face an emotionless mask.

In each person's life, there are innumerable crossroads where one must choose a way forward. Often they are invisible crossroads – decision points that seem minor or even insignificant at the time but which have life-changing results. Many, many years later, Harry Potter would look back at this precise moment and realize that it represented one of the most important decisions of his life and, indeed, the very one about which Lady Serena had warned him. By now, through months of hard work, Harry was almost a second-level Occlumens. As such, by focusing his mind and running through a quick mental exercise, Harry could easily suppress the unpleasant feelings he was currently experiencing and lock them away. He could tell Artie once more how sorry he was for the man's loss. Perhaps even pat him on the back in an approximation of compassion before leaving the office. Had he done so, it was quite possible that he might never permit himself to feel a single genuine emotion again for the rest of his life. But as Harry studied the man who had done so much for him and was now in such pain, he thought about the memory he'd just witnessed and about _why_ Artie had chosen to show it to him. And for the very first time in his entire life, Harry Potter _wanted to cry._

Surrendering to anguish, the boy rushed forward and wrapped his arms around Artie at the waist and gave in to heaving sobs of raw emotion. Artie returned the embrace tightly and closed his eyes as his own tears flowed freely. They held each other for a long time before Artie finally spoke.

"After careful _-sniff-_ consideration, Mr. Potter, I have decided that I shall continue to represent you and your interests as long as you desire me as your solicitor. And _-sniff-_ I shall continue to be your friend for a hell of a lot longer than that."

* * *

**The next chapter will be uploaded on Monday, September 28, 2015. "The Ice Cream Conference," in which the study group reassembles and takes stock. Theo! Draco! Gunther! And who's this Gilderoy Lockhart bloke people keep talking about!**

**AN 1: This was a short chapter. Sorry about that, but I simply could not bear to end with anything other than Artie's last line. Consider this a breather after last Monday's rollercoaster. **

**AN 2: To anonymous reviewer "Kelly," I may be totally misremembering high school physics, but IIRC, two Quaffles of different masses will fall at the same rate if in a vacuum. However, absent other factors, if two Quaffles of the same size fall in a normal atmosphere, the heavier one will fall faster because wind resistance will have more of an effect on the lighter one. If I'm incorrect in that, you can take it up with Mrs. Jumper, my 12th grade physics teacher. :) **

**AN 3: Happy Birthday shout out to reader "headphone harry" who was (briefly) immortalized as Xander Majid! The good news is you made it through the Auror Academy. The bad news is, you died due to a killer toy train. Ya win some. Ya lose some. :)**


	45. HP&TSE 11 - The Ice Cream Conference

**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY**

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.  
**

* * *

**CHAPTER 11: The Ice Cream Conference**

_**19 August 1992**_

School letters arrived on August 12th, and Harry and the Longbottoms went to purchase school supplies on the 19th. Making their way through Diagon Alley, the three stopped off for ice cream at Fortescue's where they met up with Hermione, Blaise, Padma and Justin, along with most of their parents. Countess Zabini was not in attendance, but Gunther was there, leaning with his back to a wall from a vantage point that gave him a commanding view of the room. At one point, Florean Fortescue actually asked the towering bodyguard if he'd like a chair or perhaps a milkshake. The _look_ that Gunther gave him had the man practically running back to his counter in fear. As for the rest, Augusta arranged for a separate table for the grown-ups so that they could talk about their various school-related concerns without the children hearing, while the children could talk freely without their parents eavesdropping.

The Muggle parents in particular where still somewhat alarmed about the "terrorist attack" at Potter Manor a few weeks prior, especially since most of them were in attendance. Augusta was quick to reassure them all that Hogwarts was considered one of the most secure magical places in Britain. That mollified them somewhat but not completely, as the Grangers and the Finch-Fletchleys were all four worried about "dangerous elements" within the school itself. And at that comment, all four of them looked over in Harry's direction with concern. Harry gave them his most winning smile, but it seemed to do nothing to reassure the Muggles. Justin, on the other hand, gave his parents a murderous look before turning to the Slytherin.

"Harry, I am _so_ sorry. I can't imagine what's gotten into Mother and Father. They've both taken a wholly irrational dislike to you and won't even say why."

"It's not a problem," said Harry, trying to make light of things. "Jim was probably rude to them or something and they can't tell us apart."

"Hmm. Perhaps so," replied Justin.

"Anyway, enough of that. We haven't talked since the birthday party, and I wanted to say how sorry I am that your parent's first exposure to magical culture ended so ... unpleasantly. I didn't see you afterwards. Did your family have any problems getting away?"

"Oh no. Luckily, we were well away from the center of all the action, thank goodness. And Ron Weasley's parents were nearby with a portkey in the form of a ten-foot-long string of Christmas tree lights that Mrs. Weasley was hiding in her purse somehow. I guess they need one that big for a family that large. Anyway, Mr. Weasley insisted that we join them, so we all went back to the Burrow for the rest of the afternoon until Mr. Weasley could arrange a temporary Floo connection to our home." Justin leaned in almost conspiratorially. "I say, did you know they have a flying car?! Is that legal?"

Harry coughed delicately. "So I've heard. And no, it's not. Mr. Weasley's a wonderful man but a bit indiscreet, so I'd appreciate it if everyone kept that little detail to themselves."

Justin nodded sagely and tapped his finger to his nose. "Right-o." Before he could say anything more, however, two more people entered Fortescue's: Theo Nott ... and Draco Malfoy. Theo said his hellos to everyone and then asked Draco with a badly faked smile whether he wanted to join them.

"You're too kind, all of you. Unfortunately, I'm here with my father, who needs me for some important errands. Perhaps another time. Theo, we'll meet you at the bookstore in two hours. Blaise, Harry, Hermione, so wonderful to see you again." He turned to Neville, and his sincerity lapsed a bit. "Longbottom."

"Malfoy," said Neville evenly. With that, Draco nodded to the rest of the group. Then, he turned and strode off in the direction of Lucius Malfoy, who was waiting out in the street with an ornate wooden box under his arm. Theo's smile lasted until the two were out of sight ... at which point it turned into a snarl as he sat down.

"Egregious little _prick,_" he spat out.

"Theo!" exclaimed a scandalized Hermione.

"Well, I'm sorry!" he replied hotly. "But I have been stuck with that little brat since June 20th, and it's been wearing on my nerves. And what really chaps me is that as obnoxious as he's been, this has _still_ been the best summer of my life. How pathetic is that?!"

"What was it like?" asked Harry with some concern.

Theo sighed. "His father has actually been a perfect host. His mother's rather imposing but she was rarely around. The biggest problem was all the days when Mr. Malfoy was gone and I had a choice between loneliness and spending time with _Draco_."

"But he's ... better, right?" asked Neville. "I mean he was here for nearly thirty seconds and didn't say anything mean."

"He's not overtly bigoted anymore, but he's still a jerk. For instance, if he were talking to, say, Justin here, he won't openly use the M-word, but he might... I don't know, make fun of his shoes or something."

"My ... shoes?" the Muggleborn asked in confusion.

"Well, it would probably be something both cleverer and meaner than that. I'm proud to say that I don't think like him so I can't really predict what sort of insults he'd use."

"Well, how has he treated you over the summer?" asked Padma.

"Oh, he treated me fine. He'll always be polite, if insincerely, to me and to Hermione..." Theo trailed off sheepishly as Harry cleared his throat softly and gave him the _you're talking too much about secret stuff_ look that he'd learned to recognize the previous year after the fiasco in Hagrid's hut.

"And why _exactly_ is that, if I may ask?" said Hermione suspiciously.

Harry started to respond when Blaise interrupted. "Harry did a Slytherin thing. Please don't make a big deal out of it."

Hermione was obviously unhappy with that, but she remembered her argument with Harry the previous Easter, as well as the long talk she and Neville had about how it was wrong to expect Harry to act like a Gryffindor. Obviously, some bit of Potter's Slytherin sneakiness that she would likely consider unethical if she knew any details had forced Draco Malfoy to at least pretend to be a decent human being. Malfoy didn't seem to be under the effects of an illegal spell, so it was probably just blackmail or something. And in light of how Malfoy had acted since literally the first day she'd met him, it would be almost churlish for her to complain about Harry using such tactics against the son of a former Death Eater. So she nodded once in Blaise's direction and then immediately changed the subject to talk about the coming school year and new goals for the study group.

The group talked amongst themselves over two more rounds of ice cream when Harry stood and said "Well, if you'll excuse me, I need to use the facilities. Blaise and Theo, would you mind joining me?"

Padma laughed. "I thought it was just us girls who went to the bathroom in groups."

"Wise Slytherins do everything in groups, Padma," said Harry with mock gravity. "You never know who's out there." With that, the three Slytherins bowed towards the two young ladies in the group and then made their way to the men's restroom. Once inside, Harry cast a privacy charm on the trio.

"'_Blaise and Theo, would you mind joining me in the men's toilet?'_ That was embarrassingly unsubtle, Harry," said Blaise with amusement.

"They all know we're Slytherins, and they're still our friends anyway," he replied. "Subtlety would be a waste of energy with them. Now, Theo, be honest with us. How was it _really_ at Malfoy Manor?"

"Like I said – surprisingly not bad. Mr. Malfoy was very nice. He taught me how to ride Abraxans and he paid for me to participate in Draco's tutoring. If I go back next summer, he's teaching me fencing. He, um ... sort of implied that he didn't really like my Father even though they used to be '_associates_'" – Theo actually used air quotes for that word – "and that he's happy to basically provide a foster home during the Summer breaks in order to keep me away from Father, although he never came right out and said any of it that bluntly."

"What sort of tutoring did you get?" asked Blaise curiously.

"The big four. DADA, Potions, Transfiguration and Charms. Mr. Malfoy tutored us himself. He got Os on his NEWTS for all four areas. Anyway, Mrs. Malfoy was gone a lot – shopping in Paris and Milan or visiting friends, supposedly. Mr. Malfoy was gone a good bit too. He's high up in the Wizengamot and also a British representative to the ICW."

"Hang on a minute," Harry interrupted. "Narcissa Black Malfoy goes by '_Mrs_.'?"

"Yeah, I thought that was weird too."

Blaise took in Harry's thoughtful expression. "What? Does it mean something worrisome when a Pureblooded woman calls herself 'Mrs.'?"

Harry closed his eyes in concentration. "Well, when someone like Molly Weasley does, it means she rejects Pureblood cultural norms, but I guess we can rule that out in Narcissa's case. I vaguely recall ... _something_. Some obscure legal significance to a wife married into a Wizengamot family calling herself 'Mrs.' rather than 'Madame,' but I can't remember what it was. Some weird bit of inheritance trivia, perhaps?" He shook his head. "Nevermind, it's not important now. I'll look it up later." He turned back to Theo. "Now, for the big money question: Do the Malfoys have any house elves and, if so, what are their names?"

Theo looked surprised at the odd question, and Harry briefly explained his encounter with Dobby that presaged the doxy attack. The boy was surprisingly indignant about being kept out of the loop.

"Somebody tried to kill you, and I'm just now learning about it?! I mean, I know I was at Malfoy Manor, but can't we work out a code to let me know about things like that before next summer? Like '_the rooster crowed at midnight_' means '_somebody tried to feed Harry to a pack of feral pixies_'?"

"Doxies. And we'll make that a project before next summer. Now, house elves ...?"

"Right, well, they do have one named Dobby and it's as weird and twitchy as you describe. And while that's obviously highly suspicious, it's not conclusive. Like I said, both Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy were gone a lot this summer, though never together. They're not close. I mean, _literally_ not close. They sleep in separate _wings_ of the house, and when they take meals together, they sit at opposite ends of a twenty-foot-long table and barely speak to one another. Draco's caught in the middle – he wants to earn his father's approval but he's too much of a mama's boy. Anyway, whenever either of the Malfoys left, they always took Dobby with them because the other three elves were needed to run the estate. Dobby's a bit ... off, and I don't think they trust him to do much beyond carry packages and luggage and certainly don't want to leave him unattended at the manor house. Frankly, I'm amazed he found time to sneak away and talk with you for five minutes, let alone interfere with your owl posts. And while it's possible that Dobby is aware of a plot by one or both of the Malfoys to harm you, it's also possible that he just learned of some plot while accompanying Mr. Malfoy to an ICW meeting. There are a few ex-Death Eaters serving as ICW delegates, and there are also notorious Pureblood bigots from other countries who might want to follow in You-Know-Who's footsteps. _Or_, Dobby might have overheard something while Mrs. Malfoy was visiting with some of her high society friends. I know she spent a weekend with the Warringtons and later went to Milan with Madame Bletchley. Both of those families are blood purists, though I don't think any of them ever formally became Death Eaters. That might explain why he wouldn't give you a straight answer about what's going on – he might not actually know any details."

"Hmm. So it's _probably_ a plot that originated out of House Malfoy, but it _could_ be a plot by someone else that Dobby merely overheard."

"You want me to corner him when we get back? See what I can find out?" asked Theo.

"No, it's too dangerous. One thing I learned about house elves this summer is that they're bonded to the actual _homes _they serve, which means that they can theoretically eavesdrop on conversations that happen in the house even if they're not physically in the room. If you talk to Dobby about this and one of the other, more loyal house elves overhears it and reports it to the Malfoys, you could both be in serious trouble."

Theo nodded at that. They talked for a few minutes more and then Harry took a moment to readjust his hair in the mirror while Blaise and Theo mocked him for his Sleekeazy addiction. Then, they returned to the other children. Once everyone finished up with their ice cream, the children and their guardians made their way towards Flourish &amp; Blotts to pick up their school books. There was a huge line out in front, as apparently there was a book signing scheduled for today by someone called Gilderoy Lockhart.

"Anybody know who he is?" asked Harry.

"Socialite, bon vivant, globe-trotting adventurer, and valiant warrior against the forces of darkness," said Blaise sarcastically. "He puts out a book every year or so about how he saved some obscure village in some far-flung corner of the world from the scourge of some kind of rampaging monster. The books are decent reads though the titles are a bit insipid. **Gadding with Ghouls**_. _**Holidays with Hags**_. _That sort of thing."

"So you don't believe he's all he's cracked up to be?" asked Hermione with a bit of disappointment.

"Let's just say I think there's some embellishment going on," he replied.

"I must say," said Justin, "that I was quite surprised to realize that in the wizarding world, the line between fiction and non-fiction is rather blurred compared to the Muggle world. I picked that much up just from reading a few books about _The Adventures of the Boy-Who-Lived!_" He and a few of the others laughed at that, but Harry and Hermione looked confused. They'd seen several books about the Boy-Who-Lived the previous year at Flourish &amp; Blotts but they were all history books. _The Jim Potter Adventure Series_ consisted of fictional works which were located elsewhere in the store. Augusta, who'd overheard their discussions, explained.

"A few years after You-Know-Who was destroyed, a wizarding publishing company put out a book about a four-year-old Jim Potter getting separated from his parents, wandering off, and having all sorts of silly adventures among Muggles before returning home in time for his parents to tuck him safely into bed. It was wildly successful among wizarding children ... until the Potters found out about it and sued. But after winning the court case, they realized how much money was to be made from such books, so they licensed Jim Potter's name and likeness to that same publishing house for the production of more _Boy-Who-Lived_ books with the majority of the profits going into the Charitable Trust."

Harry and the Muggleborn children looked utterly aghast at the idea of selling a child's name and likeness to a publisher, even if the proceeds did go to charity.

"I remember the earliest ones as being pretty awful," Neville spoke up. "Five-year-old Jim Potter rides a dragon and rescues a fairy princess. Seven-year-old Jim Potter becomes the honorary King of the Leprechauns. That sort of rubbish. The later ones, where he's just solving crimes and capturing escaped Death Eaters and things like that, are a lot better written."

Justin laughed. "That's because the later ones are brazenly plagiarized from better written novels. The last one I read – **Jim Potter and the Clue of the Screeching Owl **– was _literally_ the same book as a Hardy Boys novel with a similar title which I'd read when I was nine ... only with every reference to Frank and Joe Hardy replaced by Jim and his house elf _Slappy_ and with magic inserted into the plot in a completely haphazard way."

Hermione and Blaise laughed at that, but Justin had to explain the concept of "The Hardy Boys" to all the other children who were astonished that Jim's publisher would just flat-out steal a Muggle book and shoehorn the Boy-Who-Lived into it. By that point, the group was nearly to Flourish &amp; Blotts, and Harry noticed the Weasley family standing together in a clump near the door looking around nervously. Harry walked up to the group to greet them, accompanied by Hermione, Neville and Justin.

"Oh, hello, Harry! And young Mr. Finch-Fletchley! I hope you and your parents are doing well!" exclaimed Mr. Weasley. Then, his voice dropped down to a whisper. "Um, by any chance, have you seen your brother Jim around, Harry?"

"No sir, I haven't seen him since our birthday. Should I have?"

"Well, your mum and dad couldn't be here today. Lady Potter had to go on to Hogwarts for a faculty meeting while Lord Potter is at auror headquarters helping to organize the ... um, things that aurors do," he finished lamely. Harry smiled. As he'd said earlier, he liked Mr. Weasley a lot, but he was alternately amused and appalled by the man's inability to keep a secret. Not that it was much of a secret – the papers had been full of reports that the Auror Corps was raiding homes of suspected Death Eater sympathizers in search of more cursed objects that might lead to whoever sent the train to the Jim's birthday party. (Harry refused to consider the spectacle as _his_ birthday party in any sense.) "Anyway, because of that Jim came to spend the weekend with us at the Burrow. Unfortunately, he didn't make it through to our destination."

"I told you, Arthur. It sounded like he sneezed while he was trying to say 'Diagon Alley.' Who _knows_ where he's gotten off to?!" Mrs. Weasley said, looking as though she were about to cry.

"Well, I don't know where he originally went off to, Mrs. Weasley," said Harry, "but I know where he is now." With that, the young Slytherin pointed down the street to where an abashed Jim Potter was being escorted by an angry looking Hagrid.

"JIM POTTER! Where have you BEEN?!" she shrieked at the embarrassed boy.

"Ah found 'im wanderin' round Knockturn Alley," said Hagrid, disapprovingly.

Scandalized, Molly started to scold the boy who interrupted her before she could. "It wasn't on purpose, Mrs. Weasley. I sneezed while stepping into the Floo, and somehow instead of the Leaky Cauldron, it sent me to Borgin &amp; Burkes."

Molly almost went off again at that news, but this time, Arthur stepped in. "It was an accident Molly, and the boy is safe. No harm, no foul. Now let's get on in and get the children's books before anything else happens."

"Wait just a second!" exclaimed Hermione almost angrily. Everyone turned to look at her in surprise as she narrowed her eyes at the group. "There's a Diagon Alley _and_ _a Knockturn Alley_? Is there also a Horizont Alley or an Uncondition Alley?"

Percy answered almost instantly as if excited to be given a pop quiz. "Yes to both. They're wizarding communities in Sydney and Toronto, respectively. Why do you ask?"

Hermione just stared at him for several seconds. "... no reason," she said weakly. Then, she turned and walked back towards the entrance to Flourish &amp; Blotts with a slightly dazed expression while muttering to herself about "_an entire subculture based on bad puns_."

* * *

Finally, the sizeable group of wizarding children along with their parents made it inside the bookstore. Gunther, who was along as Blaise Zabini's chauffeur and bodyguard, remained outside ostensibly to "guard the perimeter." As soon as his employer's son had entered, the hulking man relaxed and stepped around to the side of the building, where he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a Muggle lighter. Hagrid, who was just about to leave, caught sight of the figure who was now leaned against the corner of the building having a smoke. Suddenly, his eyes widened.

"Gunther?! Is 'zat ye?" he exclaimed.

Gunther took another drag on his cigarette while pulling his chauffeur's hat down further over his eyes with his free hand. He gave no sign of having heard Hagrid's remark, so naturally, the half-giant came closer and spoke even louder.

"It is! It's Wee Gunther! I thought ye was still in Exeter. What brings ya to Diagon Alley?"

Gunther sighed loudly, exhaling a cloud of smoke as he did. Then, he turned and looked up at Hagrid who, despite Gunther's great size, stood a good foot-and-a-half taller. He smiled but with a hint of exasperation.

"Work, Cousin Rubeus," he said in a Devonshire accent only slightly less pronounced than Hagrid's. "I'm 'ere on work."

* * *

**The next chapter will be posted on Friday, October 2, 2015. "Meet Gilderoy Lockhart." _Finally,_ after months and months of bit players, the _REAL_ hero of the story shows up!**


	46. HP&TSE 12 - Meet Gilderoy Lockhart

**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY  
**

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.  
**

* * *

**CHAPTER 12: Meet Gilderoy Lockhart**

As soon as the children had fought their way into Flourish &amp; Blotts, they quickly split up to explore the bookstore. Harry, Theo and Blaise climbed up to a second floor landing, content to observe the gathering crowd, while Hermione, Neville and the rest went off to hunt down and collect their required text books or simply to explore. Like most of his peers, Harry had already sent in an owl order for the required books along with a Gringotts draft to pay for them, and he would simply pick up a wrapped package marked with his name at the counter when he was ready to leave. He'd have rather had the books sent by owl post directly to Longbottom Manor, but Flourish &amp; Blotts refused to send text books via owl post during "book rush," the period between August 12th and September 1st when the need for text books drove the bulk of their annual sales. After all, if a student actually_ has _to come to the store to pick up his books, he's more likely to make an impulse purchase or two (or ten in Hermione's case) to go along with them than if he just ordered a delivery. Most Slytherins, Ravenclaws and even Hufflepuffs handled school book purchases the way Harry did. The only students actually running around the store desperately looking for their texts were First Years and Gryffindors, the latter of whom apparently considered procrastination to be a House virtue. Even Hermione declined to pre-order her text books under the theory that searching for the required texts in the stacks gave her an excuse to explore for other books that that she might never discover if she owl-ordered.

Today, however, Harry was rather surprised to see that the Hogwarts students were outnumbered by a huge coven of middle-aged witches who were filling the store while waiting for Lockhart's book-signing to start. In the middle of the store (obstructing foot traffic, Harry noted irritably) was a large table with stacks of new books ready to be autographed. Surrounding it were several large moving pictures of the man himself – Gilderoy Lockhart - smiling and winking at the crowd. Harry's immediate thought was that he was a ridiculous fop, with elaborately over-styled hair, a blue velvet and satin suit and matching cloak ("Baby Blue," he would eventually learn), and teeth that gleamed a preternatural white. Harry wondered how anyone could take such a man seriously as a "wizarding hero." Then he recalled how many people considered Jim a hero for something he did as a baby and wondered how many others were credulous enough to believe that the stories from the "_Boy-Who-Lived Adventures_" were actually true.

The answer to that last question came soon enough. Harry noticed the Git-Who-Lived ascending the stairs towards him, accompanied by Ron, Lavender, Ginny and Dean Thomas (with whom Ginny had struck up a conversation). Along the way, Jim stopped to give a few comments to passing reporters and to pose for a few pictures. An excited little man in a mauve top hat who introduced himself as Daedalus Diggle stopped Jim and asked him to autograph a copy of **Jim Potter and The Night of the Werewolf**. To Harry's amusement, it seemed clear that the silly man actually thought the children's book was nonfiction. Curiously, Harry also noticed that Jim seemed annoyed for just an instant before hiding his emotions behind a mask of faux humility and noblesse oblige along with just a dash of youthful bravado as he cheerfully signed the book. It was a fairly convincing mask that would fool most non-Slytherins. Harry also noticed that Ginny stood a few feet behind him with her arms crossed while watching the exchange with mild disapproval. Harry smiled. The Weasley Twins had mentioned that she'd read all of Jim's books, but at the time, he'd assumed they meant history books. Now that he knew about the fiction series loosely based on Jim's life, he understood her hero worship a bit better and was pleased to see her reaction to the _real_ Jim Potter.

"Harry," Jim said coolly as he drew near.

"Hello, Little Brother!" Harry replied amiably. "How was Knockturn Alley? I'm curious to hear all about it since the papers all think I'm a future dark wizard. How ironic that you actually got to visit it before me."

"Very funny, snake. There was a Floo mishap and I just landed there on accident. I did have one interesting encounter, though. I ended up in Borgin &amp; Burkes' antique shop and while I was hiding from the owners, your friend Draco and his Death Eater father showed up. I didn't hear everything they said, but the gist was that they were wanting to sell off some dark artifacts in case they got raided."

"Hmm. Actually, Little Brother, the _only_ thing I find interesting about that otherwise tedious story is the amusing suggestion that Draco and I are friends. Believe it or not, it is possible and actually quite common for Slytherins to be polite and cordial to people they actively dislike or even hate. In fact, when in public, we're usually much more polite to our enemies than we are to our friends. Isn't that right, Blaise? Theo?"

"You said it, Scarhead!" said Theo cheerfully.

"Whatever, Potty, I don't even care," said Blaise with affected boredom.

Jim fumed at that. "So you're not even concerned that your ... house-mate is dealing in dark artifacts and may have had something to do with the attack on our home?!"

"Well, what exactly do you expect me to do about it? Chase down Draco Malfoy and arrest him? Why aren't you out talking to our father who is also the auror assigned to oversee all these raids on former Death Eater's homes that are all over the papers? Or maybe you plan to investigate the Malfoys yourself, perhaps accompanied by your assistant and sidekick, Slappy the Crime-Solving House Elf."

Jim's nostrils flare alarmingly at that jibe, and he started to respond angrily when Lavender stepped between the two brothers. "Oh stop it, both of you! You'll just cause a scene and get us kicked out, and I don't want to miss Gilderoy Lockhart over your lame family drama!"

Before either brother could respond to that, a door opened and in walked the store manager followed by the man of the hour: Gilderoy Lockhart in the flesh. The waiting crowd immediately broke out into loud applause which the man eagerly soaked up as he waved to everyone and flashed the smile that, according to Lavender, was the five-time winner of "_Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award." And Harry had to admit that it was indeed an impressive set of teeth. As the man made his way through the crowd towards the signing table, Lavender reached into her purse and produced a set of omnoculars, much to Jim's annoyance.

"I cannot believe you are such a fan-girl for that ponce," he snapped. "My dad says half the things in his books are completely made up."

"Oh who cares about those stupid books!" she said without taking her eyes away from the omnoculars. "I just want to know how he exfoliates. And just look at that _hair_! He must have spent two hours _at least_ styling it but there's not even a hint of any product!"

Harry looked at Lavender incredulously. "No product! Impossible!" Then, he made a grab for her omnoculars, but she slapped his hand away and shushed him as Lockhart prepared to speak. Harry rubbed his hand as he turned towards the author, and he was surprised to notice that Lockhart was looking back up at their group. As soon as they made eye contact, however, the celebrated wizard turned his attention back to the crowd downstairs waiting for his autograph.

"Ladies and gentle-wizards! Thank you all for coming out to see me on this most special occasion. I have one or two announcements before we begin the signing. To start, I would like to point out a few very special guests who I am honored to have with us. First, someone who needs no introduction ... but, _ha-Ha!_, I shall provide one anyway! Friends, I give you the Savior of our nation, the Bane of You-Know-Who, the legendary Boy-Who-Lived – _Jim Potter_!" And with that, he gestured towards the young Gryffindor and his friends up on the second floor balcony. Jim hesitated for just an instant (and Harry noticed that once again there was a flash of irritation) before the mask slipped back into place, and he smiled and waved for the loudly applauding crowd as photography bulbs flashed. Off to the side, Harry and his two Slytherin friends also applauded politely, though with just barely enough enthusiasm to ward off accusations of insincerity. Privately, Harry was fascinated to have now twice seen Jim's "_Boy-Who-Lived_ mask" in action as he interacted with fans, and he was reminded of Luna Lovegood's cryptic remarks to that very effect. He'd always assumed Jim had reveled in his fame, and perhaps he had in years past. But since Quirrell and especially since the birthday attack, it increasingly seemed that the title of "Boy-Who-Lived" was a burden that Jim no longer enjoyed shouldering.

"But, my friends," Lockhart continued, "there are many kinds of heroes. Some, like young Jim here and, of course, myself," the wizard put his hand over his heart and bowed slightly in a calculated show of humility, "boldly stand forth as beacons of hope and courage to the world at large. But others act more quietly yet no less heroically. Many of you have read of the shocking events that took place at Potter Manor not three weeks ago. But one detail which I found to be perhaps the most extraordinary was left out of that coverage, undoubtedly due to lack of space rather than any deliberate oversight by the editorial staff, I'm sure." Lockhart glanced over at the reporters from the _Prophet_ who were giving one another confused looks, but then, he continued without pause.

"I have spoken to several aurors of my acquaintance about those events, and they all agree that there was very nearly a _fourth _fatality on that awful day. Rufus Scrimgeour, our esteemed Chief Auror and one of the nation's highest ranking law enforcement officials, was severely injured and would have surely died had it not been for the quick thinking and steely resolve of three young Hogwarts students, one of whom I see here with us today. Ladies and gentle-wizards, please join me in giving a round of applause to the elder brother of the Boy-Who-Lived, _Mr. Harry Potter_!"

With that, and to Harry's astonishment, Lockhart pointed right at him and then began clapping profusely, and he was quickly joined by nearly everyone in the store except Jim, who was looking back and forth between Lockhart and Harry with a mixture of shock and mild anger, an expression which remained on his face right up until it was captured on film by a photographer. At that point, Jim's media savvy kicked in, and he immediately smiled at Harry and started clapping along with everyone else.

"Boys!" yelled one of the photographers. "Get closer together so we can get you in the same shot." The two Potters were visibly reluctant to do so until Blaise and Lavender from opposite directions practically shoved them together. The cameras started flashing, and Harry summoned up the old painful fake smile he hadn't bothered to use since early in his First Year. He resolved then and there to spend time in front of a mirror practicing his smile until he could reflexively produce one that seemed genuine without making his jaw ache.

"Well," he said to Jim through his teeth, "this is just ... excruciating."

"Yeah," Jim replied through a much more practiced though no less artificial grin. "Welcome to my world, snake."

After _far_ too many seconds of this, Lockhart finally spoke up, drawing the attention of the crowd back to himself.

"Yes, the sight of these two young heroes, scions of the illustrious Potter line, fills my heart with pride. Pride and excited anticipation, which brings me to my second announcement. No doubt many of you who are Hogwarts parents have noticed that several of my works are listed as required texts for Defense Against the Dark Arts in the coming year. Perhaps you assumed that the new teacher might be one of my adoring fans, _ha-Ha!_ but the truth is _even more exciting!_ For I can now reveal that I, Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin (Third Class) and Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, have accepted the post of ... _Professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_ for this coming term!"

That announcement was met by gasps of surprise followed by more applause from the crowd. While Lavender seemed quite excited about the news, the other students around her clapped listlessly with barely more enthusiasm than the three Slytherins could muster for Jim earlier. For that matter, Harry and Jim didn't even clap at all. Instead, they just looked at one another, as if bonding in mutual disdain for the pretentious dandy who would be teaching what they both considered the most important class in the curriculum.

"And with that announcement out of the way, let us proceed. These books won't sign themselves, after all. Well, I suppose they can, what with magic and all, but that's not what you're here to pay for, _ha-Ha!_" With that, Lockhart moved around the table and sat down in an incredibly ostentatious throne-like chair provided by the bookstore. Then, he pulled out a massive ostrich quill pen - that had apparently been dyed blue to match the color scheme of his outfit - and waited for the first customer to step up for his autograph. That customer was Molly Weasley, and she did not have any books in her hands to sign but rather a piece of paper. Even up in the balcony, the Hogwarts logo at the top was plainly visible. Ron and Ginny both gasped, the blood draining from their faces.

"What is she _doing_?" asked Ron incredulously. Although it was too far to hear clearly, Molly was holding out the paper to Lockhart and pointing at something on it. They did manage to make out the words "five children" from whatever she was saying.

"Oh no," said Ginny shakily. "Oh no, no, no, no, no. Please tell me this is a nightmare and I'll wake up in a minute back at the Burrow."

"What is it?" asked Jim in concern.

"Our mother ... is _arguing_ with Gilderoy Lockhart ... about the expense of having to buy thirty-five DADA text books ... in front of _half of Wizarding Britain!"_ the girl hissed in exasperation.

Ron but his hands over his face. "I'm just gonna stand here and be horrified with my eyes closed. Let me know when it's over."

Surprisingly, however, Lockhart did not appear in the least offended, nor was he responding in his former bombastic voice that could be heard across the store. Instead, he took the Hogwarts letter from Molly, studied it with a grave expression for a few minutes, nodded at Molly and then rose from his seat. "Ladies and gentle-wizards. I do apologize, but a matter has just been brought to my attention that must be rectified before we can proceed. Please be patient for just a few minutes more." With that, he left the table to approach the manager, Wilbur Blotts, who suddenly looked a bit nervous.

"That's it," said Ginny. "Mom is going to be dragged out of Flourish &amp; Blotts by the aurors. I cannot imagine how this day could get more embarrassing."

"_**Never**_ say things like that!" hissed Blaise. "I swear, I keep telling people not to tempt the gods of irony, but they don't listen!"

"Quiet, both of you," said Harry. "This is getting interesting."

By that point, Lockhart had made his way over to Mr. Blotts and begun talking with him. They were too far away for Harry to hear anything, but the body language was fascinating. Lockhart talked reasonably with a cheerful expression on his face while gesturing amiably with his hands. Blotts suddenly looked a bit sick. Lockhart pointed to the cash register at the front of the store and then laughed as if he'd told a hilarious joke. Blotts suddenly looked a bit frightened. Lockhart put his hand on Mr. Blott's shoulder and gave him a look of polite concern as he spoke. Blotts shuddered visibly and then shook his head to say "_no_" to something. Then, Lockhart patted Mr. Blotts warmly on the back before returning to the signing desk while Blotts ran off gesturing wildly at several of his employees. Finally, Lockhart addressed the crowd.

"Ladies and Gentle-wizards, I do apologize to you all. It appears that a miscommunication has been made betwixt myself and the good Mr. Blotts that has led to an unfortunate error in the Hogwarts student letters. I take full responsibility as I am between secretaries at the moment and have allowed myself to become slapdash with my correspondence. _Please _do not hold my blunder against Mr. Blotts or his fine establishment."

With that, everyone looked at Blotts, who returned a wild glare and a slightly hysterical smile that informed all the Slytherins present and half the Ravenclaws that the "blunder" had indeed been entirely Blotts's fault and that, most likely, it was _not_ a "blunder" but rather a deliberate attempt to cheat someone that had just blown up in his face. Whether he'd been cheating Lockhart, the Hogwarts students and their parents, or all of the above was unknown. Meanwhile, Lockhart picked up one of the books from the table and held it up to the crowd.

"You see, friends, the books on sale today which I will be autographing are special editions of seven of my prior publications as well as my newest work, **Magical Me**." Behind the man, one of the large moving pictures of Gilderoy Lockhart held up a copy of said book and smiled to the crowd while showing off the cover. The book cover _also_ contained a moving picture of Gilderoy Lockhart which gave a thumbs-up gesture to the crowd. Then, the two images of Lockhart gave exaggerated winks to one another.

"In addition to new leather-bound covers and a personalized autograph by your humble wordsmith, each new edition of the books on the Hogwarts supply list also contains a special added bonus." He opened the back of the book, and from inside a pocket built into the back cover, he removed a smaller, soft-cover booklet. "Each book comes with a special removable appendix bound in a beautiful leatherette cover which provides detailed information on the various dark creatures discussed within the larger works – their histories, strengths, weaknesses and other peculiarities – as well as an in-depth discussion of each spell used within the book during the course of my efforts to bring those foul creatures to heel. It is the appendices of the seven books which are required for my future students at Hogwarts, a fact which should have been made clear in the Hogwarts supply letters but sadly was not. Now, the reason for the five-galleon retail price for each of these books - aside from the pocket part and, of course, the intrinsic value of my autograph, _ha-Ha!_ \- is that part of the profits from each sale will go to St. Mungo's Hospital, specifically to provide additional funding for the Janus Thickey Long Term and Permanent Care Ward." At that, many in the crowd began to applaud Lockhart's generosity and civic spirit.

"_However,_ I would never be so crass as to make any child's education conditional on a charitable donation, even to a cause as worthy as that. I realize that many of you have already purchased copies of one or more of the books on sale today in earlier editions and may not wish to purchase another copy either for charity or for the appendix. Likewise, many of you may have more than one child at Hogwarts, and it would be foolishly redundant to ask you to purchase multiple copies. For those reasons, I have arranged for copies of the various appendices to be available separately, with all seven booklets bound together into a single volume. These can be found at the front of the store, where Mr. Blotts has kindly placed them underneath the counter in a box marked 'cleaning supplies' which is also covered with a heavy sheet, no doubt to prevent them from getting dusty, I suppose. These student appendices may be purchased separately at a cost of..."

Lockhart paused at that point and snapped his fingers several times as if he'd forgotten something. "So sorry all. My mind's just like_ a sieve _today! Mr. Blotts, how much are the separate appendices retailing for? Was it two galleons?" He smiled at Mr. Blotts. "Or only one?"

Blotts was silent for a second before he spoke. "One galleon, Mr. Lockhart," he said in flat, somewhat defeated voice. The crowd murmured appreciatively at the remarkably low price.

"Ah, yes. One galleon per booklet. Or five galleons per book if you want to purchase one of the complete new edition books with an appendix for that book included in the back." He turned back to Molly and beamed at her. _"Except for you_, dear lady. For bringing this regrettable mistake to my attention, I _insist_ on giving you a full copy of all seven books, plus a copy of **Magical Me**, at no cost."

Molly gasped and then tittered like a school girl.

"Now then, dear lady. To whom should I make out the inscription."

"Oh, er, make it out to Molly. Um, she's my daughter."

Up in the balcony, Harry summoned all of his reserves of Occlumency to avoid laughing out loud at that last exchange. Blaise, meanwhile, merely stroked his chin as if suddenly fascinated by the wizarding author.

"Do they have any spells we can learn at Hogwarts to erase this from my memory forever?" said Ginny.

"They're heavily restricted," said Ron bitterly. "Maybe we could just take turns hitting each other in the head with bricks until we get amnesia."

"Well, on the bright side," said Jim, "based on all his charity work and how he responded to Mrs. Weasley, he doesn't seem to be evil or anything."

"Please!" said Harry contemptuously. "All that guff only makes him _more_ suspicious in my book!"

"Oh shut up, Harry," snapped Lavender. "You're just jealous of his hair!"

* * *

After the initial Lockhart spectacle concluded, Harry, Blaise and Theo quickly became bored with watching middle-aged housewives ask for autographs from the man, all the while gushing madly about how noble and courageous he was, and so they withdrew to a private reading room to discuss their observations. Harry thought Lockhart was a fraud and a con-man, while Blaise was convinced there was more to him than met the eye. For his part, Theo was confident that the man was neither a Death Eater nor a clever disguise for the Dark Lord himself, which could only be a step up from what they'd had the year before. After an hour, the trio went down stairs to complete their purchases and hand Theo off to the Malfoys for the remainder of Summer break. It was at that point that Harry learned that he'd completely missed all the real excitement.

"_What do you MEAN Lucius Malfoy and Arthur Weasley got into a fistfight_?!" he exclaimed to Hermione in complete astonishment.

"Exactly what I said," Hermione replied. "Malfoy and son crossed paths with the Weasleys and Jim as they were leaving. Words were exchanged on the topic of what makes a '_respectable wizard_,' and the next thing I knew, the two were rolling around on the floor while Draco, Jim, Ron and the Twins were cheering them on and Ginny and Percy were just standing there aghast. I don't know if it made things better or worse when Hagrid showed up and separated them by _literally_ grabbing them each by the scruff of the neck. Mr. Malfoy then said a few unkind remarks about everyone's relative income levels and then stormed out followed by Draco who stopped just long enough to ask me to let Theo know that they'd be waiting at Summerisle's and to not be late for dinner."

"That. Makes. No. Sense!" Harry exclaimed.

"Of course it does," said Blaise affably. "It's quarter of five and Summerisle's doesn't take walk-in diners after six."

"THAT'S NOT WHAT I ...!" Harry's exclamation stopped abruptly as he saw Blaise's mischievous grin. "You _know _what I mean. Lucius Lord Malfoy, head of the Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy? Getting into a fistfight with Arthur Weasley in a crowded public store? It's ridiculous!"

"Why?" asked Neville rather crossly. "What's wrong with Arthur Weasley that he's not good enough to punch Lucius Malfoy in the face?!"

"That's not ... _What_?!" Harry rubbed his temples for a few seconds before continuing more calmly. "Neville, I can hardly even count all the things wrong with that sentence. First of all, Mr. Weasley could lose his job by assaulting a Lord of the Wizengamot. Second, Malfoy is Lord of an Ancient and Noble House. People like that don't get into bare-knuckle brawls _anywhere_. If Malfoy had _hired an assassin_ to murder Mr. Weasley, it would have been more plausible than the two getting into a fistfight like common street thugs. And thirdly, it's not that Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy don't travel in the same social circles. It's more like they're not even in the same social plane. It would be like me challenging the waiter at Fortescue's to a duel because he forgot to bring me a spoon with my ice cream."

"Actually, Harry," interrupted Blaise, "the two aren't _that_ far apart. Mr. Weasley does sit on the Wizengamot. He's got one vote by virtue of his office and another for that Order of Merlin he got for his role in bringing Erasmus Wilkes to justice. He's also the Chairman of the Wizengamot Muggle Affairs Committee. And believe it or not, the Weasleys _are_ a Noble family."

"No they're not!" Potter countered. "I know those rolls like the back of my hand by this point, and the Weasleys aren't on it."

"You know the _active_ rolls, Harry," said Neville. "They don't get _a vote_ because the family isn't rich and doesn't have enough money to pay the annual dues on their seat. But Mr. Weasley is indeed entitled to many of the privileges of being Head of a Noble family."

"How much are the dues?" Hermione asked.

"Fifty-thousand galleons a year for a Noble family, and a hundred-thousand for one that's Ancient and Noble," said Theo causing Hermione to gasp in surprise.

"Exactly. The Weasleys can't afford to pay to keep their seat active," added Blaise. "Nor can any other family pay the dues for them and gain their support because Mr. Weasley suffers from that most foul and pernicious of social diseases known as '_honesty.' _So their seat sits empty even as Lords Crabbe, Goyle and Parkinson exercise their votes however Lord Malfoy directs because they've sworn fealty to his House."

Harry inhaled slowly and shook his head. "No. No, there's something more going on. Draco and Ron nearly got into a fight on the train ride to Hogwarts our first year and it was obvious that they'd never even met each other before." He turned to Theo.

"Theo, I have a mission for you."

The other boy's eyebrows shot up, and he smirked at his friend. "Agent Nott, reporting for duty, sir. What do you need?"

"When you get back to Malfoy Manor, check out their library for any references to the Weasleys, anything in the past history of the two families that might explain their current and wholly irrational disdain for each other."

Theo snapped to attention and gave Harry a military salute. "Aye-aye, Captain."

Hermione rolled her eyes at that. "Oh joy," she said. "You're developing your own _spy network_ now. All we need are wristwatch communicators and an Aston Martin, and we'll be ready to take on SPECTRE." Harry and all the other Purebloods just looked at her blankly. "_Never mind!_ I'm not about to waste the rest of the day explaining James Bond to you lot. Get Justin to do it."

With that, the Muggleborn turned and went back into Flourish &amp; Blotts to finish her shopping, brushing past a bemused Justin Finch-Fletchley who had arrived just in time for the end of that conversation. He turned back to his young friends. "Right-O. So there's this Muggle chap who works as an agent for Her Majesty's Secret Service. His name is Bond. James Bond."

* * *

**The next chapter will be uploaded on October 5, 2015. "Modes of Transportation," in which the kids will make their way to Hogwarts, whether by train, flying car, or the mysterious "Slytherin Path." Also, Hermione learns about nargles and wrackspurts, two words that will haunt her dreams for years to come.  
**

**AN 1: I'm coming to love Justin Finch-Fletchley. I'm writing him as someone coming from a very long line of "upper class British twits" who could very easily have gone to Eton and become a Muggle Draco. But instead, he goes to Hogwarts where he is surprised to find that he's part of a disliked and discriminated-against minority group and, as a result, develops depth and empathy. **

**AN 2: I had the oddest experience earlier this week. I got a guest review (since deleted) from someone purporting to be HorusTheAvenger accusing me of plagiarism and demanding I take down the story. I actually searched for HorusTheAvenger on this site and he/she is indeed admin for an anti-plagiarism board here, but his/her page clearly says that anyone who posts under that title without being logged in is an impostor. I had no idea that this place was home to such cloak-and-dagger activities.:) **

**AN 3: UPDATE SCHEDULE! I plan to continue writing on Harry Potter and the Secret Enemy through October and hopefully finish it so that I can continue my update schedule through November. _However_, I definitely plan to participate in NaMoWriMo this year, and since my goal is a publishable novel, I will not be writing fanfiction at all during the month of November. Accordingly, while I hope to continue regular Secret Enemy postings until Year 2's conclusion, I do not expect Year 3 (tentatively entitled "Harry Potter and the Death Eater Menace") until January. **

**On a related note, I am still trying to decide exactly what I will be writing for NaMoWriMo. My current ideas are:**

**1\. A YA fiction novel in the vein of Harry Potter but set in America with a 15-year-old protagonist who's just been dragged against his (or possibly her) will to a private school for young magic users.**

**2\. A fantasy-Western mashup which is set in what is basically the American West circa 1880 except that magic is real and the continent is populated by humans of all stripes, High Elves who fled from France to escape the Revolution, Dwarven robber barons, Gnomish socialist agitators, Orcish train robbers, etc. **

**3\. A "Heroes" type setting in which ordinary people gain superpowers and how the world reacts to their existence.  
**

**Do any of those sound remotely interesting to my regular readers now that you've gotten a feel for my general writing style?**


	47. HP&TSE 13 - Modes of Transportation

**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY **

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

* * *

**CHAPTER 13: Modes of Transportation**

_**1 September 1992**_

By September 1st, Neville Longbottom had become fairly competent at Potions and Transfiguration, while Harry Potter had become equally proficient at swimming, though he _still _didn't have a tan. At 10:30 a.m., the two young wizards along with Lady Augusta activated a portkey that transported them to a secluded alleyway across the street from King's Cross Station. Harry and Neville each carried a shoulder bag containing, among other things, their shrunken school trunks. Neville also carried a small sealed terrarium containing Trevor the Somewhat Poisonous Toad. The boy had decided that Trevor made a perfectly decent pet so long as no one handled him without wearing gloves and he wasn't allowed run of the school.

As they made their way to Platform 9¾, the two encountered several fellow students along their families. Harry also noticed that the Lovegood girl was there along with her father, Xenophilius, who was busy talking to several other parents about his newspaper, _The Quibbler_. While Neville was talking with some of their Gryffindor friends, Harry walked over to say hello to the girl.

"Good morning, Miss Lovegood. I hope you're recovered from Jim's party."

"I am, Mr. Potter, thank you."

"Please, call me Harry."

"Only if you will call me Luna."

He bowed slightly. "Luna it is."

She smiled at that. "I'm glad to hear it. I've found for some reason that most people mispronounce my name regularly. It's most vexing, but I don't want to seem rude by correcting them."

Harry's eyes narrowed. Surely, the girl knew that people were mocking her by calling her "Loony Lovegood," but for some reason, she was refusing to acknowledge it. Whether it was shyness, insecurity or "the nargles" responsible, Harry didn't think it would result in a happy experience at Hogwarts. In a sense, being Sorted into Slytherin was an advantage for him because everyone just assumed that everyone _else _was gaming out power scenarios from Day One. Draco Malfoy aside, there was surprisingly little overt bullying in-house because you never knew who was really weak and defenseless as opposed to intentionally flying under the radar until it was time for a power play, a fact he'd made abundantly clear to the whole House on Halloween of the previous year. Even though the House was riddled with Death Eater sympathizers, Draco and his flunkies had been the only ones to ever seriously threaten him, as ineffectual as those threats turned out to be.

"It's hardly rude, I think, to insist that people use your _proper name_, Luna," Harry said gently. "You're not doing yourself or other people any favors by letting them misunderstand who you are." At that, she gave him an unreadable expression, so he shrugged and changed the subject. "So, what House do you think you're going into?"

"Probably Ravenclaw. Both my parents went there." It was hard to read Luna's moods, but Harry thought she was not overly enthused by that prospect, and he politely said so.

"Well," she replied, "I really don't know _where _I'll fit in best. Following in my parents' footsteps seems the most logical course. If nothing else, it will make Daddy happy."

"Luna, you should never let something as important as your Sorting be governed by a desire to please others. I don't want to spoil the surprise of how you get Sorted ..."

"It's a Hat. Daddy told me when I was a little girl."

He sighed. "So much for cherished school traditions. Anyway, the Sorting Hat is wise and knows its job. Listen to its advice."

She crooked an eyebrow at him. "Even if it wants to send me into Slytherin House?"

"That depends, I suppose, on whether you really believe in, um, nergles and wreckspots...?"

"Nargles and wrackspurts," she said amiably.

"Yes those. Anyway, on whether you believe they're _real_, or whether you just talk about them all the time to discomfit other people and keep them off-balance."

"Why can't it be both?" she asked in what certainly _sounded_ like innocent naivete.

Harry opened his mouth and then closed it before spending several seconds _really_ studying Luna Lovegood. "You're a mischievous little pixie, aren't you," he said with a chuckle. "Personally, I hope you go into Gryffindor. You'd drive my brother to distraction."

She tilted her head as if too see him from a different angle. "You've seen his _mask_, haven't you, Harry Potter. You've noticed the seams where the Boy-Who-Lived face fits over Jim's real one."

Harry was taken aback at that. As far as he could recall, Luna had not been at Flourish &amp; Blotts, but the fact that she'd echoed his thoughts about Jim from that day was eerie. "I ... don't know. Maybe. But we all have masks of one sort or another, don't we? I learned that much my first week in Slytherin."

"We do all have masks, Harry Potter. But yours fits you like a velvet glove, so soft that your wrackspurts are dozing away most of the time, even though you have more than most people. Jim's mask is hard and brittle and screwed on so tight that it must hurt every time he smiles.

"That's an ... evocative way to put it, Luna. But I have enough trouble pursuing happiness for myself without worrying about my brother's self-inflicted wounds."

Luna smiled sadly and then glanced over his shoulder. "Speaking of your brother, I see him coming. I'd better get on board the train before you two start arguing and I faint again. It was very embarrassing."

"Of course. I'll most likely be in a compartment with Blaise Zabini, Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom if you'd care to join us."

"I'd like that," She gave Harry a funny little curtsy and then ran to join her father and heading through the barrier.

Harry watched her until he was distracted by Jim's arrival, along with that of the Weasleys, all of whom looked out of breath. Apparently, James and Lily had once again fobbed Jim off on the Weasleys while they attended to their jobs, and the Weasleys, who were never a model of efficiency, had nearly missed the train. Harry told Neville to head on and get a compartment as he wanted to grab a newspaper from the nearby stand for the trip. The other boy nodded and made his way through the barrier with his grandmother. In fact, Harry wanted to take the opportunity to needle Jim some more, and he assumed Neville would disapprove.

"Hello, Jim. So glad you could make it. Don't worry. We still have seconds before the train leaves. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, it's so wonderful to see you again! I've missed your delightful cooking so much!"

"And we've missed yours, Harry, dear," Molly said with a smile. Jim nearly growled at the affection Molly showed his brother. As they talked, Percy and the Twins passed by, waving quick but cheery hellos as they did, while pushing large carts for their trunks and other possessions as fast as they could through the barrier. Unfortunately, Ron was moving a bit too quickly, and some of the luggage on his cart slipped off.

"Thanks, Ron," said Ginny angrily. "My trunk is already a hand-me-down. I don't need it to break into pieces before we even get to Hogwarts."

"We wouldn't even be late if _you_ hadn't made us go back for your precious _diary_," Ron spat at her.

"_Ronald_, be nice to your sister!" Molly exclaimed. Ron gave a surly apology as he started to repack the cart.

"We'd better get on through the barrier, Molly," said Arthur. "We daren't leave the Twins unattended. They'll probably set fire to the Malfoys or something."

"Oh, like you wouldn't _enjoy_ that, Arthur Weasley!" she replied irritably. "Don't think I've forgotten about that _spectacle _you made of yourself at Flourish &amp; Blotts!" With that, the two passed through the barrier, leaving Harry, Jim, Ron and Ginny behind. Harry sighed and tried to help Ron with the trunks.

"I don't need any help, snake!" Ron growled.

"Oh, we're back to '_snake_,' are we? Last time I buy _you_ any Quidditch books! Anyway, I figured I might as well help since my brother is just standing their gawking. Or perhaps he's waiting for _Slappy_ to show up and load the trunks for him."

"There is no _Slappy_, okay!" Jim snapped. "It was just something stupid the publishers came up with because ..."

"Because the books that were plagiarized to make the _Boy-Who-Lived Adventures_ were Muggle novels about a pair of brothers, and they needed a second character to fill in for the missing one so they invented a comical house elf sidekick. After all, it wasn't as though you had an actual brother or anything to appear alongside you."

"Are you actually _jealous _that you're not a character in one of those stupid children's books written about me?!" Jim said in amazement.

Harry started to respond but was interrupted by Ginny. "Hey guys! I know it's wonderful to listen to you two snipe at each other like this because I _never_ have to listen to sibling rivalry from my brothers at home _but_ ... shouldn't I be able to pass through the wall somewhere around here to get to the platform?" And with that she put her hand up to the barrier and knocked on it. It was noticeably solid. Harry walked over to where she stood. It was the exact same area where he'd just seen Mr. and Mrs. Weasley pass through, but now it actually felt like the solid brick wall it appeared to be.

"Okay, that's ... weird." He looked around. "Would there by any Ministry personnel around in case there's a problem with the barrier?"

"No," said Jim as he came over to inspect the wall himself, "because there's never been a problem with this wall in all the time that Platform 9¾ has existed."

"Well, there's one now," said Ginny. "What do you think is causing it? And are Mom and Dad stuck on the other side? I don't want to miss the train!"

Harry frowned and then opened up his book bag and started digging through it. As he did, Jim suddenly looked around the Muggle-filled concourse with a nervous look on his face.

"We need to get out of here," he said quietly but urgently.

"What?" Harry asked sharply. "Why? In a minute or two, the Weasleys or some of the other parents on the other side of the barrier will come back through. Or if they can't come through, they'll alert someone at the Ministry by magical means that there's a problem. We just need to stay calm..."

"No!" exclaimed Jim forcefully. "Don't you get it? In the last two months, someone's tried to kill me once and you twice! And now, we're stuck here at King's Cross on the wrong side of the barrier with no other wizards to help us? It's got to be a trap!" He turned to Ron. "We need to get away from this place and up to Hogwarts as fast as possible. Any ideas? "

"Well," said Ron hesitantly, "I guess we could take the Anglia."

"No!" said Ginny angrily. "That's crazy! You can't just steal Dad's car and drive it to Scotland!"

"Well, of course not," said Ron indignantly. "We'd be flying!"

Ginny stared at her brother, completely gobsmacked. Meanwhile, Harry spoke up. "Ron, that is absolutely the..." He paused and blinked repeatedly. "... the single most _brilliant_ idea I have ever heard. I take back every bad thing I've ever said about you. Flying a magical Ford Anglia from London to Scotland is _definitely _the smartest and cleverest solution to this problem, and frankly, I can't imagine _any way _in which it might go wrong."

"Really?" Ron said. "You mean it? So does that mean you're coming with us?"

Harry snorted. "Of course not! Flying to Scotland is a Gryffindor plan. Being a Slytherin, I have my own way to get to Hogwarts. A sneaky snakey way that no Gryffindor would _ever dare to consider_." He smiled. "In fact, I imagine I'll get there before you and have a camera waiting to take a picture of your crash landing. _Impressive landing!_ That's what I meant to say: Incredibly impressive landing ... of your dad's stolen car."

"Harry, shut up!" Jim interrupted. "Ron, ignore him. He's only trying to use reverse psychology on us to talk us out of taking the car. Ginny, are you coming with us or staying here?"

"I'm not coming with you, _and you shouldn't be doing this!_ Ron, please _think!_"

Ron looked over to Jim. "We can't just leave her here."

"Maybe it's for the best," said Jim thoughtfully. "She might be in greater danger if she's with us. And once we're gone, maybe the barrier will work again." He turned to the increasingly exasperated girl and put his hands on her shoulders in what was doubtless meant to be a reassuring manner. "Ginny, wait here for your mum and dad. Tell them what's happened and that we're on our way to Hogwarts. Tell them not to worry and that we'll get the car back to them as soon as we can."

With that Ron pulled Ginny's now slightly dented trunk off the trolley, and then he and Jim quickly wheeled their luggage away from Platform 9¾ and back to the parking lot, leaving behind an amused Harry Potter and an increasingly furious Ginny Weasley. They were already out of sight before she finally regained the power of speech.

"Of all the arrogant, conceited, patronizing, chauvinistic ...! Wait here for your mum and dad like a helpless damsel while we _steal a magic car and fly it to Hogwarts!_ _WHO THE HELL DOES HE THINK HE IS?!"_

Harry coughed softly. "The Boy-Who-Lived, maybe?" Then, he laughed. "You know, what's really funny is that the Git actually saw through my reverse psychology _the one time_ I was genuinely trying to help him instead of take advantage of him."

And with that, Harry sat down on Ginny's trunk and resumed digging through his book bag.

"What are you doing?" Ginny asked as she followed him over.

"Sending a message to Hermione Granger so she can let the prefects know what's going on. Presumably there's someone on the train who can contact the authorities and inform them of what's happened. Surely they don't pack several hundred children on a magic train without any adult supervision at all and no way to send messages for help." Then, he stopped and looked up. "And having said that out loud, I immediately realize how naive that sounds."

He shrugged and then resumed digging as Ginny sat down next to him. "So you _were_ just bluffing. You're going to wait here for help to arrive."

"Certainly not! I'm going to message Hermione, and then, I'm going to Hogwarts." He looked over to the girl and smiled. "Via the sneaky snakey way."

She was silent for a few seconds as Harry finally found the parchment that was linked to the one in Hermione's possession. "Can I come too?" she asked hesitantly.

He looked at her with a serious expression. "Are you sure?" he asked quietly. She nodded. "Very well, Miss Weasley. And yes, that is the first thing you must understand. For if you follow me on the Slytherin Path, you must follow Slytherin ways. From now on, I am Mr. Potter and you are Miss Weasley, until we reach Hogwarts and, after a suitable interval, formally give each other permission to use our first names in public. Do you understand?"

She nodded quickly.

"Gooood," he drawled in a silky voice. "The other thing you must understand is this: There is a _price_ to be paid for accompanying me on this journey." She swallowed nervously. That nice boy who gave her a glass of water after her late night Quidditch practice was now kind of ... sinister.

"You have _knowledge_, Miss Weasley," he continued, his voice deepening. "Knowledge that I am particularly interested in acquiring. Knowledge that you must impart as the price for joining me."

Her eyes widened in fear. "Wh ... what knowledge?" she said almost in a whisper.

Harry leaned in closer and spoke softly but intently, as the girl was transfixed by the brilliant green of his eyes. "Your brothers, Fred and George. Which one has the mole next to his left eye?"

* * *

_**Minutes earlier ...**_

Hermione, Neville, Theo and Blaise were sharing a compartment discussing their thoughts on the upcoming year (and also waiting for an unusually tardy Harry Potter) when there was a commotion outside. Hermione slid the door open and immediately realized that it was Luna Lovegood, who was being accosted by that obnoxious Edgecombe girl who'd been at the party – the one Harry had warded off like a vampire confronted with garlic merely by suggesting that she reminded him of Vincent Crabbe.

"I don't know why you're looking for Harry Potter, Loony! He won't be any more interested in your ridiculous nonsense than anybody else!"

"Well, I'm looking for him because he specifically asked me to find him on the train, which, I think, refutes your statement. And by the way, it's 'Lun-ah.' With an A on the end. I can spell my whole name if it will help." Hermione was amused. From Luna's cheery tone, she honestly wasn't sure if the girl was being sarcastic or genuinely believed that Edgecombe had been confused about how to pronounce her name.

"Nobody cares about your name, Loony. Just like nobody cares about your crazy father or his stupid newspaper or all those ridiculous creatures you're always spouting off about!"

"Hem-hem!" The two girls turned towards Hermione who was standing with her arms folded like a disapproving teacher, with the three boys standing behind her. "Actually, I suddenly find myself intensely interested in hearing more about those creatures Miss Lovegood is always spouting off about. Why don't you come into our compartment, Miss Lovegood, and tell me more. I find your ideas intriguing and wish to subscribe to your newsletter."

At that, Blaise suddenly burst out laughing, while Theo and Neville smiled both at his strange reaction as well as the look on Marietta Edgecombe's face.

"Excuse me," said Edgecombe harshly. "This is a private conversation you're butting into. Who do you think you _are _anyway?"

"Hermione Granger, Gryffindor, Second Year. And if I remember correctly, you're that Crabbe girl from the Potter birthday party."

The other girl's face contorted in fury. "My _name_ is Marietta Edgecombe. Of the Grovesford Park Edgecombes. And I don't have to take lip from some uppity Mudblood."

Instantly, the smiles vanished from the three boys, while Hermione raised her chin defiantly as she prepared a crushing comeback. To her annoyance, someone beat her to it.

"Um, excuse me. Hi there. I'm Theo Nott of the Ancient and Noble House of Nott. Perhaps you've heard of us? I'm Pureblooded going back twelve generations. Does that give me sufficient pedigree to tell you to _bugger off!?"_

Hermione turned towards Theo in surprise at his harsh language. Meanwhile, Neville stepped forward as well. "And I'm Longbottom of Longbottom. And while decorum prevents me using those particular words," he gestured towards Theo with his thumb, "_what he said!_"

Marietta made a face like a bulldog on the verge of a tantrum and then turned and flounced away. Hermione shook her head in amazement. Before Marietta Edgecombe, she had never met anyone who actually flounced in real life. She held out her hand to welcome Luna into their compartment where everyone sat back down just in time for the rocking sensation that let them know the train had commenced its journey.

"Boys, it's not that I don't appreciate the gesture – although, Theo, I don't think I approve of saying '_bugger off_' to a fellow student – but I am quite capable of standing up to Pureblood bigotry, especially coming from a First Year who hasn't even been Sorted yet. Oh, and Dear God in Heaven, _please_ don't let that harridan be Sorted into Gryffindor!"

"She won't be," said Blaise. "The Edgecombes have all been Ravenclaws for four generations. They think it gives them the illusion of intellectual heft without actually learning to think for themselves." The other children stared at him. "What? It was in the dossier my mother gave me on this year's incoming class. And also, what's so bad about saying '_bugger off_'? We're all twelve except for Miss Lovegood here. That's basically young adult in the wizarding world."

"Even if that were so," replied Hermione in what sounded eerily like Professor McGonagall's voice minus the Scottish accent, "that would only be a further argument against using vulgarities like '_bugger_' in casual speech. And anyway, we've wandered from my original point which is that I am quite capable of standing up to the Marietta Edgecombes of the world without needing any of you lot to protect me, chivalrous though it might be. And what's all this about '_dossiers_'?! First Neville, now you? Do all Purebloods start Hogwarts with a box of _dossiers_ about all their classmates?"

"I didn't get any dossiers either," said Theo. "Father couldn't be _buggered _to make any for me. And it's not about chivalry, either. You're on Team Harry, just like the rest of us. We stick up for each other whether it's against rampaging dark lords or flouncing firsties."

"She did flounce, didn't she?" marveled Neville. "I thought girls only did that in books."

Hermione sighed. "Fine, fine. Anyway, speaking of Harry, where _is_ the center of our collective universe?" At that moment, there was a soft ding from within the large beaded purse sitting next to the girl. "Humph. Speak of the devil." She opened the purse and said in a clear voice "Harry's Parchment," causing a folded piece of paper to shoot up into her hand.

Neville's eyes widened. "How did you do that? You didn't even use a wand!"

"I knitted runes into the lining of my purse. You don't need a wand for runic magic."

The boys looked at one another in confusion. "We haven't _studied _runes yet," said Blaise heatedly. "That class starts in Third Year."

"Yes, I know, but I got bored in France this Summer so I started reading ahead." With that, she unfolded the parchment and read Harry's message, her eyes widening as she did.

"Bugger," Hermione said without a trace of irony.

"_Language_, Hermione!" said Neville with a laugh.

* * *

Minutes later, having advised Hermione of his situation, Harry exited Kings Cross, gallantly carrying Ginny's trunk for her. The girl was plainly nervous. She had no idea what "the Slytherin Path" was but from how mysteriously Harry was acting, she was increasingly concerned that it was something illegal and quite possibly something that required Dark Magic. So she was naturally surprised when he stopped at a street corner a block away from the train station, pulled out his wand, and made an upwards motion with it. Within seconds, a purple triple-decker bus arrived in a blur of motion, startling Ginny. To be honest, Harry seemed a bit surprised as well.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. My name is Stan Shunpike and I will be your conductor today." The young wizard looked up from the card he was reading and smiled at Harry. "Oi! I remember you! You were that sprog we had to go all the way out to Surrey for! 'Zat where we're headed today?"

"No, Stan," said Harry as he handed over Ginny's trunk. "Just to the Leaky Cauldron. By the way, wasn't this bus _red_ last time I saw it?"

"Ministry made us change it. Apparently, our '_British charm and eccentricity_' somehow allowed American tourists to see through the normal Muggle-Repellin' Charms, and they kept trying to climb on board and ask for sightseeing tours. Just the Yanks, though. Very strange. Anywho, the Ministry made us repaint the whole bleedin' thing in this special Muggle-Repellin' Paint. Don't like it me-self. We look like a giant grape on wheels."

Harry laughed at that and held out his hand for Ginny to help her onto the bus.

"So what now?" she asked. "Is there someone in Diagon Alley who can help us get to Hogwarts?"

"No, we won't be going all the way into the Alley. There's a fireplace in the Leakey Cauldron, and we'll just Floo through to Hogsmeade and then walk to the castle."

She stopped and stared at Harry. "_That's_ the mysterious Slytherin Path? Take the Floo to Hogsmeade?"

He sniffed. "The Slytherin Path is the path of least resistance and greatest advantage. As opposed to the Gryffindor Path, or as I like to call it, the Path of '_LOOK AT ME_!'" As he said that, Harry held up both hands with his fingers splayed wide and shook them in a manner that Hermione might have described as _jazz hands._ "You see, Miss Weasley, the Gryffindors are the House of the Brave. And bravery is a good thing, but not when it trumps all other concerns. In any given situation, the first instinct of a Gryffindor is to look for a solution that shows off how bold he is, just as the Ravenclaw will first look for a solution that shows off how clever he is. The Slytherins, however, look for the solution that produces the best results."

"And the Hufflepuffs?"

"I actually have a lot of respect for Hufflepuffs. They also tend to look for the most efficient solution. They're just ham-strung because they ignore any efficient or advantageous solutions that might possibly hurt someone's feelings or that might seem unfair or unethical to other people. In many ways, a Hufflepuff is just a Slytherin with an overdeveloped sense of fair play. Or maybe a Slytherin is just a ruthless Hufflepuff. Amounts to the same thing really."

She laughed, and the two chatted amiably about wizarding ethics while trying to ignore the insane recklessness with which the Knight Bus careened through the streets of London.

* * *

Ten minutes later, back on the Hogwarts Express, Hermione was beginning to have second thoughts. True, she had freely expressed an interest in Luna's strange (and likely non-existent) creatures, but she had not been prepared for just how convoluted the girl's fantasies were, and she was almost to the point of reevaluating Marietta Edgecombe's views on the subject of Miss Lovegood's sanity. Fortunately, just as Luna was about to expound some more on the vile machinations of the Rotfang Conspiracy, Hermione was rescued by a knock on the compartment door, followed by Lavender Brown entering in a huff.

"Hi guys. Sorry to intrude, but have any of you seen Jim?" she asked in a frustrated tone. "Because if he's avoiding me, I'll just _have_ to make his life miserable."

"He's not on the train," said Hermione. "I am reliably informed that he and Ron missed it and are traveling to Hogwarts via a flying car they've acquired."

"Ha-ha, very funny. Seriously, where is he?" Lavender said irritably.

"She's telling the truth, Lavender," said Neville earnestly.

"But that shouldn't stop you from making Jim's life miserable," said Blaise. "In fact, since he's out breaking the Statute of Secrecy as we speak, you should probably make his life _even more miserable._"

"Blaise," said Hermione, "stop instigating."

"A flying car? Really, a flying car?" said Lavender in disbelief. "Fine, whatever. Is Harry with him? Surely he has too much sense for that!"

"He isn't and he does," said Hermione. "Unfortunately, he also missed the train, but his plan for getting to Hogwarts is much more sensible."

"I should hope so," Lavender replied. "Anyway, when you see Harry, let him know we need to talk about this."

She handed Hermione a copy of _Teen Witch Weekly_ which featured a moving picture of Harry looking surprised, Jim glaring angrily at Harry, and Lavender standing between them clapping and looking excitedly at Harry. Hermione recognized the scene from Flourish &amp; Blotts, but she was startled by both the headline – _Boy-Who-Lived caught in love triangle! – _and the accompanying article, which insinuated that Jim's apparent anger was the result of Lavender's attention turning towards Harry, presumably because of his reliance on hair care products supplied by the House of Brown. Hermione looked up at Lavender in astonishment.

"This is ..."

"Nonsense. Yes, I know. But we still need to respond to it. I'll be damned if I get a dozen Howlers tomorrow morning calling me a _scarlet woman_ or something!" And with that, Lavender turned and left the compartment. Even with the door closed, however, the group could still hear the girl ranting to herself. "_Honestly! A flying car?! No inheritance is worth this!_"

* * *

Not long after, the Knight Bus arrived at the Leaky Cauldron. Harry led Ginny inside and to the fireplace, where he dropped a few galleons into the jar and took a pinch of Floo powder with his hand. Ginny did likewise.

"Now, we're going to '_The Tonks Clinic. Hogsmeade._' Say that back to me. As my brother has shown, poor enunciation when Floo-traveling can get you flung off to who knows where." She nodded and repeated the destination. The two passed through without incident and arrived at the Tonks clinic and residence, where they were met by Iris.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Harry Potter Sir! What a pleasant surprise! Are you ill or in any pain? Iris regrets that Master Healer Tonks is in with a patient at the moment."

"That's quite alright, Iris, we're just passing through. Something happened to block the barrier at Kings Cross and we couldn't get through, so we had to find alternate transportation."

Iris stepped forward and _sniffed_ both of them. Then, she made a soft growling noise. "It was that wicked Dobby Elf, sir! Iris recognizes the scent of his magic!"

"Really? House elves can recognize each other's magic by smell?"

"Not usually, sir. As Iris said, some wicked elves act at odds with their masters. _They_ give off a smell that any other house elf can spot a mile away. Those who are acting on their masters' orders leave no trace of their passage."

"Hmm. I _guess_ that makes sense. Well, anyway, we'll be heading up to the castle. Please let Healer Tonks know that I came by and am sorry I missed him."

"Iris will do so. Does Mr. Harry Potter Sir wish Iris to send the young lady's trunk on to Hogwarts? And for that matter, does Mr. Harry Potter Sir wish Iris to repair the damage to it?"

Harry looked over at Ginny, who was still staring goggle-eyed at Iris (as she'd never actually seen a house elf before) and then back at Iris.

"Yes, please. We'd be very grateful."

Iris curtsied, and then she and the trunk disappeared to Ginny's surprise. She and Harry left for Hogwarts. On the way, Harry told Ginny about Dobby and asked that she not repeat the elf's name, lest he be punished or even killed by the Malfoys. She readily agreed. About fifteen minutes later, the two arrived at the castle gates and were met at the door by a scowling Severus Snape.

"Mr. Potter. You're quite a bit ahead of schedule I think. Too special to ride the Express with your peers?"

Harry ignored the dig. "We had another '_Dobby_' incident, sir. The barrier at Kings Cross was blocked and we had to improvise. How did you know I'd be coming this way?"

"One of the Hogwarts house elves informed the Headmaster that Miss Weasley's trunk had been sent on ahead from Hogsmeade. Soon after, the Headmaster sensed your passage through the outer Hogwarts' wards and he sent word to me. Now, tell me everything that happened."

Harry complied, telling everything he could remember, including Jim and Ron's impulsive decision to take the Anglia without permission and fly it to Hogwarts. Snape said he would attend to it. The slightly vicious smile he gave, however, suddenly made Ginny concerned for both her brother and Jim, neither of whom she wanted to get into trouble. Harry reassured her that it was better for both of them if the situation were resolved quickly rather than risk a catastrophic breach of the Statute of Secrecy by letting them fly all the way to Scotland, especially a breach that might reflect poorly on Arthur Weasley, the owner of the highly illegal car. He also said that she was free to lay all the blame for tattling on him since, after all, he _was _the one who gleefully tattled on them.

* * *

"I'm sorry, Luna," said Hermione. "I really don't want to be ... disrespectful of your beliefs. But I also don't really see any reason to think those beliefs are true. I mean ... nargles are tiny little invisible buzzing things that effect people's emotional responses? And wrackspurts are some other kind of invisible, intangible insectoid life forms that live _inside_ people's brains and are the reason people get upset when exposed to frustration or strong emotions? And only _you_ can perceive them?"

"Well, I'd always assumed there were other people who could see them but not many. My mother told me what they were when I was a little girl, so I assumed that she could see them too." Then, Luna looked a little sad and bashful. "Though, to be honest, she did tell me about them in the context of bed-time stories when I was three or four, so that's not the most authoritative source, I guess."

"You know, Hermione," interrupted Theo, "there's all kinds of obscure magic in the world that we'll probably never learn about unless we pursue a relevant Mastery. And there _is_ precedent for magical creatures that only some people can see."

"Like what," she asked doubtfully.

"_Thestrals_," he replied with a slight edge in his voice. "The creatures that pulled the carriages when we left Hogwarts for the train station last June.

"I didn't know there were invisible creatures pulling the carriages. I thought they'd just been enchanted."

"Lucky you," Theo said bitterly. "Though from what I've heard, that may change this year."

"Theo," said Blaise forcefully. "That was uncalled for. And none of that is Hermione's fault, so don't take it out on her."

Theo didn't respond but just turned to look out the window as the scenery passed by. Hermione looked at the others, wondering what she'd said to upset the boy so. Finally, Neville spoke.

"Hermione, thestrals are real. I've never seen them myself and hope I don't for a long, long time, but Gran told me that there's a whole flock of them living in the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts. They're ..." He glanced over at Theo sadly. "They're invisible except to people who've seen someone die up close and been old enough to understand the significance of what they've witnessed."

Theo spoke again without turning back from the window. "A thestral has a skeletal horse's body, like a stallion that's been starved to the point you can count its ribs. It's got a face like some kind of lizard, and great leathery bat-wings. It looks like the sort of horse that Death would ride. Maybe he does."

The rest of the students went silent, as they contemplated what it meant that their friend could see them. Hermione was particularly troubled, for she'd seen the auror George Wyndham die in front of her at Harry and Jim's birthday party. If what Neville said was true, she'd soon see for herself if Theo's description was accurate. Then, she noticed the sad expression on Luna's face and recalled what Ginny had said – that Luna had seen her mother die in front of her at the age of eight. She too would see the thestrals for herself. Hermione took a deep breath.

"Alright then, that's quite enough about the nargles and wrackspurts, I think," she said energetically as if to dispel the gloom that had settled over the compartment. "Tell me more about Blibbering Humdingers!"

Luna smiled.

* * *

The Anglia had been airborne for three hours. They couldn't see the train anymore, as the car's flight speed was no match the Hogwarts Express. Making matters worse, the invisibility effect failed about two hours into the journey, so Ron had to take detours every time the Express passed through a Muggle-populated area. Both boys had become somewhat irritable, as neither had brought any food, and Ron refused to land so they could find a loo because the flying gear was sticking and he was afraid they wouldn't get airborne again. After the third time Jim raised the subject, Ron snapped and told him to look in the back seat because there might be an empty Butterbeer bottle he could use. After that, Jim didn't speak again and, in fact, fell asleep, leaving an annoyed Ron to drive by himself with no one to talk to.

Suddenly, Jim was awoken by a sharp rapping sound on the window his head was leaning against. He cried out and fumbled for his wand, certain it was Death Eaters or insane house elves. But it was something far, far worse – James Potter, in full auror regalia and riding a broomstick, with an expression of absolute fury on his face. The elder Potter shifted his angry gaze from Jim to a petrified Ron. He stabbed his index finger in Ron's direction and then stabbed it again towards the ground. Ron gave Jim a sick look and shifted gears to head in for a landing. Jim swallowed, wondering how angry his parents were and whether his father had the power to assign him detentions.

On the bright side, at least he'd get to take a wee.

* * *

**The next chapter will be uploaded on Friday, October 10, 2015. "Ginny's Day (Pt 1). Daphne and Tracey are back. Plus, we get to see the Sortings for Ginny, Luna, Marietta, some annoying Creevey kid ... oh, and someone you haven't met yet, but whose appearance will definitely make Harry and Company sit up and take notice.  
**

**AN 1: This is a very long chapter compared to what's come before. I almost split this chapter up because of its length but couldn't find a logical place to break it that didn't feel like a very boring cliffhanger. Besides the idea of the trip to Hogwarts taking up two chapters seems ridiculous to me. Hopefully, it won't bite me later, as I'm not as far along as I'd wished._  
_**

**AN 2: I'm also uploading this earlier than usual because (a) I have to travel today and (b) I'm switching up on my upload times to see what effect it has on visitors and reviews. **

**AN 3: "I_ find your ideas intriguing and wish to subscribe to your newsletter" _is an anachronism, as the _Simpsons_ episode in which it first appears ("The Mountains of Madness") did not air until 1997 during Season Eight. I don't care. I think it's one of the funniest one-liners to appear on network television in my lifetime and it fits this scene so perfectly that I couldn't stand to cut it. So just assume that in this AU, Harry is a Slytherin with a twin brother who everyone thinks is the Boy-Who-Lived ... _and_ "The Mountains of Madness" aired early enough for Hermione and Blaise to have seen it. Lord knows that won't be the biggest change to canon we've seen. :)  
**


	48. HP&TSE 14 - Ginny's Day (Pt 1)

**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY**

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

**AN 1: This chapter and the next one are a bit experimental with lots of time skips and events happening out of sequence. Please be sure to read the date/time stamps at the start of each section.**

**AN 2: Also, today is October 9th not October 10th, because I apparently have a congenital defect of some kind that makes me unable to read a calendar.**

* * *

**CHAPTER 14: Ginny's Day (Pt. 1)**

_**2 September 1992, 7:00 a.m.**_

_**(The First Morning)**_

Ginny awoke suddenly and stared at the ceiling in wonder. For a second, she wasn't sure where she was and briefly wondered whether the previous day – and night – had been a long strange dream.

"Good morning, Ginevra," said a dorm-mate with a cheerfully nasal voice. Ginny closed her eyes. No, it had not been a dream.

* * *

_**1 September 1992, 6:45 p.m.**_

_**(The Sorting Ceremony)**_

When the rest of Ginny's class arrived by the edge of the lake for the boat ride over to the castle, she was already there to greet them in her school robes. She estimated about thirty-five students in her year – smaller than Ron's class but quite a bit bigger than Percy's. As Ginny and Luna got together to discuss their separate journeys, Luna introduced the girl to two other First Years: Tori and Colin. Tori, who Ginny had met briefly at the Potter Birthday fete, was a bubbly, hyperactive girl with lustrous black hair in an attractive bob cut who was incredibly excited about going into Hufflepuff. Colin was a bubbly, hyperactive boy with curly blond hair ... and a camera he insisted on using to take a picture of every single thing that crossed his path.

Ginny noticed a few odd looks thrown their way as the foursome talked. Then, she remembered that Tori's full name was Astoria Greengrass and her sister, Daphne, was a Slytherin in Harry's class, while Colin was so transparently a Muggleborn that he might was well have been wearing a hat with the word emblazoned on it in flashing letters. Luna, who was fairly knowledgeable about their year-mates, pointed out some of those who were glaring at them. Drusilla Crabbe was the daughter of a suspected Death Eater, while Niles Harper and Kevin Bletchley were apparently just bigoted jerks who liked to hang around with the children of suspected Death Eaters. The fourth member of that group was Marietta Edgecombe, a stuck-up social climber who Ginny had known and disliked for years. Undoubtedly, they all disapproved of Tori fraternizing with "blood traitors" and "Mudbloods." Neither Ginny nor Luna knew any of the other First Years who were all milling about anxiously while waiting to get into the boats. Ginny did notice one skinny girl with brunette hair that fell haphazardly down into her face, mainly because she made a point of standing apart from the rest as if unwilling to socialize.

Hagrid loaded the First Years into their boats and guided them to the castle where he turned them over to Professor McGonagall for the introductory speech. There was a brief bit of excitement when various ghosts wandered into the room and carried on a conversation about Peeves. Later on, she would mention that to Harry, who laughed to realize that the Hogwarts ghosts carried on the exact same conversation every year in order to spook the First Years. As the children were ushered into the Great Hall, Ginny looked around. On one side was the Gryffindor table where the Twins were waving at her excitedly, much to the embarrassment of Percy who smiled at her and then hissed at Fred and George to settle down. Interestingly, Jim and Ron smiled at her wanly, but they both looked completely dejected about something. She was pleased to see that they'd gotten to Hogwarts in one piece, but she suspected that they were now in trouble, which, to be fair, they deserved to be. On the opposite side of the room at the far end of the Slytherin table, Ginny could barely make out Harry Potter, but he did make eye contact and nodded at her reassuringly.

The Sorting was mostly a blur. The Hat sang something about the Founders that she barely followed in her nervousness. Then, McGonagall started calling out names. Creevey went to Gryffindor, where he immediately introduced himself to a startled and annoyed Jim. Bletchley, Crabbe and Harper all went to Slytherin, as did Astoria Greengrass, seemingly to the young girl's great surprise. She made her way to the end of the Slytherin table and sat next to her sister and directly across from Harry and his two friends. Marietta Edgecome went to Ravenclaw. The big surprise, though, was Luna Lovegood being Sorted into _Gryffindor_. Apparently, she'd already made some Gryffindor friends on the train because a girl with incredibly bushy hair and a blond guy who was a bit stocky but on his way to being rather handsome stood up and clapped for her before inviting her to sit with them. Jim's reaction was less welcoming, as he literally put his head down into his hands as if the day couldn't get any worse. Finally, it was down to Ginny and the shy girl who hadn't spoken or even made eye contact with anyone thus far.

"Weasley, Ginevra!" Professor McGonagall called out. Ginny was surprised as she'd assumed that her name would put her dead last. Mustering her confidence, she walked down to the stool where the Sorting Hat rested. She had half-believed Harry when he told her about the Sorting Hat, but she'd imagined something a bit grander and not so shabby.

"_Shabby, am I_?" said the Hat, causing Ginny to emit a soft "meep."

"_Um, sorry?" _Ginny thought rather than said. She was suddenly surprised to realize she was having a psychic conversation. "_You're just ... not what I was expecting._"

"_Humph, you shouldn't be expecting anything at all. Who'd had thought Harry Potter of all people would be such a blabbermouth? Oh well, let's get this over with. You are a Weasley, I see. Though the first female Weasley in centuries. Ever since that unpleasantness with ... ah, forget I said anything about that. I suppose Potter's not the only blabbermouth around here._"

"_Wait, what are you ...?_"

"_No, no. Forget I mentioned it. Anyway, you are, as I said, a Weasley. So I suppose you'll be wanting to follow in your brothers' footsteps blindly without the slightest thought to your own ambitions. That seems to be the Weasley way. On the bright side, I suppose if you're in Gryffindor with your four brothers, they can look after you and protect you and keep you from any sort trouble. That's good, right?_"

"_What?!" she explained mentally. "No! I'm not blindly following anybody! I do have ambitions of my own, you know, and I certainly don't need any of them looking after me and protecting me! I can look after myself and find my own way, thank you very much!_"

"_Hmm, feisty!" exclaimed the Hat. "Lots of Gryffindor spunk, I see._"

"_Eight-year-olds have 'spunk.' I have determination._"

"_Heh-heh. I suppose you do. So I guess there's only one question left. Which is more important? That everyone around you know how brave you are? Or that you actually __be__ brave?_"

That question surprised her and brought her up short. She thought for a few seconds. "_Be brave, always,_" she finally said and with firm conviction.

"_Humph. About bloody time one of you lot said that,_" the Hat said before finally shouting out:

"_**SLYTHERIN!**_"

* * *

_**2 September 1992, 7:01 a.m.**_

_**(The First Morning)**_

Ginny rubbed her eyes. No, it had not been a dream. And someone had been speaking to her, so she should probably respond.

"Good morning, Drusilla," Ginny said somewhat guardedly. Drusilla Crabbe had been relatively pleasant to her, albeit in an unctuous manner. She even invited Ginny to use her first name, though only while in the First Year dorm room until she'd "proven herself." Drusilla's brother Vincent was one of Draco Malfoy's ... henchmen?! It still seemed absurd to Ginny that a twelve-year-old boy would have henchmen, but apparently Draco Malfoy did, and so Drusilla would have to be viewed as a ... well, a henchwoman Ginny supposed. Or perhaps henchgirl was the proper term for a First Year. So far, Drusilla hadn't tried to murder her in her sleep (though it had only been one night so far), but the Pureblood was rather insistent in calling her "Ginevra" even though she'd asked twice to be called "Ginny." On the bright side - sort of - outside of the First Year girls' dorm room, she would be neither "_Ginevra_" nor "_Ginny_" but "_Weasley_," at least for the next month according to last night's crash course in Slytherin etiquette. She could handle that. She would always be a Weasley no matter what color necktie she wore. She just hoped that the rest of her family would feel the same. After finishing her shower, she came out in her bathrobe to find Astoria brushing her teeth.

"Good morning, Ginny!" she exclaimed cheerfully.

"Good morning, _Greengrass_," Ginny replied pointedly.

"Oh, honestly, are you seriously going to do that?"

"Hey, it was _your_ sister who explained the rules. Outside of our sleeping quarters, we're not to call anyone else in Slytherin by their first names for a month unless it's a blood relative. I'm not even allowed to call Harry by his first name until October at the earliest, and he lived _at my house_ last Summer."

Tori just rolled her eyes. Ginny turned and headed towards the door ... where she was met by her _other _dorm-mate, the girl whose brown hair kept falling down to cover her eyes. Ginny knew _her _name by now. She just couldn't quite bring herself to say it.

"Good ... morning," she said somewhat lamely. The other girl grunted softly and then stepped past her into the bathroom.

* * *

_**1 September 1992, 7:20 p.m.**_

_**(The Sorting Ceremony)**_

Professor McGonagall removed the Hat, and Ginny stood up slowly and made her way over to the Slytherin table. She did not even attempt to make eye contact with any of her brothers while on the way. Harry and the shorter of his two friends stood and made room for her. As he helped her to her seat, Harry spoke softly but urgently, his tone belying the warm welcoming smile he was giving her.

"Breathe. Relax. Smile as if you're thrilled to be here and never expected to go anywhere else. That's good. Okay, actually that's a little _too _intense. Tone it down a little. You're '_thrilled to be here_,' not '_an aspiring ax murderer._' Also, these are my friends. Theo Nott and Blaise Zabini. Across from us are Tracey Davis and Daphne Greengrass. I believe you know Daphne's younger sister, Astoria."

"Actually, I prefer to go by _Tori,_" said the young Greengrass.

"No. You. _D__on't_!" Daphne said irritably. "Astoria is the name of a daughter of an Ancient and Noble House. Tori is the name of a Muggle actress you saw once in a magazine."

"While we're on the subject of nicknames," said Tracey to Ginny, "you should totally go by Ginevra. That is a wonderful name! You should never go by a nickname if you have a name like that."

"Is that so, Theresa?" said Blaise with a mischievous smile. The girl stuck her tongue out at him in response.

"No," said Ginny firmly. "I refuse to go by Ginevra. That's where I draw the line."

"But it's a lovely name," said Daphne.

"Oh, I agree. And when I'm grown and married I plan to use it... assuming I marry someone whose surname fits well with Ginevra. But _Ginevra Weasley_ sounds like someone's elderly and slightly senile spinster aunt."

"She's got a point," said Harry. "I didn't even find out my full Wizarding Name until Summer after my first year. And if someone had told me my first day here I had to go by _Hadrian_, I'd have flung myself off the battlements. So, I guess you can go by Ginny."

"If she gets to be Ginny, I get to be Tori," said a petulant Tori Greengrass.

"Someone kill me now," muttered Daphne.

"Anyway, first names don't really matter right now. I was joking when we talked about it this morning, but now I'm quite serious. No first names until October 1st at the earliest unless someone specifically asks you to address them that way. And I _won't_ be asking you to until then because it will put a target on your back that we don't want."

"You told _me _to call you Harry the first time we ate breakfast together!" exclaimed Theo irritably. _"And_ you called me Theo without asking permission first!"

"Yes, well, to be honest, I was insanely reckless and aggressive this time last year because I didn't know any better. Luckily, we're both from Ancient and Noble Houses. Different rules and all that." Harry stopped suddenly. "Actually, that's a good point. There's probably a bunch of fiddling social rules for Slytherin girls that I don't know about." He turned his attention back to Daphne. "Daphne, I'm calling in my favor."

She looked at him in consternation. "The one I owe you for the New Year's Eve Ball? That's four months away! You could be _dead _by then!"

"Yes, I know, but this is an emergency. If I don't survive to the end of the year, I'll make it up to you from beyond the grave. Anyway, I'd like for you to give Miss Weasley a crash course in Slytherin etiquette as it applies to females."

"What makes you think that female Slytherin etiquette is any different than male Slytherin etiquette?" asked Daphne, who seemed slightly affronted.

Harry looked at her as if it were a silly question. "Well, I've _met _you all, of course." She made a face at him, and so he leaned in more closely. "If you help Miss Weasley out and she excels in our House, it will make Draco Malfoy _furious_." He actually said the last word in a sing-song voice that made Tracey laugh. Daphne's eyes narrowed.

"Well, that's a valid reason, I suppose. And anyway, I have to give _Astoria_ a crash course in how to behave tonight. I guess Weasley can join in."

"Why do I need a course in etiquette?" asked the younger Greengrass indignantly.

"Because our parents and I all thought you'd end up in Hufflepuff where etiquette lessons would have been wasted if not counterproductive," Daphne said. "How _did _you get Sorted into Slytherin, anyway?"

Astoria shrugged. "The Hat said that wanting to marry Cedric Diggory wasn't valid grounds for a Sorting and anyway the Slytherins desperately needed someone to cheer them up."

"I thought that's what I was for," said Harry with a smile.

"You thought wrong," said Daphne deadpanned.

"Oh, stop being so mean to Harry, Daph," said Tracey teasingly. "You're just still mad that he ruined your Grand Master Plan last year."

"Tracey, _shut up!_"

"Did I?" asked a perplexed Harry. "I don't remember that at all. What was your Grand Master Plan?"

Daphne sighed. "Honestly, it was nothing _too _grand. I was just going to lay low and let Malfoy continually make a fool of himself until Christmas Break when I'd invite everyone who he'd insulted to a Christmas Party and spend the whole night stirring up people against him. Then, I'd challenge him in the Spring sometime after I'd built a nucleus of support. You know, a _traditional _Slytherin power play. And then, you caused that insane spectacle at Halloween and ruined everything."

"What did he do?" Ginny asked.

Blaise laughed, still amused by the memory. "Oh, he just goaded Malfoy into challenging him to a duel in the middle of the Common Room and then beat him with a quick draw maneuver without firing a single spell. Malfoy nearly pissed himself on the Common Room floor while Harry just walked away whistling the tune to some old Muggle Western."

"Shhh," said Harry. "Remember. Be magnanimous in victory." Harry glanced over at Draco who was sitting some distance away next to Warrington, Pucey and the Bletchley Brothers. Unlike the mask of politeness the boy had been wearing for months, he now looked at Harry with an obvious sneer, though Harry was surprised to realize that it was, at least in part, because Harry was being so visibly kind to a Weasley. He turned to Theo.

"Any progress on your special assignment, Agent Nott?"

"Loads. I need to research some stuff in the Library this week, but I've got some good leads."

"Agent Nott?" asked Daphne with a crooked eyebrow.

"Yeah, apparently I'm now a part of Harry's spy network, at least according to Granger. Also, something about wrist communicators which I didn't understand but which sounds _awesome!_"

"We'll put it on the to do list," said Harry with a laugh.

"Excuse me," came a bland voice from the end of the table. "Could someone pass the pumpkin juice?"

Harry and Ginny both turned and were somewhat startled to see that while they'd been talking the last of the First Years had been Sorted into Slytherin and had somehow made it to the end of the table next to their group without anyone noticing. Her plate was rather sparse, and she'd been playing with her food all this time rather than eating. She hadn't looked up as she spoke. Instead, she kept her head down, allowing her somewhat stringy brown hair to fall down into her eyes and cover part of her face.

"Oh! I'm terribly sorry," said Harry contritely. "We've all been nattering away here about my friend's unexpected Sorting, and we've been completely ignoring you. My apologies. I'm Harry Potter. And you are?"

With her right hand, the girl swept her hair back behind her ear and looked up at Harry and Ginny with a pair of gray eyes that revealed no emotion save perhaps the faintest trace of disdain.

"Wilkes," she said flatly.

A silence descended on that part of the table as everyone in Harry's group abruptly turned to look at the girl, who was almost certainly the offspring of **_that_** Wilkes. If she suffered any nervousness over the attention, it didn't show.

"Amaryllis Wilkes," she continued. "Though if all the First Year girls are getting cutesy nicknames, I guess you can call me Amy."

* * *

_**2 September 1992, 7:35 a.m.**_

_**(The First Morning)**_

As Ginny made her way down to breakfast, she thought about her House-mate, Amaryllis Wilkes, and what it meant that they'd be sharing rooms for the next seven years. During their impromptu "etiquette lesson" the night before, Daphne had explained the girl's family history. Frankly, if the Hat had mentioned that she'd be roommates with Erasmus Wilkes's daughter, she might have asked to be Sorted elsewhere. Then again, she'd answered rather emphatically that she wanted to actually "_be brave_" rather than just be thought of as brave, which she supposed was the Hat's way of warning her.

When the Toymaker was killed by the aurors in 1980, Linnea Wilkes was barely two months pregnant. It was quite possible that the Lord Wilkes himself didn't even know that he was an expectant father at the time of his death ... for which Ginny's father was awarded an Order of Merlin. Seven months later, Linnea gave birth to the child in a Ministry holding cell, named her Amaryllis, and handed her off to Lord and Lady Goyle, who had grudgingly agreed to serve as godparents. Linnea, who was an unrepentant Death Eater, was then transferred to Azkaban where she died a week before Amy's first birthday. Amy probably had no personal memories of her parents, but Ginny shuddered to think about what she'd been _told_ about the elder Wilkeses by her godparents, who were both suspected Death Eaters themselves and who were also vassals to Lucius Malfoy.

Lost in thought, Ginny was caught by surprise when, just down the corridor from the Great Hall, a hand darted out of a classroom and yanked her inside. She was just about to reach for her wand when she realized it was her brother George. He put his finger to his mouth and said "Shhh!" Then, he closed the door to the empty classroom and regarded his sister for a second before sweeping her up in a hug.

"Are you alright, Gin? Did anyone down there try to hurt you or anything? You just say the word and Fred and I will hex them into toads!"

She laughed. "No, no one's done anything so far. There's only four Slytherin girls in my year. Tori Greengrass and I are going to be great friends. Drusilla Crabbe is a stuck-up cow but hasn't said or done anything threatening yet. And Amaryllis Wilkes just keeps to herself. She's a bit creepy, but she hasn't given me any reason to think she wants revenge for her parents' deaths or anything. Besides, Melissa Bulstrode, the Seventh Year prefect, came in last night and said she wasn't going to put up with any trouble in the girls' dorm no matter whose parents killed whose. Which was kind of a disturbing way to put it, but still somewhat reassuring. How are Ron, Fred and Percy taking things?"

He shrugged. "Mainly, they're still in shock, I guess. We ... haven't really talked about it."

She paused and studied her brother's face. "How are _you_ taking it?"

George looked away for a few seconds before he spoke again, more quietly. "What did the Sorting Hat say to you?"

She hesitated. Part of her felt that her conversation with the Hat was personal. But another, bigger part of her wanted some understanding from her family. So she told him.

"_Do you want everyone to know you're brave_?" he repeated. "_Or do you want to __be__ brave_? That's what it said?" She nodded. He seemed amazed by that, and suddenly she realized.

"It said the same thing to you, didn't it?" she asked softly.

George looked strangely embarrassed. "Yeah. It said that I had a lot of virtues that used to be Slytherin but that Slytherin House had since forgotten. And that if I were brave enough, I could go into Slytherin and maybe start the process of changing it into something more and better than what it had become." Suddenly, he seemed oddly guilty. "But ... I couldn't. See, Fred had already been Sorted into Gryffindor, like I always knew he would. And ... I just couldn't bear the thought of being separated from him, let alone Sorted into a House where we might become enemies. So when it asked me that ... I said '_I just want to be in Gryffindor._' And so that's where it put me."

He came back over and put his hands gently on her shoulders. "I know this will be hard for you. I still don't know how Mum and Dad and the others will react. But _I_ don't care what House you're in. I'll always be there for you." She smiled, and the two hugged warmly. "As for the rest, I'll talk to Fred and Percy and find out where they are. Honestly, I expect Ron will be the only one to be a pain about it, but Fred and I will set him to rights later when we have a chance to talk to him."

She smiled again. When they left for the Great Hall, Ginny's spirits were higher than they'd been since her Sorting. They remained high as she sat down at the breakfast table next to Harry and across from Daphne (or "Potter" and "Greengrass," she supposed) and didn't start to flag until she looked up and saw Errol, the Weasley family post owl, flapping through the window towards her table, a bright red envelope clutched in its talons.

* * *

**The next chapter will be posted on Monday, October 12, 2015. "Ginny's Day (Pt. 2)" in which the shock waves from Ginny's unexpected Sorting continue to ripple through the Weasley family. Also, Ginny and Amaryllis Wilkes have a little chat.  
**


	49. HP&TSE 15 - Ginny's Day (Pt 2)

**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY  
**

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.  
**

* * *

**CHAPTER 15: Ginny's Day (Pt 2)**

_**2 September 1:10 p.m.**_

_**(The First Afternoon)**_

By the end of lunch, Ginny was feeling better, though what happened at breakfast still left her feeling somewhat upset. On the bright side, her first class – Transfiguration – went relatively well, though she didn't earn any points for Slytherin and McGonagall kept giving her odd looks. Harry had recommended that she put together a study group and that she not limit herself to Slytherins, so she and Luna had made plans to meet up on Friday after lunch, along with Astoria (who insisted on being called Tori whenever her sister wasn't around) and Colin. Harry had also told her that it was okay to be on a first name basis with members of other Houses and especially Gryffindors who usually avoided traditional Pureblood social conventions anyway. As she and Astoria were leaving the Great Hall, Ginny was surprised when they were intercepted by none other than Percy Weasley, who stepped in front of them both and bowed respectfully.

"Good afternoon, Miss Greengrass. I am Percival Weasley, scion of the House of Weasley. I wonder if I might borrow my sister Ginevra for a moment to discuss some family matters."

Ginny's eyes widened in surprise at Percy's unusually formal speech. She was certain he'd never called her Ginevra in her entire life. For her part, Tori just seemed amused.

"Sure thing. Ginny, I'll see you later." Then, she walked away humming a Weird Sisters tune. Ginny folded her arms and looked at her brother doubtfully.

"Ginevra?" she asked in amusement. "Are we going to be all formal now, Percival?"

The older boy blushed. "Sorry. My understanding was that Slytherins frowned on nicknames. I didn't want to embarrass you in front of one of your peers. And yet somehow, I seem to have done so anyway."

"It's alright, Percy. Astoria isn't your typical Slytherin. Although increasingly, I'm not sure what the 'typical Slytherin' actually is. So, what's up?"

He looked around. "Let's take this somewhere more private." With that, he led her to a nearby empty classroom, ironically the same one George had taken her into that morning. Once inside, he put up a privacy spell. "So, how has your first day been going? I know it must have been traumatic for you. First the Sorting last night and then the Howler this morning."

"The Howler didn't bother _me_, Percy," she interrupted.

He sighed. "I could see your face, Ginny. I think that Howler bothered you a lot more than you let on."

She shrugged. "What happened, happened. There's no sense brooding over it. In case you haven't noticed, I'm not a brooder." She hesitated. "So, how do _you_ feel about me being a Slytherin?"

"I won't deny that I worry about you. You're sharing a dorm with a whole lot of people who think you're a blood traitor, and as I understand it, you're sharing a room with at least one person who may hold a deep personal grudge against our family. That said, I trust the Sorting Hat. If it wanted you in Slytherin and you were brave enough to follow its advice, then I truly believe it will all turn out for the best, no matter what anyone else thinks."

She studied her brother for a long moment. "The Hat offered you Slytherin too, didn't it?"

He chuckled. "Actually, the Hat offered me my choice of Ravenclaw, Slytherin _and _Gryffindor in that order." Then, his expression changed to one of wistful sadness. "It also said I wasn't Hufflepuff material. At the time, I was so ignorant and arrogant that I considered that to be a compliment. Anyway, it told me that I would be happiest in Ravenclaw or most successful in Slytherin, but despite all that, I would probably insist on Gryffindor. It actually sounded annoyed with me even as it told me that. But even though it felt wrong, I couldn't bear the thought of being the first non-Gryffindor Weasley in living memory. Even at eleven, I already felt too much ..."

He stopped abruptly, looked away and started scratching at the back of his head, unwilling to finish that sentence. It didn't matter, because Ginny knew perfectly well how it would have ended: _like an outsider._

"Percy, Mum and Dad love you. So do I. So do all your brothers, even though they're sometimes prats who don't know how to show it very well."

He smiled at her affectionately. "Oh, I know _that_, Ginny, luv. Everyone in my family loves me, and I love you and all of them. I know all that. It's just ... I've come to realize that it's possible for someone to love you but still not ... _like_ you very much."

She stepped forward and hugged the older boy. "Oh Percy. I like you. Merlin knows you make it hard sometimes, but I _like _you."

He closed his eyes and hugged her back. "I like you too ... _Ginevra._" They both laughed.

* * *

_**2 September 1992, 7:45 a.m.**_

_**(The First Morning)**_

Ginny slid into a spot at the breakfast table next to Harry who welcomed her with a cheerful "Good morning, Miss Weasley!" She rolled her eyes.

"And what a lovely morning it is, Mr. Potter. Pass the bacon please."

He complied. "So how was your first night? Did Daphne get you squared away?"

"Yes, the elder Greengrass was most informative, and neither Miss Wilkes nor Miss Crabbe attempted to murder me in my sleep."

"Good to know. And nice job there – just the right amount of sarcasm in your reply. Keep it up and you'll be calling me Harry in no time."

"You presume, Mr. Potter, that by then I'll be inclined to invite you to call me Ginny," she said in her best effort at stuck-up condescension, but he laughed nonetheless.

"Well played. Now, our next step is to maneuver you into a position of strength within your year. I'm confident you'll be able to outfly all the boys, but flying lessons won't start for a while yet, so you'll need to find a way to show off before then. Are you caught up on all your reading?"

"Yes, _mother_," she said irritably.

"Hey, I'm doing all this for your benefit, Miss Weasley, so don't get sassy with me!" Harry said in a sharp voice, though his smile made it clear he was more amused than angry. "Draco Malfoy is one of the most important opinion makers in our whole House despite his youth, and we need to get you into a position where you can stand up to him on your own merits. Incidentally, do _you_ know why the Malfoys and the Weasleys hate one another?"

"Because they're disgusting bigoted ponces with ridiculous hair?" she replied in complete seriousness.

"Ooookay, looks like it affects the female Weasleys too. Good to know. But never mind that now. How's your family reacting to all this?"

"Well, I just had an ... informative talk with George, and I think we're okay. I'll try to talk with the rest of the boys later today and then send a letter to Mum and Dad this afternoon, I guess. Hopefully, they'll take it well." She looked up then and went pale. "Or maybe I'm about to find out how they took it right now."

Harry followed her gaze and saw a somewhat bedraggled owl fly flying around the Great Hall with a Howler in its claws. He frowned – he'd expected better of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

"Okay, this can actually be a good thing. If you can bear up under a Howler and show it doesn't mean anything to you, you can get a lot of respect ... from ... your..."

Harry trailed off in surprise when he realized that the owl was now circling back _away_ from the Slytherin table and towards the Gryffindors. The owl swooped in for a landing and dropped off the Howler right in front Ron Weasley. The boy stared at the Howler for several seconds as his House-mates urged him to open it quickly before it exploded. He looked up to stare at Ginny from all the way across the room with an expression of ... betrayal? Then, he sighed loudly and opened the Howler.

**RONALD BILIOUS WEASLEY! **

**HOW DARE YOU STEAL THAT CAR! I AM ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED! YOU'RE LUCKY YOU WEREN'T ARRESTED OR KILLED! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOUR FATHER AND I WENT THROUGH WHEN WE CAME OUT AND FOUND THE CAR MISSING?! YOU AND JIM _COULD HAVE DIED_! I JUST THANK GOODNESS THAT HARRY HAD ENOUGH SENSE TO LET SOMEONE KNOW WHAT YOU'D DONE OR ELSE YOUR FATHER MIGHT BE FACING AN INQUIRY AT WORK, AND IT WOULD BE ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT! IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE, WE'LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT HOME! **

**AND ANOTHER THING! DON'T YOU **_**DARE**_** SAY ONE UNKIND THING ABOUT YOUR SISTER'S SORTING! I WOULD NEVER HOLD IT AGAINST ANY OF MY CHILDREN NO MATTER WHERE THEY'RE SORTED, AND I WON'T STAND FOR YOU OR ANY OF THE OTHER BOYS TREATING HER ANY DIFFERENTLY AS A RESULT!**

**YOUR FURIOUS MOTHER**

**MOLLY WEASLEY**

With that, the Howler blew a loud raspberry towards Ron before disintegrating. There was laughter from all across the Great Hall, including from the Twins until Percy angrily hissed at them to shut up. Draco and his cronies were particularly amused, though Harry did not laugh and was, in fact, quite embarrassed for the boy. His own reaction to James Potter's Howler from the year before helped make his reputation in Slytherin House, but he also had the advantage of not actually giving a damn about his father's opinion. He suspected that Ron cared much more deeply about what Molly thought of him.

To his credit, Ron didn't cry, but he did stand, pick up his bag, and calmly walk out of the Great Hall, ignoring Jim, Hermione and his three brothers as he left. At the door, however, he stopped and looked back at Ginny. Suddenly, she felt cold inside. She'd never seen Ron look at her like that before, and while she wasn't sure she could describe what she saw in his expression, it felt to her as though something important inside Ron had just died. She tried to find Ron later to talk about it, but never got to.

Not until that night.

* * *

_**2 September 1992, 5:15 p.m.**_

_**(Late Afternoon on the First Day)**_

"_Psst! Ginny!_" Fred loudly whispered to her from down a corridor. The girl shook her head. It was amazing to think that _all _of her brothers apparently wanted to talk to her one at a time in private.

"_Thank Merlin that Bill and Charlie have already graduated,_" she thought to herself. "_Or I'd never have time to do homework!_"

Obediently, she followed the elder twin down the side corridor, but instead of the same empty classroom that George and Percy had used, he took her to a large broom closet. Once inside, he set up even more privacy charms over the door than Percy had used and turned to speak to her, but even though his mouth was open, nothing came out. Ginny was surprised. She'd never seen _either_ of the Twins rendered speechless, but of the two, she'd have expected it more out of George than Fred, George being more of soft-spoken of the duo.

"Let me guess," she asked jokingly in an effort to lighten the mood, "you're going to tell me that the Hat offered you Slytherin but you insisted on Gryffindor."

Fred's face drained of all color. "How do you know about that?! Did the Hat talk about me?!"

"Fred, calm down!" she said. "It was just a joke. The Hat didn't say anything about you."

"Well what did it say about you, then? What did it tell you to get you to agree to Slytherin?" Ginny was starting to become alarmed. She'd truly never seen Fred this agitated.

"The Hat didn't really tell me anything or even give me much of a choice. It asked me some questions to get me to admit that I didn't want to just follow in the footsteps of other people and that I didn't like feeling overprotected by my older brothers." She hesitated. "It also asked me if I wanted to actually _be_ brave or just be satisfied with other people assuming I was." She winced at the look on his face. After her prior conversations with George and Percy, she was coming to realize just how troubling it was for people actually Sorted into Gryffindor to hear the Hat suggest that someone _really_ brave might need to be Sorted somewhere else.

There was a long silence before Fred spoke again. "Ginny? Am I ... mean?"

She was surprised by the question, and Fred became still more upset when her surprise turned into a hesitation that lasted longer than she'd meant it to.

"I wouldn't say you're _mean_, Fred. I know that you're more aggressive in your pranking than George and that he has to hold you back sometimes. But you have a good heart and don't intentionally hurt people. Now sometimes, with some people, maybe you take it too far, perhaps? I know Ron's still upset over that whole spider thing, and I probably would be too if you'd done that to me..."

At that, Fred barked out a laugh, but there was no humor in it. Then, he rubbed his eyes.

"Fred, what's going on?" Ginny asked. "What's this all about?"

"It's been, um, suggested to me ... and to George too, I guess ... that we're a couple of ... cruel bullies. I've never thought of it that way, but now..." He looked down at the floor. "When I was Sorted, the Hat _did _want to put me in Slytherin. It said I was clever and cunning but also likeable in a way that Slytherin needed among its House-members. But it also said that ... that _ruthlessness_ was a Slytherin trait and that I had that too. And that Slytherin House would help me to harness that and use it constructively, whereas Gryffindor would just ... let it run wild."

He looked up at her nearly in tears, as unhappy as she'd ever seen on him.

"And, Ginny, I really think it has."

* * *

_**2 September 1992, 1:45 p.m.**_

_**(The Afternoon of the First Day)**_

Ron Weasley was sitting by himself under a tree next to the Black Lake copying some passages from his Transfiguration text into his notebook when the Twins found him.

"Hello, Ickle Ronnikins!" "We'd like to have a little chat, if you have a second." "Or even if you don't." "It's about our Ickle Ginny-poo's Sorting." "And how you'd best act in response to it."

"Really?" said Ron glancing up before returning to his notes. "I was pretty sure Mum's Howler covered everything, but if you feel you need to add some more threats, have at it."

"Oooh, _have at it_, he says, Fred." "Why George! That's practically an invitation to get graphic with what we might do if our Ronnikins says or does anything to hurt Ginny's feelings!"

"Oh, I think I have a good idea of what all you can do to me. I've only lived with you my whole life." He paused and looked up again with a puzzled expression. "I am _curious _though. If _I'd_ been Sorted into Slytherin this time last year, would you two be out confronting Percy and the rest of the family and threatening them into not saying anything to hurt _my _feelings? Or would you have already flooded the Slytherin dungeons with spiders?"

"Awww! Is Ickle Ronnikins still mad over woozing his widdle teddy bear?" said Fred. For his part, though, George suddenly seemed uncomfortable.

Ron turned his attention back to his notebook and Transfiguration homework. "Yes, Fred," he spoke with a bitterness that surprised his brothers. "Yes, I am. Because I was _three_, and that bear was literally the only toy I remember having at that age, and that spider you Transfigured it into was nearly _half my size._ Though for what it's worth, I'm also still mad over that time you burned a hole in my tongue. And laughed at me while I was crying."

The Twins looked at one another, suddenly abashed. "Ron..." George began.

"I tell you what," Ron interrupted without even looking up from his writing. "Why don't we just cut to the chase? I'll swear you an Unbreakable Vow. Just like the one you nearly got me to swear when I was _five._ I'll take a vow to never say or do anything that hurts Ginny's feelings. And if I break it, I'll just _die._ Would that satisfy you two?"

"Look, Ron," George started again. "We're sorry. Both of us. We didn't mean to scare you with the spider or make fun of you or hurt you. We were just ... having a laugh."

"Guys," said Ron with surprising calm as he looked up at the Twins once more, "it's okay. Like I said, I've been dealing with this pretty much my whole life. I've gotten used to it. And honestly, it's a good thing I'm around. Because without me, you'd have probably devoted 100% of your energy on poor old Percy." Then, he suddenly fixed Fred with an icy glare. "I imagine you'd have driven him to suicide by now."

George was dumbstruck at that, while Fred went completely pale. Neither Twin said anything in response. After a few seconds, Ron turned back to his notebook and resumed writing.

"Now, if there's nothing else, I have Transfiguration in about ten minutes, and I really need to finish copying down these notes. Unless either of you wants to, I don't know, set my robes on fire or maybe turn my Transfiguration book into a giant tarantula or something. You know – for a_ laugh._"

* * *

_**2 September 1992, 10:30 p.m.**_

_**(The End of the First Day)**_

Ginny stared at her reflection in the mirror and then bent over to splash some water on her face. When she was Sorted into Slytherin, she'd been worried about drama with her family, but she never imagined the form it would take. If anything, her Sorting seemed to have _strengthened_ her bonds with three of her brothers but may have irrevocably damaged her relationship with a fourth. And worst of all, she didn't think there was anyone in her family she could talk to about it because, after the Howler, telling anyone how upset she was would probably make things worse. She was slightly horrified to realize just how much latent angst there was in the Weasley family now that her Sorting had ripped the bandages off and exposed wounds that she'd never realized existed.

As she straightened up and looked back into the mirror, she was startled to see the wan reflection of Amaryllis Wilkes standing behind her. She didn't quite scream but did let out a somewhat embarrassing squawk. The Wilkes girl merely rolled her eyes as Ginny turned around to look at her.

"Okay, Weasley. It's been just one day and I'm already tired of you jumping whenever I get near you, so let's get something straight: I'm _not _here to kill you."

"Well," swallowed Ginny, "that's ... nice."

"I'm not here to hurt you or harass you or do anything else to take revenge on you. My mother and father are dead, and _your _father is arguably responsible. But I never knew my mother and father, and from what I've learned, they were both awful, horrible people who deserved what they got. Also, the Wilkeses are a patrilineal family, and girls like me can't even become heirs. If my parents had lived, I might have been raised as a spoiled Pureblood princess until I was old enough to be married off to some Death Eater or I might have just been sacrificed as part of some disgusting blood ritual for glory of the Dark Lord. Who knows, am I right?"

Ginny nodded slowly. "Who indeed."

"So, long story short, I really don't care that you're Arthur Weasley's daughter. I mean, I _am_ pretty much certain to get treated like a junior Death Eater no matter what I say or do. So if other people start picking on you for being a blood traitor or whatever, I'll probably go along with it to preserve what little social standing I have, but it won't be anything personal. Are we clear?"

"Crystal clear... Wilkes."

"Good." Amaryllis turned and headed out of the bathroom before stopping to look back at Ginny. "Unless, of course, all that stuff I just said was an elaborate bluff to lull you into a false sense of security until I take brutal revenge on you for the deaths of my parents. I mean, we _are_ Slytherins, after all."

Ginny just stared at the other girl.

"That was a joke, Weasley."

"Of course it was, Wilkes. The only reason I'm not laughing is my natural Slytherin poise."

Amaryllis snorted and left the bathroom. Ginny slowly exhaled and shook her head.

"_The funny thing is_," she said to herself, "_after all that, I still think I have a better rapport with Erasmus Wilkes's daughter than I do with __Ron__!"_

* * *

_**2 September 1992, 9:40 p.m.**_

_**(Not Quite the End of the First Day)**_

Ginny finally found Ron in the Library of all places. If she'd been asked before, she'd have guessed that he didn't even know where the Library was, but there he was at a small table in the back near the stacks where Defense books were located. He had what looked like some upper-level DADA texts open and he was copying information into his notebook.

She coughed and spoke softly. "Hello, Ron."

He looked up at her. He didn't seem angry but neither did he seem pleased to see her. "Hey. Do you want me to call you Ginny or Ginevra? I've heard different stories."

"Ginny is fine, Ron."

He started packing away his notebook and pens and clearing away his workspace. "I assume you want to talk and won't take no for an answer. It'll have to be quick, though. I need to put these books back and then get back to the Tower before curfew."

With that, he flung his book bag over his shoulder and then picked up his stack of books to return to the shelves. Ginny followed behind him.

"Ron, I'm sorry about what happened at breakfast ... with the Howler and all that."

"Did you tell Mum to send me a Howler?" he asked in apparent seriousness.

"No! Of course not!"

"Well then, I don't see what you need to feel sorry about. That was Mum's decision, not yours."

"That's not the point, Ron. I mean, she shouldn't have done that."

He shrugged. "People do what they want to do, and the people they hurt just have to deal with it. That's just how things are. I only wish I'd handled it as well as your friend Harry did when he got one last year. He just laughed and laughed. People are still talking about that. I wasn't as strong as he was, but I didn't cry or anything, so that's got to count for something, right?"

"I suppose so," she said uncertainly, having no idea where Ron was going with this.

"But anyway. You wanted to talk to me. So talk."

She hesitated and then decided to get the most provocative question out of the way. "Ron, when you were Sorted, by any chance did the Hat offer you Slytherin?"

Just for a second Ron looked offended before he got hold of himself. "No, no it didn't. It _did_ offer me Hufflepuff, where I would be surrounded by people who were loyal to me and who would like me for being me and who would never take advantage of me, but at the time, I was too dumb to see the value in all that. Stupid of me, really."

"Do ... do you think I betrayed you somehow by going into Slytherin?" Ginny asked nervously.

"Well, Ginny, I'm not sure I can answer a question like that. See, as you might recall, that Howler from Mum this morning was pretty clear that I was not to say a single unkind thing about your Sorting. You wouldn't want me to get into trouble again, would you?" He finally smiled, but for some reason, Ginny wasn't reassured by it.

"Ron, right now, you can say whatever you want to say to me about my Sorting or anything else, and I promise I won't tell anyone. I just want to clear the air. I love you and I miss you. So please, tell me what you're feeling right now."

He hesitated. "You promise?"

"I give you my word, sister to brother."

For some reason, that amused Ron. "Okay, about your Sorting: At first, I was upset, but not at you. Honestly, I blamed Harry. I thought he'd come in with his good looks and all his money and all his magical power and training and all his smart ass charm, and he'd just turned your head and that was why you went into Slytherin."

He finished replacing the Defense books and then leaned an arm on the shelf. "But then, this morning, I got that Howler from Mum, and suddenly, _I understood_. After that, it didn't matter how or why you went into Slytherin. Because I finally understood who I was and who you were and what our places were in the Weasley family."

Ginny shook her head. "Ron, you're not making any sense. What did you suddenly understand about us?"

His face became serious, more so than Ginny had ever seen it. "Do you remember your seventh birthday, Ginny? The one where Mum and Dad got you that big cake custom-decorated with magic frosting to look like Jim Potter riding around on a dragon and waving at you? The one with all those balloons and presents from each of your brothers, even though Mum and Dad bought them all and just stuck our names on them?"

She stiffened and narrowed her eyes. "I remember it. Please tell me you're not jealous that I had a bigger party than you that year, Ron."

He laughed. "Your party _every _year has been bigger than all of your brothers put together, Ginny, but that's not the point. See, what you probably _don't_ remember is that your birthday that year happened to fall on _the exact same day_ that the Hogwarts supply letters came. That morning, Bill got a letter from Hogwarts that had his Head Boy pin in it. And Charlie got another one letting him know that he was the Fifth Year prefect _and_ the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain. And Dad clapped them on the back and Mum kissed them on the cheek, and then both Mum and Dad went right back to getting ready for your birthday party and never mentioned it again. No big announcement to the rest of the family. No presents for them. Nothing that might distract from your big day. I only know about it because I happened to be there to see it, but being just an eight-year-old, I didn't understand what I'd seen at the time. Not until today when I got that Howler. But looking back on it, I think – in fact, I'd bet my last galleon – that your seventh birthday was the _exact day_ that Bill and Charlie both decided to change their career plans. Before that, Bill was talking about getting a Ministry job and Charlie wanted to play professional Quidditch here in Britain. Instead, they both got jobs that required them to move over 2,000 miles away. Funny that, don't you think?"

Ginny stared at her brother uncomfortably. Looking back, she realized the timing was right for what he said, but she certainly didn't remember either Mum or Dad making a fuss over Bill and Charlie's extraordinary news. Surely they didn't snub their two oldest boys just for her seventh birthday party, did they? More importantly, surely that snub didn't incense Bill and Charlie so much that they decided to leave the country to get away from their family!

"Anyway, forget about your seventh birthday. Here's a more obscure birthday for you. After I lost my appetite at breakfast this morning, I suddenly took an interest in genealogy and spent some time here in the Library researching. _9 September 1769_. You know what that date is?" She shook her head in confusion. "That was the birth date of Ludmilla Weasley, the last daughter born to the Weasley line ... until you. Over _200 years _without any girls born into the family ... until you. But as I was looking that up, I noticed something else that was interesting. In all that time, no generation of Weasleys before ours has ever had more than four children and most only had one or two, but Mum and Dad had _seven. _Ha! _Seven children _on a Ministry bureaucrat's salary! Now, the way I see it, either seven is the number that breaks whatever curse we're under and allows for a daughter – seven being the most powerful magic number and all that guff – or else Mum and Dad just kept trying until they got the daughter they wanted, in which case we're lucky you finally came in at number seven or they'd have had to start dropping the spare boys off at the nearest orphanage."

"Stop it, Ron!" exclaimed Ginny who was becoming angry.

"Hey now! There's no reason for _you _to be the one getting angry. I mean, you're the winner here, not me." He smirked. "Bill was the perfect son. Charlie was almost the perfect son. Percy's a little bit prickly, but he still got twelve OWLS. The Twins are smart even if they don't apply themselves, and besides, everyone _loooves _them because _they're just so damned CLEVER and FUNNY!_" As Ron described the Twins, his smirk turned into a sneer as his voice grew louder and harsher. A fleck of spittle shot out of his mouth, and Ginny instinctively took a step back. Suddenly, she was no longer angry but frightened, both of her brother and for him. Ron paused to take a deep breath and then slowly exhale. Then, he spoke calmly but no less bitterly.

"But me? I've got next to nothing. I'm pretty good at chess. I suppose I'd do great at a pie-eating contest or something like that. Oh, and I'm best friends with the Boy-Who-Lived. I do have _that_ going for me. So yeah, when Jim said we were in danger at Kings Cross and asked if _I_ had any ideas for getting away and escaping to Hogwarts, I suggested the Anglia. Now maybe that was a good idea, or maybe it wasn't. But the fact remains – I was the one who tried to help protect the Boy-Who-Lived while you were the one who joined the House of Death Eaters. And yet somehow, _I'm_ the one who got a Howler in front of the whole school. And that's when I realized. There is _nothing _that _you_ could do that would cause you to lose our parents' affection. And there is _nothing_ that _I _can do to win their respect, because coming in at Son #6, I'm nothing but one of the _spares _they had to pop out on the road to _you_. I mean, Head Boy, Quidditch Captain and 12 OWLS wasn't enough, so what chance do I have?"

Ron picked up his book bag and slung it over his shoulder. "Congratulations on your Sorting, Ginny," he said as he passed by her on his way out. "I'm sure you'll do our parents proud. Daddy's Little Death Eater and all that."

With that last remark, Ron left Ginny behind. As she walked back to the dungeons alone, the girl briefly wondered whether her now being a Slytherin was the reason she wasn't crying.

* * *

**The next chapter will be uploaded on Friday, October 16, 2015. "Lockhart's Little Quiz" - Pretty much what it says on the tin. PLUS: Flint! Snape! And Cornish Pixies!**

**AN: Re Molly's Howler. Admittedly, Molly's use of a Howler on Ron in canon doesn't reflect well on her. However, there are two things to remember about it. One, Howler's are apparently commonplace in the wizarding world. As embarrassing as Ron's Howler was, n_o one_ in canon thought it was even slightly unusual for Ron to get one after what he'd done. Even Neville stated that Augusta had sent him one in the past, presumably for less egregious offenses than grand theft auto. This appears in canon to be just one of the quirky things about the wizarding world that differentiates it from the Muggle world. **

**Second, people tend to forget this, but _Molly was completely justified in being furious with Ron!_ Imagine that you had a twelve-year-old son who missed the bus on the first day of school ... and his response was to steal the family car and try to drive himself to school! Imagine further that he took with him as a passenger the most famous and well-known twelve-year-old in the world (Malia Obama, perhaps, or Prince William when he was that age). Imagine that he totaled it upon arriving at school! Imagine that the car had been tricked out with modifications that weren't street legal by your spouse ... who holds a position equivalent to Chairman of the National Automotive Safety Administration and who would become mired in scandal if the government found out all the details about the car's modifications. Honestly, in my head-canon for that scene, Molly was really angry first about how Ron had done something reckless and dangerous and second about the Inquiry at the Ministry, because due to Ron's thoughtless actions, Arthur was genuinely in danger of losing his job or possibly being sent to Azkaban for violating the very laws that he was supposed to be enforcing. **

**That doesn't mean that Molly's Howler isn't a bad thing - parents should try to avoid humiliating their children in public no matter how foolishly the child acted. But the canon, IMO, does not support the idea that Molly sends out hysterical Howlers every time she gets mad over some little thing. And it certainly doesn't support the (again IMO) bizarre reading of the character that treats Molly as some sort of hideous she-beast who spends all her time shrieking and ranting and more often than not who's been plotting since her first appearance to marry Ginny off to Harry so she can steal his fortune. I see that all the time in fan fiction, and to me it makes about as much sense as Argus Filch secretly being the Dark Lord.**


	50. HP&TSE 16 - Lockhart's Little Quiz

**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY**

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

* * *

**CHAPTER 16: Lockhart's Little Quiz**

_**3 September 1992**_

Just after lunch on Wednesday, a reluctant Harry accompanied a nervous Marcus Flint to meet with Professor Snape to discuss whether the man would allow Marcus to enter his Sixth Year NEWTS Potions class.

"I still don't know why you need me, Marcus," said Harry. "You're the Seventh Year Slytherin prefect. You already have Snape's support. A lowly Second Year like me isn't go to change his mind."

"Bollocks, Harry. I'm the Seventh Year prefect because every other male Slytherin in my class has been an even bigger wanker than me for the last six years. Besides, he loves you." Flint paused. "Well, he doesn't _hate_ you as much as he does most people. If nothing else, maybe you'll bring good luck like you did at the birthday party."

Harry looked up at him in astonishment. "How did I bring you good luck?! You almost got _eaten_ by a children's toy!"

"Ah, but I didn't. Instead, I helped save Rufus Scrimgeour's life _and_ got your Dad to shake my hand even though he'd spent the whole afternoon looking at me like I was something a sick dog had left on his yard. I call that good luck!"

Minutes later, Harry was seriously questioning whether he was lucky at all given the look that Snape was giving them both as Flint stammered out his request to be allowed into Sixth Year Potions despite (a) being a Seventh Year and (b) only scoring an EE on the Potions OWL exam he retook the previous summer. Snape said nothing at first, and the silence grew so oppressive that Harry thought he could hear Marcus's pounding heart. Finally, the man spoke.

"Mr. Flint, do you wish to pursue a Mastery in Potions?"

"Um, no sir."

"Do you wish to work in the experimental potions department at St. Mungo's?"

"No, sir," said Flint who was growing confused.

"Is it your goal to become an Unspeakable?"

"Sir, I just want to be eligible for the Auror Academy."

"I see. Then, your request is _denied._"

Flint looked stricken at that, while Harry finally spoke out. "Professor, I know you have a strict policy, but Mr. Flint jumped from a Poor to an Exceeds Expectations purely through just a few months of self-study. Surely that shows the depth of his commitment."

"I am not interested in commitment out of my Sixth and Seventh Year Potions students, Mr. Potter. I am interested in academic brilliance. Mr. Flint will not be permitted to enter my NEWTS Potion class... because doing so is _completely unnecessary_ for his stated career goals."

"Sir?" asked Harry.

"Honestly, Potter," Snape drawled, "use that brain that you somehow acquired despite sharing genetic material with your father and brother! Since I instituted a policy of only allowing Outstanding students to proceed past Fifth Year in my class, I have never had more than eight students in a given year graduate having completed the two-year NEWTs Potion curriculum. And yet, _somehow_, fifteen to twenty Hogwarts graduates pass the NEWT Potions exam _every year_. Now how would you explain this discrepancy?"

Harry blinked. "I would guess ... that the last two years of the Potions class aren't actually necessary to pass the NEWT exam?" he said uncertainly.

"Of course not!" the Professor snapped. "Do you really think the Headmaster – to say nothing of the Ministry – would tolerate a policy put in place by _me _that significantly reduced the number of applicants eligible to enter the Auror Academy or to apprentice at St. Mungo's? Especially if that policy blatantly favored Slytherins?

Harry blinked some more. Now that the man had mentioned it, it was rather surprising that his selectivity had been permitted by the Powers That Be for the better part of ten years.

Snape's mouth wrinkled under his nose in an expression of disdain. "Few things in this world annoy me as much as dunderheads who uncritically compare the most subtle science of potion-making ... to _cooking_. Unfortunately, the reason that comparison annoys me so much is because it is substantially correct. The essence of potion-making involves understanding what ingredients to use; how to properly chop, dice, crush or otherwise prepare the ingredients before adding them to the cauldron; and how long to let them brew and at what temperature. If you understand the fundamental techniques and can follow directions and _above-all _have sufficient patience and attention to detail, you can brew nearly any potion simply by following the directions, just as a reasonably intelligent Muggle can follow the recipes in a cookbook to prepare any dish. _But_, just because any imbecile can cook a grilled cheese sandwich doesn't mean he can just as easily prepare a Beef Wellington."

"Beef who?" asked a confused Marcus.

"Beef Wellington," said Harry. "It's a filet steak coated with pâté de foie gras and duxelles and then baked," at that point the boy noticed Snape staring at him with a slightly feral look, "inside a puff pastry and I'll shut up now."

"Please do," said the Potions Master. "My point, Mr. Flint, is that the there are no new techniques that are tested on the Potions NEWT that will be introduced in Years Six and Seven, which focus instead on advanced techniques offered as preparation for a future Potions apprenticeship. You already know every technical skill you need to pass the exam right now. The only difference between the OWL and NEWT exams lies in the increased number of potions you are expected to either brew from memory or via written instructions. That is why my practice from Day One is to write the brewing instructions on the blackboard and give little further direct instruction to the entire class – because that is how the OWL and NEWT practical exams are given. And while my students may whine endlessly about my teaching techniques, they have borne fruit in the form of a fifteen percent increase in the number of Hogwarts students who pass the Potions OWL compared to my predecessor, as well as a twenty percent increase in the number of students who eventually complete a Mastery."

He stood and opened the door for the two Slytherins, making it plain that it was time for them to depart. "In short, Mr. Flint, I recommend you hire a tutor and engage in vigorous self-study for the next nine months. That would be far more beneficial than sitting through a year of highly theoretical and advanced potions material which will not even appear on your NEWT exam. Now, if that is all, gentlemen, I bid you good day. I have the Gryffindor First Years in fifteen minutes, and I must prepare myself for the crushing wave of idiocy that draws nigh."

Once outside, Marcus looked at Harry in frustration. "Well, that was just spiffing! So I just find a potions tutor, which will probably be as embarrassing as it is expensive."

"Oi!" said Harry in annoyance. "I got tutored three days a week last summer and was glad of it. You do what you have to do to win. And besides, it's a _good_ thing that you don't actually need two years of NEWTS potions to take the exam. McGonagall has already said she'll let you into her Sixth form class this year, and this means you'll only need to take the Seventh year Transfiguration class when you come back next year. In the meantime, I'll figure something out on a Potions tutor."

Marcus nodded, relaxing a bit. "Thanks Harry."

Harry looked down at his watch. "And if you'll excuse me, I have to go see what the Great and Magnificent Gilderoy Lockhart has in store for us on the first day of class. Probably something to do with exfoliation."

Flint laughed. "Yeah, good luck with that. And don't forget – Quidditch tryouts tomorrow at 3:00."

Harry nodded and headed off to his next class: DADA with the Slytherins and the Gryffindors. Add Gilderoy Lockhart to the mix, and Harry was sure it was going to be a disaster.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Harry was seated in the DADA classroom, which had three new additions that caught Harry's eye. One was an enormous moving portrait of Gilderoy Lockhart ... painting a smaller moving portrait of Gilderoy Lockhart. It looked like the two Lockharts were constantly complimenting each other on their appearance when not looking out towards the classroom with dazzling smiles. Another was a small cage-shaped object on the desk which was covered by a purple cloth. Occasionally, it shook violently, suggesting that some Dark creature was trapped inside. Oh, and the chandelier had been decorated ... with dainty white flower blossoms that somehow didn't wither away from the glare of contempt Harry gave them.

The Slytherins for the most part stuck to the left side of the room and the Gryffindors to the right. Harry sat close to the middle, with Theo and Blaise on one side and Neville and Hermione on the other. Most of the other Second Year girls sat on the front row giggling with excitement, while Jim and Ron and the other Gryffindor boys were on the back row. Suddenly, the door in the back of the classroom was flung open, and Professor Lockhart strode through, resplendent in ultra-fashionable robes of tan and beige, his wand already in his hand. The class grew silent as he imperiously addressed the room.

"Let me introduce you to your new Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor ... _me._ Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin (Third Class), Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of the _Witch Weekly's_ Most Charming Smile Award. _But_, I don't like to talk about all _that._ After all, I didn't defeat the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her, _ha-Ha!_" Harry and Neville glanced over at each other. That _laugh _was going to get old very quickly.

"Now then, before we begin the lesson proper, we shall begin the class with a little quiz." The class groaned. "Now, now, it is important for me to properly evaluate where you all are and what you already know, as well as what, if any, particular interests you have within the broader canvas of the noble field of ... _Defense Against the Dark Arts_!" Lockhart gestured with both hands as he intoned the class's name, as if he could envision it written in giant glowing letters with his name across the top. "Hence, my little quiz. Now, I'm sure you all want to do your best, but I do have some additional incentives for you all. First, the five highest scoring students within each year will win one point each for their respective Houses. Second, if House pride does not encourage you, I will add an additional lagniappe."

"What's a lagniappe?" whispered Neville.

"I think it's a pastry," muttered Harry before Hermione shushed them both.

Lockhart continued. "Each student who scores high enough on the test and exhibits a particular expertise in the subject matter of one or more questions will be offered the chance to participate in one of several multi-year research groups. You will have a chance to work together with the brightest young minds among the upperclassmen of each house and, before the end of the year, will present a research paper germane to whatever research area you pursue. This paper, along with attendance and participation in the group meetings, will constitute 40% of your final grade, with the remaining 60% coming from the final exam."

At that, Harry and Hermione looked at each other sharply. _Forty percent of the final grade coming from a research paper?_

"_But_ for those of you who do not score well enough on the test to participate in these research projects, _do not despair_! For instead of a research paper, 40% of _your_ grades will come from elsewhere. You see, I have long believed that magical skill is not enough to defend one's self against that which crawls out of the dark places to threaten us. No, no, my young students! One must also be physically fit and martially proficient. Thus, those who do not score high enough on the quiz to be placed in a research group will instead undertake a course in physical fitness, conditioning and self-defense which I will teach each day Monday through Friday starting at 7:00 a.m. This course will be mandatory for all those not assigned to one of the research groups, with attendance and participation in it again making up 40% of your final grade for the year. Any questions?"

There were none, because the entire class was staring at Lockhart with their mouths agape in complete horror. _Physical fitness?! Self-Defense?! Starting at dawn for five days a week?! And it's 40% of the final grade?!_

"No questions! Excellent! I'm delighted to see how attentive you all are. Now, you have one hour to complete the quiz. Good luck to you all!" And with that, he gestured with his wand towards a thick stack of papers on his desk which promptly flew up and distributed themselves throughout the class. Harry grabbed his eagerly, scanned the first two questions, and nearly shouted out a profanity.

**1\. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday?**

**2\. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?**

Harry's head jerked up and he stared at the professor in a fury, but the man was paying the class no mind. Instead, he was sitting in a chair behind his desk with his feet propped up while he read from _his own autobiography _that was levitating in the air above him! With an audible growl, Harry returned to the exam, and he was relieved to see that, after the first few personal questions about the pompous instructor, the exam turned to more legitimate DADA topics.

**7\. Give a brief physical description of each of the following creatures as well as one viable approach for dealing with them in the wild: grindylows, hinkypucks, doxies, runespoors, bowtruckles, and gnomes.**

**8\. Name the most effective spell you can think of to defend against each of the following: vampires, hags, Dementors, werewolves, boggarts, and lethifolds.**

**9\. List the three chief weaknesses of the Protego shield. **

**10\. Describe the purpose and function of a Rememberall.**

**11\. What possible advantages do conventional non-magical hand-to-hand combat techniques hold over wand magic when engaged in a fight with a dark wizard? For bonus points: Do you have any formal training in any form of martial arts? If so, tell me what form you have studied and what degree of training you have reached. **

As the exam progressed, however, the questions became much more ... unusual. Some seemed incredibly arcane for a Second Year class. Others seemed so philosophical and subjective that Harry had no idea what might be considered a "correct" answer.

**16\. Explain your understanding of the term "dark magic." **

**17\. Is there such a thing as "light magic"? Or "grey magic"? If you say yes for either or both, explain your understanding of what those terms mean. **

**18\. What is an "esoteric" spell, and how is it distinct from most of the "standard" spells you have studied so far in your education?**

**25\. Close your eyes and think about your happiest memory. Describe how it makes you feel. You may include personal information about your chosen memory for context if you wish, but it is not required if the memory is too personal to share.**

**33\. Do you play Quidditch? If so, what position do you favor and how skilled do you consider yourself to be at it?**

**34\. Are you familiar with the Muggle sport known as ping-pong? If so, how proficient are you at it?**

Around that point, Harry and Neville were both startled to hear Hermione utter a very soft expletive. Astonished that anything in Lockhart's exam could so shock his demure friend, Harry looked ahead to the next page and immediately realized what had triggered her reaction. He was just as shocked himself.

**45\. Tell me everything you know that is relevant to the subjects of "nargles" and "wrackspurts," and please cite the source of your knowledge. You may use additional parchment if necessary.**

* * *

"TIMES UP!" Lockhart abruptly bellowed to the startled class. "You have five seconds to put your name on the top of the quiz if you have not already done so. Then, they will be collected and your grades and assignments posted by the end of the week." Seconds later, the exams were snatched away from the students with a wave of Lockhart's wand to be deposited on his desk.

"Now then, for the remaining half hour, it's time for some practical work. I wouldn't want you all to worry that I was just a harmless bookworm instead of a man of action, _ha-Ha!_" He stepped around the desk to the covered cage which had been rattling intermittently throughout the previous hour. "Now, I warn you. During the rest of the school year, you may find yourself facing your _worst nightmares _within this room. Know, however, that you are _safe_. For I, Gilderoy Lockhart, stand ready to protect you." He reached for the cloth and then paused to turn back to the nervous students. "Please, _try_ not to scream. It might _PROVOKE THEM!_."

With that, he ripped off the cloth with a flourish to reveal a brass cage containing what looked to be about a dozen or so tiny blue-skinned humanoid figures with big eyes and buzzing wings. It was decidedly anticlimactic.

"Cornish Pixies!" scoffed Seamus Finnegan. In the back corners, Jim and Ron on one side and Draco and his lackeys on the other all began to laugh in relief. Lockhart looked oddly smug.

"Oh dear. And I'd so hoped to impress you all on your first day with a potentially dangerous creature. But apparently, the lowly Cornish Pixie is beneath the concern of such accomplished young wizards and witches as yourselves. I humbly apologize for underestimating your acumen."

At the end of his apology, Lockhart threw out his arms in what seemed meant as a conciliatory gesture, but in the process, he accidentally bumped the cage, causing it to fall to the floor with a crash and an embarrassed "Oops!" from the Professor. The lid popped open, and the pixies flew out chittering loudly as they did.

"Oh goodness me! How clumsy that was! Well, good thing they're just pixies. No trouble at all for you to round up, I'm sure."

Harry had to suppress a shudder – the sound they made reminded him uncomfortably of the doxy swarm, although he knew that Cornish pixies were less dangerous than doxies and there were far fewer such creatures in the room today. Nevertheless, there was instant pandemonium in the class room.

"Ahh! Not the hair, not the hair!" screamed Lavender as one of the creatures grabbed hold of her locks and pulled.

"OWWW!" yelled Draco after Goyle, who'd been aiming to pound a pixie with a heavy book, missed and struck him in the back of the head.

"Dammit!" exclaimed Neville as he attempted to pop his wand out of its new holster only for it to fly out of his hand and land on the floor.

"_**PROTEGO!**_"cried Harry, the only one who'd managed to get a spell off in the initial fracas. A brilliant shimmering shield sprang into existence surrounding him, Neville, Hermione, Blaise and Theo. Seconds later, he heard Jim's voice behind him casting the same shield. Unfortunately, he realized almost instantly what a poor fit the Protego was for this situation. It was an enormous power hog for someone as young as him even under ideal situations, but more importantly, it was designed to block powerful spells and attacks at a single point of impact, not to protect five people from a flock of small magical creatures attacking at multiple points. After just a few seconds, Harry's knees started to wobble and his eyes swim. Then, his shield collapsed followed by the boy himself.

"Harry!" yelled Neville as he tried to catch the staggering Slytherin, but then Longbottom let out a cry of panic himself as two pixies flew in, grabbed him by the ears and started carrying him up into the air towards the hanging chandelier.

"_**IMMOBULUS!**_" cast Hermione in the direction of two pixies flying straight towards her. There was a flash of light and the creatures were suddenly frozen in mid-air. Harry immediately called out to Neville and targeted a Stunner towards the pixie attached to the boy's left ear. But before it could impact, his Stunner was deflected away by some unknown spell cast by Professor Lockhart. Harry angrily turned towards the fop but was surprised to see that the man was rather sternly wagging the index finger of his left hand in a warning manner. Then, another pixie swooped in and attempted to grab Lockhart's wand. Instead, however, Lockhart's whole body lit up in a soft blue nimbus, and the pixie jerked as if being electrocuted before letting go and fluttering away limply.

"Somebody get me DOWN!" yelled Neville, who was now suspended from the chandelier by the back of his robe.

Lockhart sighed. "Yes, I do suppose that's enough chaos for one morning." Then, he took a deep breath and waved his wand in a wide arc over the top of the class room. "_**IMMOBULUS MAXIMUS!**_" he bellowed. There was a much brighter flash of light than the spell cast by Hermione, and suddenly all the pixies across the room were frozen in mid-air, blinking in confusion. Lockhart turned to pick up the cage that he'd knocked over, apparently deliberately.

"Three points to Gryffindor for Miss Granger actually doing something remotely constructive. Though you'd have gotten a full five if you'd thought to use the Maximus modifier with your Immobulus and taken out the entire swarm. _**WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!**_" With that spell, he gently lifted Neville off the chandelier from which he had been hanging and down to the ground.

"Why is it always me?" Neville muttered in annoyance, but Lockhart heard him.

"Why indeed? Does anyone have any theories as to why Mr. Longbottom was targeted in particular? Anyone at all?"

The room was silent for a second, and once it was clear the Professor really was waiting for a volunteer, Daphne Greengrass raised her hand confidently, and Lockhart called on her.

"Longbottom is the largest person in the middle of the room. Pixies generally target mid-sized animals like sheep or small cows and leave them hanging from blackthorn trees," she suddenly looked a bit green, "um, so that their blood can be drained out. Anyway, I just noticed that you'd hung blackthorn branches and blossoms in the chandelier, presumably to imitate their native habitats."

"Well stated and very observant of you, Miss Greengrass. Two points to Slytherin. As '_harmless_' as Cornish pixies may appear to be to the uninitiated, they _are _carnivorous swarming predators. While not as dangerous as their cousins, the doxies, these pixies do carry a paralytic venom, and had Mr. Longbottom been caught in the wild, he'd have been bound up in a tree and slowly exsanguinated."

Lockhart suddenly smiled at what he'd just said. "Exsanguinated! What a delightful word for something so macabre! Makes me feel quite professional to say it! _Ex-SANG-guinated!_ Anyway, Mr. Longbottom, you will be pleased to know that these pixies have been defanged, declawed and de-venomed for academic use. I promise you, I would never allow one of my students to be disemboweled and _exsanguinated _the first day. That would be _terrible_ for my future book sales, _ha-Ha!_"

Neville, for some reason, didn't find that very funny.

"Cornish pixies also have an unusual hunting technique. When a pair of pixies each grab an ear on a prey animal, it has the curious magical effect of making the prey weightless, which is how Mr. Longbottom could be lifted up to the ceiling by two creatures who weigh less than a pound each without having his ears ripped off instead. Now, armed with that new information, Mr. Harry Potter, do you now understand why I interfered with your noble but misguided effort to rescue Mr. Longbottom?"

Harry, who had retaken his seat, thought for a second, and then the light bulb went off in his head. He suddenly blushed in embarrassment. "If I'd taken out only one of the pixies, the magical weightlessness effect would have failed and Nev ... er, Mr. Longbottom would have fallen and been hurt." He turned to his friend and whispered, "Sorry, mate."

"No harm, no foul, Harry," he whispered back.

"For future reference, Mr. Longbottom, should you find yourself in that situation again, the proper response is to grab each pixie around the stomach and gently squeeze until the creatures begin to lose consciousness, at which point they will gently float you to the ground. Of course, once you're back on the ground, you must immediately seek medical assistance, as the paralytic venom of wild pixies will render you completely helpless within fifteen minutes. If you have reason to believe that you're entering an area where wild Cornish pixies may be found, it would be wise to carry a vial of Mandrake extract with you, as it will counteract the paralysis if ingested quickly and render you immune to the venom for several hours." He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a small vial containing a glowing green liquid. "The Muggles have a saying: Proper planning prevents poor performance," he said before replacing the vial and continuing with his lecture.

"Now, Miss Granger answered the question of how best to attack the creatures, though her particular method was sub-optimal. But I am dismayed that no one at all considered suitable defensive options. The two Mr. Potters and, belatedly, Mr. Malfoy tried to defend themselves with Protego shields – nicely executed all three of you, at least for wizards of your age and experience – but the deficiencies of Protego must have quickly become apparent when used against swarming creatures. What makes this particularly disappointing to me is that the correct answer should have been obvious to anyone who read my opus **Holidays with Hags** in which I defended myself against a swarm of grindylows with the Vestamentarum shield. As the spell's description makes clear, it's a low-level full-body shield with minimal power requirements, but it is particularly useful against smaller swarming creatures of any kind, whether magical creatures like grindylows or pixies or mundane dangers such as bee swarms or piranha schools. It will not protect against any animals much larger than those nor will it block any actual spells, but Vestamentarum's power requirements are comparatively negligible. I've actually had one on since before I entered the room."

With that, he clapped his hands together hard, and the blue nimbus Harry had noticed earlier lit up again, causing a small spark of electricity to envelop both his hands. Apparently, it was mildly painful as he grimaced and shook his hands out.

"_Ouch_. Now, I'll just put our little floating friends away, and we'll spend the remainder of the class practicing the Vestamentarum shield." With that, he pulled his wand back out and touched it to the empty cage now back on his desk. "Peskipiksi Pesternomi." There was a flurry of motion as all the pixies were sucked back into the cage.

"Was that a spell, Professor?" asked Granger in surprise.

"No, Miss Granger, just a command word to activate the enchantment on the cage that automatically summons the pixies back inside." He chuckled. "We British do love our bad puns, don't we."

* * *

Later, as the class was leaving, Blaise leaned in to Harry with a smirk. "Well?"

"Alright, you win. There's more to Lockhart than meets the eye. He's not just a pompous fraud."

But then Blaise's smirk faded as Harry looked him in the eye with a serious expression. "So you tell me: why is he _pretending_ to be a pompous fraud?"

* * *

**The next chapter will be uploaded on Monday, October 19, 2015. "Team-Building Exercises (Pt. 1)." Quidditch tryouts, followed by a friendly match against the Gryffs. Then, Hermione gains a new respect for Professor Lockhart, while Draco finds himself in extremely unfamiliar territory.  
**

**AN 1: Lockhart's self-introduction and his dialogue introducing the pixies is taken from the movie (lest the "plagiarism patrol" or whatever that was come after me again.**


	51. HP&TSE 17 - Team-Building Exercises (1)

**HARRY POTTER &amp; THE SECRET ENEMY**

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

* * *

**CHAPTER 17: Team-Building Exercises (Pt. 1)**

_**4 September 1992**_

By 3:00 p.m. on Friday, Harry was out on the Quidditch pitch ready for tryouts. In his hand was a Nimbus 2000, exactly like the one Jim had received the year before. James and Lily had bought it as his birthday present but had not been able to see him open it before the party turned into a bloodbath, so they had it delivered to Longbottom Manor the next day with a note of apology. Harry had managed to squeeze in as much flying practice as possible before the end of summer, but he didn't really have anyone to actually practice Quidditch with, so he was hoping "Potter talent" would be enough. James had been a legendary Chaser, so hopefully he'd have inherited that (and as little else as possible).

The Slytherin returning team members were Marcus Flint and Adrian Pucey as Chasers, Peregrine Derrick and Lucian Bole as Beaters, and Miles Bletchley as Keeper. Graham Montague, the other Chaser from the year before, was a returning Third Year, but he'd quietly let Marcus know over the Summer that he'd only play again if no one who tried out was any good. The boy was feeling the pressure to follow in his brother Rodney's footsteps (the former prefect had graduated with six NEWTs and was off to Italy for a Double Mastery in Potions and Transfiguration), and he felt that he needed to get his grades up rather than spend twelve or more hours a week on Quidditch. Marcus, who was likewise feeling the pressure of his own upcoming NEWTs, was in no position to complain. Consequently, there were two open spots on the Slytherin team: Chaser and Seeker. Harry and Draco were trying out for both spots, as was Cassius Warrington, a Fourth Year. Unlike the Malfoys, the Warringtons were never accused of being actual Death Eaters, but like the Bletchleys and Harpers, they definitely had Pureblood sympathies. A few other Snakes would be trying out, but those three were clearly the ones to beat.

As Marcus explained how the tryouts for the open positions would work, Harry noticed that Bletchley was giving him an ugly look. Finally, at the end of his speech, Marcus asked if there were any questions, and he was surprised when his veteran Third Year Keeper raised his hand.

"Yeah, Bletchley?"

"When you're picking the newbies, will you take things like House loyalty into account?"

Marcus gave him an angry glare. "What the hell is that supposed to mean, Bletchley?"

"It means, _Captain,_ that I don't know if I'm happy being on a team with someone who thinks I'm '_a bigoted lackey of a failed Dark Lord_,'" replied the Pureblood as he glanced over at Harry. Both Draco and Warrington grumbled, as did a few of the older students.

Harry yawned in apparent boredom. "If you're referring to me with that crack, Bletchley, then I must say I'm surprised. I wasn't aware that your family had ever even followed Voldemort." Everyone flinched at the name and the group went quiet.

"You shouldn't say that name, Potter," said Warrington in a dangerous voice.

Harry looked back at him levelly. "Why not, Warrington? I'm not afraid of dead men. And anyway, I can't imagine why saying that name should offend anyone here. After all," he spared a glance towards Draco, "it's not as though any of our parents _willingly_ served the man, right?"

Draco scowled. He'd been raised to believe in the Dark Lord's Pureblood philosophy ... as well as to believe that one day the Dark Lord would return. However, he also knew that _denying_ such beliefs was the only thing that had kept his father out of Azkaban, a fact that left him unable to respond to Harry's comments.

"Enough," said Marcus. "I don't give a damn about what anyone's parents did, whether twelve years ago or earlier this morning. I want the best damned team I can get because I want to go out with another Quidditch Cup under my belt. If you want to refight the last war, do it somewhere else! Got it!"

Everyone grumbled an agreement, and at his command, they took to the air for the tryouts. By the end of the first hour, it was clear to everyone that, blood traitor or no, Harry Potter was an exceptionally talented Quidditch player. By the end of the second hour, both Draco and Warrington were visibly frustrated as it seemed almost certain that Harry would make the team, and it was now a contest between the two of them for whichever spot Harry didn't want. Of the two, Draco was a much better Seeker, but Warrington edged him slightly as a Chaser. At the end of tryouts, Marcus pulled Harry aside.

"Alright, Potter. Time for you to decide. You've got your pick of Seeker or Chaser."

Harry nodded. Humility was not a prized attribute among Slytherins, and he didn't waste Flint's time by pretending that he wasn't the best candidate for either of the two slots. "Who do you see taking the other slot?"

Flint exhaled. "Malfoy's a better Seeker than Warrington is a Chaser. Gotta say, though, I'm a bit worried about the possible complications of Malfoy on the team."

"How so?" asked Harry.

The other boy looked around to make certain they were not being observed. "I'm not supposed to tell anyone until after I've announced the new team members, but Lucius Malfoy donated a set of new brooms to the team. Nimbus 2001s."

Harry whistled. "Conditional on his son making the team?"

"That's just it. He made it _very_ clear that it was _not_ conditional on Draco making the team. He said he'd be pleased if Draco made it on, but only if I was 100% sure he was the absolute best person for the spot. In fact, he said he'd rather Draco _not_ make the team at all rather than make it and embarrass the family by not being qualified and getting on just because of his name. It was like ... like if I didn't think Draco was essential to the team, then he was actually bribing me to keep Draco off!" Marcus thought for a minute. "Oh, and he also said not to _tell_ anybody any of that, so don't go blabbing."

Harry brow furrowed at the new information, and he turned to look at Draco who was standing across the field with Warrington and Bletchley. "_And even if Draco __does__ make it on through merit, everyone else will just __assume__ it was due to his father's gift,_" he thought to himself. "_What __is__ Lucius Malfoy's game?_"

"So anyway, it all comes down to you, Potter. What position do you want?"

Harry turned back to Flint with a thoughtful expression on his face.

* * *

_**5 September 1992**_

Bright and early on Saturday morning, the Slytherin team was en route to the pitch when they crossed paths with the Gryffindors who were doing the same. Immediately, the Lions' high-strung captain, Oliver Wood, threw a tantrum.

"But, I _booked the pitch!_ I _BOOKED IT!"_ he said with steam practically coming out of his ears. Naturally, Marcus knew perfectly well that Oliver had booked the pitch with Madame Hooch for this morning. That was why he went behind her back to Snape for a note that gave him priority.

"Sorry, Wood. We need the practice time. We've got a new Seeker, a new Chaser _and_ ... a set of seven shiny new Nimbus 2001s to break in." The Gryffindors instantly started grumbling at that news, particularly Jim.

"Yeah, well, at least no one on our team had to buy their way on," he said contemptuously.

"Says the only Gryffindor whose father bought him a Nimbus 2000 last year," replied Harry with a laugh. "Why don't you just get Daddy to buy a set of Nimbuses for the whole Gryffindor team if you have such ... _broom envy_." The other Slytherins snickered rudely at that.

"That's disgusting," said Jim. "And typical. There's never been a Slytherin with any class and there never will be."

Harry laughed at his twin. Behind Jim, Harry noticed that both George and Fred both frowned at his brother's blanket insult of the entire Slytherin House. He turned to his teammates. "Flint? Malfoy? A word, please?"

The three stepped away while the Gryffindors and the other Slytherins postured towards each other. Then, after barely half a minute, they came back.

"How about this compromise, Wood?" said Flint with a somewhat malicious smile. "Instead of fighting over who gets the pitch, why don't we share it? We'll have a pick-up game. See how our two Seekers compare to one other." With that, he put his arm around Harry's shoulder like the boy was a beloved sibling.

"You're the Slytherin Seeker?!" exclaimed Jim.

"I'm looking forward to seeing how I stack up against you in the air ... Little Brother." Harry gave his best Slytherin sneer.

"You're on!"

"Potter!" snapped Oliver Wood. "That's not your call!"

"Come on, Wood!" said Flint with a smile. "This way, we both get a practice in this morning. What's the harm? Unless you don't think you're ready for us, of course."

Oliver snarled at his rival. "We're always ready for the likes of you, Flint!"

And to be honest, it looked like the Gryffindors were indeed ready for their rivals. The pick-up game lasted most of the morning, and the Gryffindors dominated almost from the start. While Flint and Pucey had developed considerable teamwork since the year before, Draco was clearly not Chaser material and was completely unable to help them set up plays, let alone play any sort of competent defense against the well-oiled machine of Spinnet, Johnson and Bell. Miles Bletchley had definitely improved as Keeper, but he wasn't nearly as skilled as the obsessive and far more experienced Oliver Wood. Bole and Derrick, likewise, were not quite a match for the Weasley Twins and their uncanny ability to set one another up for well-timed Bludger attacks.

But the biggest problem for the Snakes seemed to be with the Seeker position. Jim struggled not to laugh at his older brother's inattention, as Harry spent nearly all his time watching the game below instead of looking for the Snitch. True, whenever Jim spotted it, Harry reacted quickly enough, but spotting the Snitch first was a huge advantage, and Harry's lack of attention allowed Jim to claim the Snitch in three out of four matches, with Harry's one win mainly a matter of lucky positioning rather than superior skill. When the teams finally broke for lunch, it was a subdued Slytherin team that headed towards the locker rooms. Cassius Warrington and some of his Pureblood friends were waiting for them at the door with smug expressions.

"What do you want, Warrington?" snarled Flint.

Warrington looked down his nose at the Captain. "To see if you'd come to your senses and realized the mistake you've made. It should be obvious that the blood traitor has no business being on the team."

Harry just shook his head. "It was only a pick-up game, Warrington," he said mildly.

"That doesn't matter. It was obvious that you're no match for your brother." He turned to Flint. "Malfoy should be Seeker, I should be Chaser, and the blood traitor should be off scrubbing toilets or fraternizing with Mudbloods or something."

Flint's face hardened as he debated whether to punch Warrington's lights out, when a rather tired Draco finally spoke up. "Warrington, I _am_ the Seeker. Potter's _the Chaser_. We just swapped positions for this morning."

"What?!" Warrington's face went from person to person in confusion. "But why would you do that? Why would you sacrifice a chance to use your best players against the Gryffindors?"

"Because we're _Slytherins_, Warrington," said Harry as if speaking to a small child. "And _real_ Slytherins know when a victory _matters_ and when it's meaningless and can be sacrificed for a greater purpose." Harry moved around Warrington to enter the locker room.

"I don't follow," said Warrington in confusion.

"Of course not," said Harry as he passed inside. "I said _real_ Slytherins."

An hour later, after a shower and a quick lunch, it was a much more upbeat Slytherin team that congregated in the Seventh Year prefect's office. There, while partaking of butterbeer and snacks that had been smuggled into the dungeons, they took turns over the next four hours sticking their heads into Harry's penseive and taking careful notes as they reviewed Potter's remarkably vivid memories of every single play the Gryffindors made.

* * *

_**6 September 1992**_

_**8:00 a.m.**_

The next morning as Harry was heading to Sunday breakfast, he saw a new and fairly large posting on the Slytherin bulletin board. It was the results of Lockhart's quiz. Harry was pleased to see that he had made the list of students who had scored high enough to avoid mandatory early morning P.E., but he was intrigued by his appointment to "Research Team _Protector._" Apparently, each of the teams had snazzy code names, including Team Recall, Team Backdoor, Team Counterstrike, Team Chameleon, and, most interestingly, Team _Mysterioso_, among a few others others. Marcus was also on Team Protector, while Blaise was on Team Recall, Draco was on Team Counterstrike and, to his surprise, Ginny was on Team Mysterioso, the only Slytherin First Year to make the cut. There were several other older Slytherins named who were not a part of his circle, most notably Warrington, who was on Team Backdoor. Harry was less pleased to see that the "organizational meeting" for Team Protector was later that afternoon at 4 p.m., as he'd planned to spend the afternoon flying.

* * *

_**1:00 p.m.**_

"_**TBD"**_

At one o'clock, Hermione Granger entered the DADA class room to find that it was empty. Her name had been listed among the Gryffindors who would serve on Lockhart's research teams, but she was somewhat perturbed to see that next to her name the sheet simply said "TBD – see Lockhart at 1:00 p.m. today." She was a bit nervous to see that she was the only "TBD" among the Gryffindors and even more so now that she realized she was the only one among the entire student body. At that point, the door to Lockhart's office opened up and the man entered with his usual flair.

"Ah, Miss Granger. Thank you for joining me. Please take a seat." She dutifully did so. "Now, I suppose you're wondering why you're here alone. _Be not afraid!_ As it turns out, you not only have the highest grade of any DADA student below Fifth Year, you also demonstrated some specialized knowledge that I believe makes you eligible to participate in not one but _two_ of my research projects. I asked you to come here today to determine which one you would like to join." Hermione smiled and relaxed at that, as Lockhart continued. "Actually, to be _honest_, I asked you here to see if I could persuade you to participate in _both_ of them. I know that doing so might represent a significant time investment for you, and I cannot give you extra points for participating in both projects as that would be unfair, I think, to your fellow students. Nevertheless, the two projects I have in mind might actually have some relationship to one another, and I think it might be beneficial to have someone on both teams who can look for common ground. Naturally, you would only have to submit one paper at the end of the year and would have your pick of which of the two projects you wished to write about."

Hermione's eyes widened in surprise. She was accustomed to being an overachiever but seldom had teachers willing to push her to this degree. "Well, Professor Lockhart, before I decide, I'd like to know a bit more about the projects, if that's okay."

"Certainly, Miss Granger. But first, answer me this question: How did you know my favorite color was _lilac_?"

She blinked in surprise. "Well ... it was in one of your books."

"Yes, but where specifically?"

Mildly confused by the question, Hermione closed her eyes and tried to remember. "I believe it was **Visiting with Vampires**, Chapter 19. You mentioned it was your favorite color when you were complementing the gown worn by Elizabeth Bathory, the Vampire Queen of Hungary."

"Indeed. And, just between us, my favorite color is actually _emerald __green_. I just thought it prudent to exercise some politesse in that situation lest my bloodless corpse be found floating in the Danube. Next question: How did you know when my birthday was?"

"**Gadding with Ghouls**, Chapter 12. The hotel concierge in Monte Carlo wished you a happy birthday."

"Ah, yes. Good old Armand. _But_ – the actual date wasn't mentioned in that chapter, was it?"

"No, sir, but the date _was_ mentioned in Chapter 13, the events of which took place one day later."

Lockhart laughed. "Excellent, Miss Granger, excellent. As I suspected, you have an eidetic memory or something close to it. Which is why I would like for you to consider becoming a member of Research Team Recall. Team Recall is devoted to the study of memory charms, both how to better defend against them and how to more easily recover from them. Naturally, someone with your particular gifts would be a great boon to such research."

At that, Hermione found herself mildly shocked. Like Harry, she'd thought the personal questions about Lockhart were a sign of his vanity. It had not occurred to her that the answers to those questions were buried in Lockhart's books as trivia and that only someone with an exceptional memory might have recalled them. Her estimation of the Professor suddenly rose several notches.

"Thank you, sir. And the other project?"

Lockhart hesitated. "Miss Granger, before I get into that, I must ask: Do you consider Miss Luna Lovegood to be a friend? Or, if not a friend exactly, then at least someone towards whom you feel protective?"

"Well, sir... to be honest, I haven't known Miss Lovegood for very long ... but yes, I do consider her a friend, and I suppose I am a bit protective of her." She paused and frowned. "Does this have something to do with ... _nargles_, sir?"

He smiled. "Very astute, Miss Granger. Out of the entire student body, only eight students gave _any_ meaningful response to the question about nargles and wrackspurts, seven of whom gave a vague description followed by some variation on '_they're things that Luna Lovegood believes in._' The eighth student was Miss Lovegood herself, who provided three feet of parchment about the creatures, including fairly detailed drawings. She also wrote very approvingly of the '_orderly and disciplined_' nature of your own nargles and wrackspurts which is another reason why I decided to approach you about this team."

"Professor Lockhart," Hermione began somewhat uncertainly, "are you saying that nargles and wrackspurts are ... _real_?"

He shrugged. "Honestly, Miss Granger? _I don't know_. That's why I asked the question." He rose from his desk and went over to a cabinet from which he withdrew what looked like a fairly old and battered Care of Magical Creatures text book. From the cover, she saw that the title was **Beasts of the Magical World**_, Grade 5_ by Edwina Farnsby.

"After I accepted my position here at Hogwarts, I decided to dig some old textbooks and class notes that had been put up in storage at Gringotts and refamiliarize myself with the curriculum as it was taught during my school days. It took a while to get them – my family has a history of ... protectiveness when it comes to our vaults, and I had to pass through a number of powerful and somewhat experimental wards in the process. As I was reviewing my old CoMC books looking for information about various creatures that might be relevant, I came across several entries on nargles, wrackspurts and certain other types of mind-affecting creatures that apparently are completely undetectable by magical or mundane means save for a rare few wizards and witches with the innate power to see them. But what was _most_ intriguing about these entries is that I had absolutely no recollection of studying these creatures before _even though there were notes written in the margin in my own hand!"_

"Intrigued by that, as I normally have a very good memory, I began researching for these creatures elsewhere but could find no references to them from any other source. Not in any of Scamander's books nor in Lima's. Not even in the Encyclopedia Magica. I even wrote to Edwina Farnsby _herself_ to ask about the creatures that _she had previously written about_ and got a Howler in reply from the old witch telling me off for wasting her time with such nonsense! After that, I finally tracked down a second copy of **Magical Beasts of the World**_, Grade 5_ that was published in the same year as the one from my vault, and do you know what I found?"

Hermione shook her head.

"The pages that had been devoted to nargles and wrackspurts in _my _copy of the book had been replaced in the other by completely different content detailing the various uses of _flubberworm mucous_!" Lockhart shook his head. "It's a remarkable mystery, Miss Granger, one for which I can only divine two possible solutions. One is that someone somewhere is playing an incredibly elaborate practical joke on me, one which involves Luna Lovegood and which apparently required the perpetrators to infiltrate my Gringotts vault!"

"And the other solution, Professor?" Hermione said in bafflement.

He sighed. "That wrackspurts and nargles do exist, and someone has gone to extraordinary lengths to make the entire world forget about them," he said simply.

Hermione simply stared at her professor, flabbergasted at the idea of a conspiracy so bizarre that it made the existence of Blibbering Humdingers seem tame in comparison.

* * *

**The next chapter will be uploaded on Friday, October 23, 2015. "Team-Building Exercises (Pt. 2)," in which Harry and Draco each make unexpected alliances, while the students of Hogwarts are introduced to ping pong and Patronuses.**

**AN 1: In the "next time" blurb for the previous chapter, I said that Draco finds himself in unfamiliar territory. After posting that, I realized that this chapter was much longer than I had intended. The Draco scene I was alluding to will appear at the start of the next chapter.**


	52. HP&TSE 18 - Team-Building Exercises (2)

**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY **

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

**CHAPTER 18: Team-Building Exercises (Pt 2)**

_**2:00 p.m.**_

_**Team Counterstrike**_

Draco strode imperiously into the DADA classroom just before two o'clock and then stopped abruptly. Counting him, there were sixteen students in the room which was completely empty of all furniture other than a large green table divided in the middle by a small barrier made of some woven material. Draco looked around the room and immediately realized three things. First, he was the only Slytherin present. Second, with the exceptions of the Ravenclaw Cho Chang and the Hufflepuff Cedric Diggory, he was the only Pureblood in the room. In fact, if he was not mistaken, nearly half of the students in the room were either Muggle-born or Muggle-raised. Third, standing next to Chang and Diggory was Jim Potter who was actually _sneering_ _at him_ ... as if any Gryffindor ever had any business sneering at a Slytherin! Why it was practically a perversion of the natural order!

Undaunted, Draco made his way over to that group. He realized that the four of them represented all four of the school's Seekers. He also realized that no one outside his House was supposed to _know_ that he was the Slytherin Seeker.

"I was expecting Harry instead of _you_, Malfoy. None of us have any idea how we got assigned to this group, so I'd assumed it was a Seeker thing."

"_Well_," Draco sniffed contemptuously. "It should be fairly obvious that I _should_ be the Slytherin Seeker. Perhaps Lockhart took that into account."

Jim laughed. "Please. If my brother beat you as awful as he was yesterday, I don't even want to think about how bad you must be."

Draco's face reddened, but before he could retort, Chang spoke up. "Oh, cut it out, both of you! It's bad enough I'm giving up my Sunday afternoon to learn how to play _ping-pong_ without having to listen to a bunch of Snake-vs.-Lion sniping!"

Draco did a double-take. "_Ping ... pong?_"

"Yeah," said Diggory. "It's a Muggle game. Justin knew what the table was immediately. He's got one at home. Says he's pretty good at it."

Malfoy looked over in the direction of the Muggleborn Justin Finch-Fletchley, who appeared to be demonstrating some sort of odd wand movements to the other students. The Pureblood gritted his teeth at the thought of fraternizing with such Mudbloods, particularly since he was under an Unbreakable Vow not to use that word in the presence of anyone who might be offended by it ... which appeared to be everyone in this room. However, the alternative to fraternizing with Mudbloods and Halfbloods in order to learn some poxied Muggle children's game was getting up at the crack of dawn every day for fitness training. He shuddered at the thought of running around Black Lake through six inches of snow once December arrived. Suddenly, the door opened, and Lockhart entered with a flourish, carrying two small oddly-shaped wooden bats (like tiny round Beater's bats, the four Seekers noticed) and a white ball about the size of a Snitch.

"Good afternoon, students. Welcome to the introductory meeting for Research Team Counterstrike. Also known as 'Ping-Pong 101,' _ha-Ha!_" A few of the students laughed nervously, but most just stared at the man. "Now, I assume you all know what this is, but just in case some of you aren't up to speed, I shall explain. Ping pong, also known as table tennis, is a Muggle sport dating back just over 100 years. Its three components are the ping pong ball, the bat (or _paddle _in some countries) and the table." He held up the ball with one hand and one of the bats with another. "Mr. Finch-Fletchley, would you step forward please?"

A bit surprised, Justin stepped forwarded and accepted one of the bats which Lockhart offered him. "Now, Mr. Finch-Fletchley, you indicated that you have actually played this game competitively?"

"Yes, sir. The private academy I attended before Hogwarts had a table tennis club. I've also played in youth tournaments and even won a few in my age bracket."

"Excellent! Now, would you mind explaining the rules for the game for those unfamiliar with it. I'd do so myself, but I'm not too proud to defer to someone more experienced than I, regardless of their youth."

Justin nodded before turning and giving a brief description of the rules of ping pong before the dubious crowd. As he did so, Lockhart removed his cloak and the jacket he wore underneath and then rolled up his shirt sleeves. By the time Justin was done, Lockhart had taken a position at one end of the table with the other bat in hand.

"Well summarized, Mr. Finch-Fletchley. Now, would you care to play against me for a bit to demonstrate?" The boy nodded and took up a position on the opposite side. "Now, do take it easy on an old man, Finch-Fletchley. I am an amateur at this, after all."

With that, Justin served a volley towards Lockhart who returned it easily. The two went back and forth for several minutes, and Justin quickly realized that while Lockhart might not be ready for competition play, he was no complete amateur either. Soon, Justin had actually moved a few feet back from the table into his competition stance, and Lockhart matched him. Their game play sped up as well, and soon the students who were unfamiliar with the game watched in astonishment at how fast the ball went back and forth. Finally, Justin lunged and hit the ball hard and with a spin, and it slipped past Lockhart's defense, bouncing off at the very edge of the table. Lockhart smiled, dropped his paddle, and applauded the boy, and the audience followed suit. Even Draco allowed himself to be impressed at the Mudblood's skill.

"Well done, Mr. Finch-Fletchley. Well done, indeed. Now, you may return to your fellow students." Justin left the paddle on the table and moved back to the group, where Cedric slapped him on the back genially.

"Now then," continued Lockhart. "You're all obviously impressed with young Finch-Fletchley's skills, but I'm sure you're also wondering _what on Earth _ping pong has to do with Defense Against the Dark Arts. And the answer is ... well, the answer is something I can't tell you, at least not yet. What I _can_ tell you is this: There is a defensive spell I'll be teaching later this year, probably in late November or early December. Hopefully, all of you will be here to learn it, but we shall see. The spell I'm thinking of is the preferred defense of some of the world's top champion duelists. It is also a spell that can save your life in a firefight against a dark wizard. Unfortunately, it is a spell that requires phenomenal dexterity, eye-hand coordination, and reflexes. And if you are _lacking_ in those areas, the spell I'll be teaching will not help you at all and might very well get you killed if you attempt to rely on it in a life-or-death combat situation."

He turned and gestured towards the ping pong table. "Hence, _ping pong!_ I am of the belief that the skill sets required for a successful ping pong player overlap those required for _the mystery spell_. If I am correct, I believe that this simple Muggle game can eventually become a valuable part of the auror training program. Or not. That's what research projects are for – to find out what works and what doesn't. That's also why I'm not telling you what the _mystery spell_ is and _why I don't want any of you to go looking for it_! The whole point of this exercise is to see how well ping pong works as a training tool, and you'll ruin the project's experimental value if you learn the spell before I'm ready to teach it. Now, you'll find there is a room set aside on the third floor which now contains four ping pong tables with balls and bats in a nearby cupboard. Each of you has a bat with your name already on it. You may spend as much free time as you want practicing, and every two weeks, we will meet in that room to evaluate your progress."

He hesitated and then gave a sad expression. "While it's up to you how much practice time you want to spend, I should warn you that any students who clearly have no aptitude for ping pong will eventually be removed from this Team and reassigned to the early morning physical fitness program."

At that, most of the students looked a bit nervous, especially those like Draco who had absolutely no familiarity with the game. Justin Finch-Fletchley also looked a bit nervous, but it was because he now suspected that _every single member_ of Team Counterstrike was going to ask him for ping pong lessons. While the Hufflepuff in him was resigned to being a good sport and helping out whoever asked, the Capitalist Muggle in him said that he should probably consult with Harry for advice on how to leverage the first real advantage he'd had as a wizard since coming to Hogwarts.

Jim then raised his hand. "Sir, is there a reason all the Quidditch Seekers got put into this group?"

"There is, Mr. Potter. While there are, in my opinion, no wizarding sports which are comparable to ping pong for what I have in mind, the skills of a Seeker come closest of anything most wizards are familiar with."

"Well then," Jim continued. "Why isn't my brother here?"

Lockhart glanced at Draco and gave an unreadable expression before replying. "Whatever Harry Potter's skills as a Seeker, he has another characteristic which I thought made him a better fit for a different group."

"Which one?" Jim asked.

"Perhaps you should ask him that question for yourself, Mr. Potter. After all, you _are_ brothers. I'm sure you're both close enough to have no secrets from one another." Lockhart smiled at that, but for once, he didn't give that awful affected laugh. Nevertheless, Draco was sure that his smile was no more sincere than his laugh was.

* * *

_**2:30 p.m.**_

_**Marcus Flint's Room**_

At half past two, while Draco Malfoy was continuing his immersion into the frightening world of Muggle ping pong, Harry Potter was on his way to the Seventh Year prefect's private room. He'd received a note via Theo saying that Marcus wanted to see him in his rooms about some "House matters." The fact that they were meeting in Marcus's rooms instead of the Prince's Lair indicated that someone else would be present who was not already aware of the secret chamber located just a few feet further down the hall.

"_Which reminds me_," thought Harry, "_I need to reset the password for the Lair so that Marcus and Missy can access it to study for their NEWTS._"

Melissa "Missy" Bulstrode was the sister of Harry's classmate Millicent Bulstrode and also the new female Seventh Year prefect. Her rooms were across the hall from Marcus's, so it was necessary to bring her into the secret of the Lair. After swearing Missy to appropriate oaths of secrecy, it had been surprisingly easy for Harry to win her support. She wanted to ace her NEWTS, she wanted her younger sister Milly to have a fair chance to play Quidditch when she got a few years older (Milly wanted to play _Beater_, of all things!), and as a Halfblood herself, she didn't care about Pureblood traditions to begin with. In fact, she was actually quite amused at the idea of Harry Potter, brother to the Boy-Who-Lived and the second most prominent Halfblood in the school, being the secret master who ruled Slytherin House from the shadows.

At Marcus's door, Harry knocked respectfully and waited for the prefect to admit him. To his surprise, the other person in the room was a very nervous-looking Gregory Goyle. The hefty boy was actually sweating rather profusely. Marcus gestured for Harry to take a chair opposite Goyle, while he leaned against a wall nearby.

"Malfoy is off with Lockhart for whatever research nonsense he's on, so Goyle here thought it was a good time to come and talk with me. I think you need to hear what he has to say. Out with it, Goyle."

Goyle licked his lips nervously and looked up at Harry. "You ... you probably know that my family is a vassal family to House Malfoy, which is why I have to follow him around and be his ... well, his stooge. But I'm only twelve. I'm the Goyle Heir but I haven't taken any personal oaths to House Malfoy and won't have to until I'm fifteen. So until then, I have some ... liberties." He took a deep breath. "I was wondering if you might possibly be interested in having me to spy on Draco for you till then. I guess you know he's plotting against you, and I could let you know about what plots of his I can overhear. He's... prone to ... _ranting_ about you when no one but me and Vince are around."

Harry crooked an eyebrow. "That's an interesting offer, Mr. Goyle, but I'm a bit curious as to what has brought this on. What do you want in exchange?"

Goyle swallowed at that. Harry was intrigued by the almost ... despairing look the boy gave him. "I ... need help. And I didn't know who else to ask, so I asked Flint, and he told me to talk to you. He said you could ... get things done."

Harry nodded impassively. "Go on."

Goyle hesitated. Then, he took a deep breath and dove right in. "My mother and father are the god-parents of Amy ... Amaryllis Wilkes. They didn't want to be. It was supposed to be Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, but they didn't want the stigma of having the last child of House Wilkes attached to them, so they fobbed it off on my family. I grew up with Amy ... Amaryllis..." He shook his head. "With _Amy_. She was always kind of like a little sister. My parents didn't care about her at all. They didn't abuse her or anything, but they definitely didn't care about her. They just stuck her off in a small bedroom at the end of the children's wing with some dolls, a lot of books, and a house elf to look after her. But she and I still grew up together. We were both only children, and we were stuck with each other. Maybe that's what gave Father the idea ..."

He paused and rubbed his fingers over his eyes. "The Wilkeses still have money ... somewhere. Vaults full of galleons ... and probably a fortune in dark artifacts and books. But Amy can't touch it because she's a girl and the Wilkes family is patri ... patra..."

"Patrilineal," said Harry gently.

"Yeah, that. She can't inherit, but she might someday give birth to a male heir who would be able to if he shows magic." He hesitated. "Father has drawn up a marriage contract between Amy and me, with himself automatically appointed as regent for any male children born of the marriage. He reckons there must be enough galleons in the Wilkes vaults to pay off the debts we owe the Malfoys and establish House Goyle as a truly independent House."

Harry nodded. "And you are not happy with the idea of marrying Amy Wilkes someday just to please your father?"

"It's not _that_!" he said excitedly. "I mean, I like Amy. She's a little hard-edged. Who wouldn't be with the life she's led! But she's not as cold as she seems, and anyway, I've known her my whole life. Maybe when we're older ..." He took another shaky breath. "My father's not a patient man, though. He's in a real bad hurry for some reason to get at the Wilkes estate, and he doesn't want to wait until we're graduated and out in the world before he can exercise his contract rights. And I guess, if I were old enough, he wouldn't have regency rights over my son anyway. He ... he wants me and Amy to get married ... right after my OWLs."

At that, Harry did a double-take. "He wants you to drop out of school – you at fifteen, and Amy at fourteen – and start making babies just so he can gain access to the Wilkes fortune?!"

"Oh, just wait," said Marcus darkly. "It gets worse."

Harry's eyes widened at that, and he turned back to Goyle. "Go on, Mr. Goyle. Please tell me the rest."

Goyle looked down at the floor as if to collect himself before looking back up at Harry, who was surprised to see a depth of feeling in the boy's expression there that he'd never noticed before. "I ... I'm not a smart guy. I know that. Not like you or Draco. I try, but I'm not smart. Miss Granger worked really hard with me and Vince last year, and we passed everything, but neither of us did especially well. Father ... he let me know the night before we got on the train... if it looks like I'm gonna flunk my OWLs ... he has a backup plan."

Harry grimaced. If Plan A was to marry his son and his god-daughter off as teenagers, he shuddered to think what Plan B was. Goyle's sickened expression didn't reassure him either.

"If my grades don't pick up, he's gonna dissolve the marriage contract between me and Amy and set up a new one ... with _the House of Nott_. He figures he can get a big enough bride price to cover his needs from Old Tiberius. "

Harry sputtered uncontrollably. "He wants to marry Amy Wilkes off to _Theo_!"

"Even worse," sighed Marcus.

Harry's head snapped around at that. "What ... _Alexander _Nott? The Heir?"

Goyle shook his head despairingly, and suddenly, Harry realized the truth: not either son, but _the father!_ Instantly, Harry felt a a sudden sharp pain from both his hands. He looked down and was startled to realize it came from clenching his fists so tight that his nails had dug into his palms almost hard enough to draw blood. He could not remember the last time he had been so angry.

"_So_," thought Harry as he ran through a quick Occlumency exercise to bring his temper under control. "_Amy Wilkes, currently aged __twelve__, is to be married off to __Tiberius Nott__, a fifty-year-old ex-Death Eater. Who __also__ murdered his last wife outright after first nearly killing her on accident with a potion designed to influence the gender of their children, a potion he would almost certainly force upon Amy to get the male heir he needs to seize the Wilkes fortune. And it was all Amy's god-father's idea!"_

The Occlumency finally washed away Harry's fury, and he regarded Goyle coolly.

"Does she know?" he asked. Goyle shook his head no. Harry considered that along with all the other information Goyle had provided. "Why have you come to us with this? You're friends – sort of – with Draco Malfoy. Do you think it would somehow be _worse_ if Lucius Malfoy became aware of this?" He thought for a second. "Or do you think he _already is_?"

Goyle shook his head helplessly. "I don't know. I don't think so, but it's possible. I know Draco is out to get you, but he has to be careful about how he does it. And I know that somebody tried to kill you not long ago with one of Wilkes' toys. I guess it's possible that Draco's parents were behind that and they want to use Amy to get more weapons from whatever legacy Wilkes left. I figured better safe than sorry."

Harry nodded at that. He could imagine scenarios in which Lucius Malfoy was out to kill him, though probably not by any means as clumsy and messy as the ones he'd seen so far. Still Dobby obviously knew something, and from what he knew of the Wilkes estate, there were enough assets to attract Lucius's attention.

"What do you ask of me, Mr. Goyle?"

"I want ... I want Amy to be free and safe, with a chance to live her life without all this," the boy made a face, "stupid Death Eater crap!"

"Does that mean you also want to be free of ... '_stupid Death Eater crap_'?

Goyle looked down again. "I dunno. I don't think I have a choice. I've been raised to believe the things a Pureblood should, but then, I got here and found out that I can't hold a candle to a Mud ... to a Muggleborn like Granger. Not only that, but I'd have probably flunked out my first year if Draco hadn't hired her to tutor me." He shuddered. "Father didn't like that at all, but since Draco set it up, he couldn't say much about it. Honestly? Right now, I'm just doing what I'm told. Just like I'll do what I'm told when I'm Lord Goyle and I still have to do whatever Lord Malfoy says."

"Even if Lord Malfoy says he wants you to get a snake tattoo on your arm?"

Goyle paled and then looked away. "Probably," he said quietly.

Harry stared at him intently before speaking. "You will swear a secrecy oath not to reveal any of my secrets without my consent. In particular, you will not reveal anything you have heard or said or learned in this meeting. I will make arrangements for your tutoring to continue, whether by Miss Granger or someone else your father wouldn't object to. You will _push yourself _to whatever extremes are necessary to get your grades up to the appropriate level. In return, I will do everything I can to protect Miss Wilkes and free her from your father's influence. Do we have a deal?"

"Yes!" The other boy shook his head excitedly. "Yes, we do! Thank you!"

"_And _since you've agreed to keep my secrets, Gregory Goyle, there are something you ought to know. You see, Draco didn't _arrange_ for you to be tutored by Miss Granger out of the goodness of his heart. _I_ engineered that and forced Malfoy to go along with it, in part because I was concerned that it would reflect poorly on Slytherin House if two sons of Noble Houses flunked out their first year. I don't _care _how dumb other people have told you that you are. You are Goyle of Goyle, and this year, you _will _step up your game and you _will_ act like the scion of a Noble House, even if your father is unworthy of having such a son. Because there's not a damned thing I can do to save Miss Wilkes if you fail your classes and your father sells her out to Lord Nott before I set a plan in motion. Understood?"

Goyle went pale and nodded affirmatively. Then, he pulled out his wand and swore the secrecy oath.

"Thank you for this, Potter."

"When Draco or his friends aren't around, Mr. Goyle, please feel free to call me Harry."

He smiled. "Only if you will call me Gregory." Then, he paused. "Actually, if you don't mind, I'd prefer it if you called me Greg. Gregory is my Father's name. I don't want to use it."

"Greg it is." With that, the relieved Second Year left Flint's room. Marcus's face hardened as he moved to sit down in the chair Goyle had vacated.

"Do you think Theo would mind terribly if his father were found bludgeoned to death in an alley?" he asked.

Harry shrugged. "Probably not, so long as the killer left a pensive memory of it for his future enjoyment. Of course, Tiberius Nott isn't the real issue. In fact, it's possible he doesn't know about any of this since Goyle Sr. would have to go behind Lucius's back to set it up, and the fealty oaths probably still forbid it at the moment. I am ... reliably informed that Lucius and Tiberius are not as close as they once were."

"Hmm. In other news, you realize you're now signed up as the protector for Erasmus Wilkes's daughter. I'm sure that will make you unpopular in some quarters."

Harry looked away and shrugged. "The oaths we just swore weren't actually reciprocal, and to be honest, I can probably do more to protect Wilkes if no one _knows_ I'm looking out for her. That said, the girl is an orphan being taken advantage of by those who should be protecting her. I have ... _issues_ with that sort of thing."

Marcus snorted. "_Teen Witch Weekly_ has _issues_, Potter! You're way beyond that!"

* * *

_**3:05 p.m.**_

_**Classroom 314 (aka the Ping Pong Room)**_

After leaving the DADA classroom, Draco stopped off to talk with Daphne Greengrass who was just coming in for the 3:00 p.m. team meeting. Something to do with chameleons, apparently. Then, he made his way upstairs to check out the room that had been set aside for Team Counterstrike's personal training. As he approached, he noticed the sound of a rhythmic tapping coming from inside. Walking through the door, he was pleased to see that the only other person in the room was the Mudblood Puff Justin Whatshisname, who was idly walking around the room inspecting the tables. He had one of the ping pong bats in his hand, and the tapping sound came from the ball that he was almost absentmindedly bouncing up and down on the bat. The boy noticed Draco's entrance and gave him a friendly smile. With some effort, Draco smiled back at him.

"Why hello again, Mr. Malfoy," the Mudblood said. "Fancy a quick game? I promise I'll take it easy on you. I know this isn't exactly a Pureblood's sport."

"Certainly, Mr., um, Finch, I believe?"

"Finch-Fletchley," the Mudblood answered easily.

"Yes, Finch-Fletchley. I must admit I know nothing about this game except what you and Professor Lockhart showed us earlier."

"I believe you'll find a bat with your name on it in the locker over there. It's not a complicated game, just one that requires the development of certain physical skills." The Mudblood gestured over towards a cabinet where Draco did indeed find a bat with the name "_D. Malfoy_" printed on it. After a quick refresher of the rules, Draco and the Mudblood started their game. Draco actually did pick up the basics fairly quickly, though he was acutely aware of the fact that the Mudblood was completely in control of the game and hardly using a fraction of the speed he displayed against Lockhart earlier.

"I must say, Mr. Finch-Fletchley, your command of this game is most impressive."

"Why thank you, Mr. Malfoy."

"Tell me, would you be interested in providing lessons on this game? In light of what Professor Lockhart said, I'm very anxious to do well at this. I was thinking of, perhaps, a galleon or so every four hours of practice?"

"Hmm, well to be honest, I'm afraid that my schedule is very busy this term, and anyway, I'm not terribly interested in picking up a few extra galleons here and there if it requires too much of a time investment. I'm sure you understand."

"Ah, the Hufflepuff work ethic," said Draco as he struggled to conceal his contempt for that same mentality. "_Typical,"_ he thought. "_A stupid Mudblood Puff who wouldn't recognize a good business opportunity if it bit him on the nose."_

"No, not really the Hufflepuff work ethic so much as a Muggleborn perspective. There's a Muggle expression – perhaps you've heard of it – '_Time is money._' It means that even if you profit from spending your time doing something, you may have actually lost money if in doing so you ignored the opportunity to benefit more from doing something else. I mean, would _you_ consider it a profitable use of your time to work for someone else, even at something you enjoyed, for the sum of one galleon every four hours?"

"Well, no," said Draco who was becoming annoyed with the Mudblood's ability to talk about philosophical matters while casually parrying every one of Malfoy's returns. "Of course, it's a bit different for me. Not to sound arrogant or anything, but ... well, I am rather rich."

The Mudblood smiled. "So I've heard, Mr. Malfoy. I'm told your father is considered the sixth wealthiest wizard in Magical Britain, with a net worth somewhere in the neighborhood of 63 million galleons. I reckon that's about £335 million at the current rate of exchange."

Draco blinked at that and nearly missed the Mudblood's return volley. "Hmm. I suppose so," he replied in a neutral voice. "I don't actually know the current galleon to, er, pound exchange rate."

"Really?" the Mudblood replied, sounding almost amused. "You'll find the goblins update the exchange rate between the galleon and every major Muggle currency weekly. It's posted in the _Daily Prophet _every Monday morning on the first page of the financial section."

"_The goblins have a variable exchange rate between galleons and Muggle currencies that they adjust on a weekly basis?"_ thought Draco. _"Why didn't I know that? For that matter, why didn't I know that the Prophet has a financial section?!" _But instead of all that, Draco merely said "Um-hmm."

"Anyway, Mr. Malfoy, the thing is, well, not to sound _arrogant or anything_, but that figure I just mentioned? That £335 million? Well, if you were to multiply that figure by a factor of four, the result would be slightly less than the combined net worth of my own parents."

At that, Draco nearly lost his balance, as the ping pong ball slipped past his defense and, in fact, the paddle itself slipped from his grasp and landed on the floor. He starred at the ... (_incredibly rich_?) Mudblood for several seconds in amazement.

"Your parents' net worth is over ...?" Draco stopped, suddenly unable to perform basic maths in his head.

"About £1.3 billion. Just north of 250 million galleons. Of course, that's without considering my maternal grandfather's assets. His name is Jonathan Woodnutt, but he's better known among British Muggles as _His Grace, the Duke of Forgill_. He's 72, and while I hope he continues to live to a ripe old age, when he dies his own wealth and his Dukedom will pass to my mother, who is his sole heir. As I understand it, that's expected to raise my parents' net worth to something just over £3 billion. So you can see, Mr. Malfoy, why I'm not terribly excited at the thought of teaching ping pong for a quarter-a-galleon per hour." The (_no longer a_) Mudblood smiled at Draco. "Is there perchance anything else you might be able to offer me in exchange for lessons, Mr. Malfoy?"

The Pureblood stood almost frozen, as beliefs he'd held his entire life but which were now suddenly brought into contradiction strove for dominance. Had the son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy been asked a week earlier, he'd have never guessed which of those beliefs would win out. Finally, he smiled at the Wizard. It was surprisingly genuine. "Please," he said amiably. "Call me Draco!"

* * *

**The next chapter will be uploaded on Monday, October 26, 2015. "Team-Building Exercises," in which Harry and George each attend their first team meetings, Harry shows Missy Bulstrode around his Lair, Ron and the Twins bury the hatchet, and Lockhart reads a book.**

**AN 1. The Dukedom of Forgill is fictitious. The Duke of Forgill was an important character from the late-1970's Doctor Who serial "Terror of the Zygons," and Jonathan Woodnut was the now deceased character actor who portrayed him. **

**AN 2. The canon books are vague on how rich the Finch-Fletchleys are beyond the fact that Justin was set for Eton before he got his Hogwarts letter. I was amused by the idea of how Draco would react to learning that a classmate who was both a Muggleborn and a Hufflepuff was much richer than him by a whole bunch. Still not entirely sure how the Draco-Justin relationship is going to go, but we'll all found out together. (And I just updated this because previously I had used the phrase "by several orders of magnitude" as an attempt at amusing hyperbole and didn't realize it would bring out all the math-majors in force. Yeesh.)  
**


	53. HP&TSE 19 - Team-Building Exercises (3)

**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY **

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.  
**

* * *

**CHAPTER 19:Team-Building Exercises (Pt. 3)**

_**4:00 p.m. **_

_**Team Protector**_

At four o'clock, Harry and Flint entered the DADA class room. Harry was pleased to see that Neville was also on this team, but he didn't really know any of the others very well. The room had been cleared of most of the chairs, leaving enough for each team member arranged in a loose circle. There were five other students, all upperclassmen: three Puffs and two Gryffs, one of whom was Head Girl Emily Rossen. Harry was somewhat surprised to note that no Ravenclaws were assigned to this team, and Flint said that other than Harry and Neville, everyone else in this research group was Fifth Year or higher. After a minute or so, Lockhart strode into the room with his typical flair.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentle-wizards, welcome to Research Team Protector. Please take a seat. Before we start, I should warn you in advance that I believe this group will face the most challenging year of all the research teams. While your assignment will be difficult, I have every confidence that you will give me your best effort, and I promise you that I will be fully satisfied with your best effort, even if you ultimately fail to attain this team's objective. You see, you have each been selected for this research team so that you may _hopefully_ learn one of the most powerful and yet most difficult defensive Charms known to wizarding kind – _the Patronus Charm_!" With that, Lockhart pulled out his wand, pointed at the floor in the center of the group.

"_**EXPECTO PATRONUM!**_" he intoned. Instantly, there was a blast of a glowing fog that erupted from the tip of his wand, a fog which quickly coalesced into a strange translucent silvery beast the likes of which Harry had never seen before. It was a lithe and sinewy quadruped with a long thin tail, oddly shaped hind legs, and black stripes along its back. From the head, Harry couldn't tell if it was a dog or a cat, but it was clearly a predator of some kind to judge by the size of its teeth and the obvious strength of its jaws. The creature walked slowly around the center of the room sniffing the air as if looking for some kind of threat. Then, it yawned, frightening several of the students, as the strange beast was able to open its jaws unnaturally to well over ninety degrees.

"_That_, ladies and gentle-wizards, is my _Patronus_. A Patronus is, for lack of a better description, a spirit guardian – a creature of pure magic drawn from the wizard or witch's positive thoughts and summoned into existence as a protector and guardian. The Patronus can defend you against nearly any predator. It can follow fairly complex instructions so long as the task you give it involves protecting yourself or others. It is the only known spell capable of inflicting any harm at all on either a Dementor or a lethifold, and it can ward off vampires, werewolves and most other 'Dark' creatures. It is also a highly effective form of communication. A wizard can will his Patronus to deliver a message to anyone in the world provided it is someone the wizard considers a friend or ally, and it will instantly apparate to that location to open up a line of communication." The class was enthralled watching the beautiful yet deadly looking creature as it walked around the room. Lockhart waved his wand, and the Patronus faded away.

"The Charm has two deficiencies, however. First, it is a tremendous drain on power, and only the most formidable of wizards can maintain a Patronus for more than a few minutes. Secondly, and more importantly, the Patronus Charm is _extremely _difficult to cast and maintain. Not because of the wand movements or the incantation – no, no, both of those are quite simple. No, my students, the Patronus Charm is difficult because it falls within that class of spells known as _esoteric magic._ I see some of you recognize the term from the pop quiz I gave you, though no one below Sixth Year had any idea what it meant. You see, virtually all the Charms you will learn during your Hogwarts studies are categorized as _standard_ spells. You speak the right words. You wave your wand in the right way. And _voila!_ The magic happens. Even so-called wandless and wordless magic are still considered standard magic, as they both require the wizard to _imagine_ that he is casting the spell with wand and incantation and do so with sufficient mental clarity to satisfy the spell's requirements. Esoteric spells, however, require a _third_ ingredient. You must actually _think_ a certain way while casting and maintain that requisite state of mind for as long as the magical effect lasts. Allow your self to become distracted and thus unable to maintain that necessary state of mind, and the spell will fail."

"We will be exploring several different esoteric spells in this class as a prelude to studying the Patronus Charm, and don't be upset if you're not able to master it, at least this year. As I said, it is one of the most difficult spells to learn, mainly due to its complex esoteric components. You see, to cast the Patronus Charm successfully, you must be able to focus on your happiest memory for the duration of the casting. Many people are completely unable to cast the Patronus Charm because they simply don't have memories that are _happy enough_ to satisfy the spell's requirements. Such truly happy memories are, sadly, rare in these fallen times. Conversely, other people who are generally happy in their lives are also unable to cast the Patronus because they do not have enough _unhappy_ memories to provide a meaningful contrast to the happy ones. Surprisingly, the wizards who have the easiest time casting the spell are those whose lives have been marred by tragedy and thus can genuinely treasure the happy moments. That is why I asked several questions on my quiz designed to force students to articulate what reviewing a particularly happy memory _felt like_, and those of you who demonstrated evidence of a strong happy memory were chosen for this group."

"Unfortunately, there is a second requirement which makes the spell even harder. For you see, it is not enough to think of a happy memory. You must _also_ maintain those feelings of happiness _even when you are afraid for your life._ Only the most disciplined mind is able to continue focusing on a happy memory while, say, a Dementor is bearing down on you ready to suck all your happy memories away! And the converse is also true. To summon the Patronus under _safe _conditions, as I just did, you must be able to focus on a sufficiently happy memory while_ imagining_ feelings of extreme danger. It is this dual thought process that presents most of the spell's difficulty."

Harry took all this in impassively. He still distrusted Lockhart because he obviously acted like a buffoon before his fans while downplaying his obvious knowledge of obscure and powerful magic. And he _certainly_ wasn't going to answer any questions about what his own happy memory was: the first time he entered the Lair and talked with the Hydra. That said, Harry knew that Olivia Kolumbiko had learned to summon a corporeal Patronus as a Fifth Year because doing so gave a considerable number of bonus points on the DADA OWL, so it wasn't impossible for a student. Of course, Olivia was _brilliant_, and according to her, only five other students had mastered the Charm during her time at Hogwarts, all of them Sixth or Seventh Years. It seemed remarkable that Lockhart would presume to think he could teach the Charm to _eight_ students, two of them just Second Years, in the space of one school year. On the other hand, he could cast the Charm _himself_, so he obviously knew more about the Patronus than most people. And _what was_ that strange creature? Harry had never seen or heard of any animal like the one Lockhart summoned as a Patronus!

"We will not begin with the Patronus initially, of course," Lockhart continued. "Rather, we will start off with simpler esoteric spells. Over the next two weeks, please spend some time reviewing the notes accompanying **Gadding with Ghouls** that pertain to the illusive _boggart_ as well as the Boggart-Banishing Charm, which requires you to look upon the face of your deepest fears ... and then imagine it instead as something funny. And between now and then, meditate on what frightens you the most, and then, on how to make it look ... _ridiculous_."

* * *

_**8:00 p.m.**_

_**Team Backdoor**_

George Weasley looked around the room warily. As a Fourth Year, he was one of the youngest member of Team Backdoor and so far, it looked like he was the only Gryffindor as well, but the true reason for his nervousness lay in the fact that he had been picked for this group, while his twin brother Fred was stuck doing early morning P.E. along with Ron and most of the other Gryffs. It was ... a sore subject between the Twins. It didn't help that the older team members looked to be a Slytherin-Ravenclaw mix, and they were all looking at him with overt suspicion, especially Warrington, the biggest Pureblood tosser in their year. Lucian Bole and Melissa Bulstrode, while not as bigoted, didn't seem any friendlier, and for that matter, neither did any of the 'Claws. Nestled as he and Fred had been within the cocoon of Gryffindor tomfoolery for the past three years, he was rather unnerved to suddenly realize just how much hostility there was for the Weasley Terrors in the more serious-minded Houses.

Soon, Lockhart came in and gave his introductory speech to the group. The purpose of Team Backdoor, according to the man, was to study the nature of certain high level wards, learn how to improve upon them and eventually how to circumvent them. Specifically, his goal was to develop what he called a "Super-Portkey" that could pass through an anti-Portkey ward. Apparently, during the War, the Dark Mark cast up in the night sky by attacking Death Eaters was not just a symbol of terror. It also generated anti-apparation and anti-portkey jinxes over the targeted building so that the victims could not escape. George was also a bit surprised when Lockhart gave several surprisingly lurid descriptions of the sorts of things that Death Eaters did to Muggleborn who were unable to escape their clutches, and by the time he was done, even Warrington looked a bit shaken.

The Super-Portkey, according to Lockhart, would be able to punch through the strongest anti-portkey wards and carry people to safety. However, since the aurors legitimately used anti-portkey jinxes to prevent criminals from escaping, the team members would have to agree to secrecy oaths, and if they succeeded in creating a Super-Portkey, any prototypes they created would be turned over to the Ministry, which could then provide them to targeted populations in the event of future terrorism or insurrection. Since the Ministry would control the Super-Portkeys, they would most likely be limited to sending travelers either to St. Mungo's or to a DMLE facility.

After explaining the nature of the group's work and assigning a number of books to review which were held in reserve for the team in the school library, Lockhart dismissed the group after just twenty minutes but asked George to remain behind.

"Well, Mr. Weasley, now that you've heard what Team Backdoor is all about, what do you think?" Lockhart asked conversationally.

"It's a good idea, sir. I wish they'd had something like this during the War." He hesitated. "My uncles, Gideon and Fabian Prewitt, well, they got trapped by the kind of wards you've been talking about when the Death Eaters came for them. A Super-Portkey like what you're proposing might have saved their lives."

"I'm glad to see you're taking it so seriously ... or at least that you seem to be taking it seriously. I hope you won't take offense to this, Mr. Weasley, but, well, I'd been warned about you by some of the other teachers. Actually, to be honest, it was _all_ of the other teachers. You and your twin have a bit of a reputation." George grimaced at that.

"In fact," Lockhart continued. "I was somewhat surprised by your test results, especially compared to his. Although your scores were, to be frank, near the bottom edge of those students who I accepted for research teams, you were nevertheless one of the highest performing Fourth Years, behind only Mr. Diggory and Miss Chang. Your peer Mr. Warrington barely snuck in because his father works in the Department of Magical Transportation and so Warrington is more familiar with the Portkey procedures than the average student. _However, _your twin brother actually scored a perfect _zero_ and, in fact, deliberately misspelled his own name on the top of the first page. So I suppose I am compelled to ask – are you going to be serious about this work? Or is this part of some grand prank you and your brother have planned for the future? Because, Mr. Weasley, I enjoy a prank as much as the next wizard, but I also want to _save lives_, and I think these projects can help to achieve that."

George swallowed. He was not in the habit of opening up to teachers. Or really anyone other than a family member, and sometimes not even then. But for some reason, this was suddenly important to him, even more so now that he knew what the project was actually about, and honestly, it still annoyed him that Fred felt so differently about it.

"My brother and I ... had an argument the night before we took the test. We'd been talking about how we're Fourth Years now and maybe it's time to grow up a little. I said that this might be a good start. Do good on your test and show everyone that we're not just a couple of goof-offs. But Fred figured that our younger brother Ron wasn't likely to make any of the teams and ..." He hesitated for a few seconds. "Well, the thing of it is – we haven't rightly treated Ron well over the last few years. Fred wanted to make sure we got into the P.E. class so we could spend a little more time with him, since Second Years and Fourth Years don't normally share classes. I didn't exactly disagree with that, but I still wanted to see what I could do on your test if I really tried. I honestly wasn't expecting to make it in."

"And now that you are '_in_,' how do you feel about it? I can't help but notice that you seemed uncomfortable during the orientation session. Is that a Gryffindor-Slytherin thing? Or is there something specific that troubles you about this group? If you don't think you would be able to work well with Warrington and the others, I can tell you that I _almost_ put you on Team Chameleon with your brother Percy and with Miss Lavender Brown. It's primarily a potion-brewing team and I thought that might bore you, but I still can switch you to that group or even to the morning P.E. group, whichever you prefer, if you don't believe you can work effectively with a group that's half Slytherin. To be honest, while I wish my students could overcome their House rivalries, I consider this project too-important to risk it being disrupted by such conflicts."

George looked down at the table in front of him. Oddly, his thoughts were filled by what Ginny had told him about her Sorting. "_Do you want people to think you're brave? Or do you want to __be__ brave?" _the Hat had said. He took a deep breath.

"If it's all the same to you, sir. I'd rather stick it out with this group. I promise you that I won't be the one to start anything. I'll still _defend _myself if Warrington or somebody comes after me, but I won't _start _anything."

"Excellent! Well, I think that's all. I'll see you in class later this week." George nodded and headed for the door when Lockhart stopped him. "Oh, and Mr. Weasley? Two things. First, I didn't know Gideon and Fabian Prewitt well, but from their reputations, they were both fine wizards. You are a credit to their memory."

George smiled bashfully. "Thank you, sir."

"And second, don't let any of this drive a wedge between you and your brothers. Family is important. A lot of people never realize how much until it's too late."

The Gryffindor was surprised at how serious the man seemed. He nodded. "I won't, sir. I promise."

* * *

_**8:30 p.m.**_

_**The Prince's Lair**_

"Right," said Harry as he showed Melissa Bulstrode around the Prince's Lair. "And over here is the part you'll actually care about: the Slytherin Library. And specifically, this book." He pulled out the weighty, unlabeled tome and laid it on the table. "The NEWTs Book. It has every question that has been asked on every NEWT exam given in the last fifty years. The answers aren't included but there are citations to where the answers can be found, so it won't actually let you cheat but it's still an impressive study aid. You can also help yourself to all three volumes of Salazar Slytherin's memoirs, as well as any of these books here." Harry gestured towards three shelves of old grimoires. "Unfortunately, the rest of the library is still heavily warded and will be until I'm confirmed as Prince, which is somewhat unlikely to happen before the start of my Fifth Year at the earliest."

Melissa nodded. "And I'm assuming nobody can take any of these books out of here?"

"Correct. Only the actual Prince can carry anything out past the threshold of the Lair without special permission from the Hydra. And while the Hydra likes me – well, most of it does – it's still stingy with the books. And the Floo is _completely _out of the question, never mind how incredibly convenient it would be."

Suddenly, Melissa was startled as the silver boomslang head of the Hydra twisted around and hissed something at Harry. She was even more unnerved when he hissed something right back and then went over and tickled the snake under the chin causing it to laugh softly. Then, the krait head twisted around and up towards his hand and snapped at it, though apparently more in annoyance than any actual hostility. Harry jerked his hand back and then hissed at the krait in a tone that, for some reason, Melissa thought sounded sarcastic. Harry looked back at the older girl and noticed her expression.

"Sorry. Delilah here was reassuring me that if she had her way, I'd already be Prince. I told her that I understand and that I can be patient. Then, Nidhogg snapped at me because he's a grumpy old krait and flirtatiousness annoys him." At that, the krait hissed petulantly.

"Uh-huh," she replied nonchalantly. "And just to clarify one more time: You're _absolutely sure_ that you're not a dark wizard who wants to raise an army of dark creatures to conquer Britain?"

Harry sighed. "Absolutely 100% sure. I'm a perfectly bona fide wizard who wants to take over Magical Britain through completely legal political maneuvers."

Marcus, who was sitting in one of the other chairs with his feet propped up on the table, snickered at that. "Good one, Potter. Oh, and before you forget and leave us stuck in here all night, what's the new password?"

"_Moldy Shorts_," replied Harry, causing Marcus to laugh again even louder and Melissa to roll her eyes. Harry turned back to her. "Oh, and the password won't work if anyone is in the corridor who hasn't been cleared to enter, by which I mean the three of us, plus Blaise Zabini and Theo Nott. I _may_ let Malfoy in on it if he plays nice this year. Anything else?" Both prefects shook their heads. "Good. I'm off to bed then." And with that, Harry passed through the portal, leaving the Lair to the two Seventh Years.

"Gotta say, Bulstrode," said Flint. "You're adapting to all this pretty well."

She shrugged. "I'm a Halfblood Slytherin, Flint. Adaptation is just part of the game. Besides, I can see already why _you_ follow him. He's charismatic, disturbingly intelligent, ruthless with his enemies, protective of his friends. Plus, for a twelve-year-old, he's kinda cute."

Flint coughed. "I wouldn't know anything about _that_, Bulstrode."

"Of course not, Flint," Melissa replied sweetly. "I wouldn't dream of implying otherwise."

He glowered at that. "Just shut up and hand me the NEWT book."

She snickered, sat down at the table, and slid the book across to him.

* * *

_**10:45 p.m.**_

_**Gryffindor Common Room**_

"Honestly, are you _still_ mad about this?" asked George.

"I'm not ... mad," replied Fred. "I'm just disappointed. I mean, we've never been split up into different classes before."

"Well, we may be twins, Brother-Of-Mine, but we're not ... _conjoined_. I mean, we're both fourteen. If I ask a girl out on a date, are you gonna want to come along?"

"Who are you looking to ask out on a date?!" asked Fred in surprised.

"Not. The. Point." said George through gritted teeth. "You know, Lockhart knows you deliberately failed his test. I mean, you weren't exactly subtle about it. If you went and talked to him, he _might _let you retake it."

Fred thought for a moment and then shook his head. "Nah. I made my bed. I guess I can lie in it. Or do early morning calisthenics in it, I suppose. Besides, we'd talked about spending more time with Ron. This gives me an excuse to do it."

"Why Fred! I didn't know you cared!" said Ron snarkily from behind the sofa. Both Twins jumped up with a joint "_Gaah_!"

"Ron! What the devil are you doing back there? Spying on us?"

"Actually, I was here first. I was trying to finish my reading for tomorrow and hiding out from everyone who keeps bugging me to play chess with them. And then, you two sat down and started getting sappy. Sorry if I startled you."

"No problem." "Anyway, since you're here..." The twins suddenly paused in their back-and-forth. "Well, we've been talking a lot about what you said last week" "and ... we really are sorry." "What can we do" "to make it up to you?"

Ron laughed genially as he rose to walk around the sofa and sit between the two Twins, stuffing his notebook and Potions text in his book bag as he did. "It's okay. _Really_. And I'm sorry too, guys. I was just ... really upset about that Howler and I took it out on you. Can you forgive me?"

Both Twins seemed genuinely touched that Ron would ask forgiveness of _them_ after everything that had been said.

"Let's just all forgive each other and start over, okay" said George. "So, um, are you upset that you didn't get onto a research team?"

The boy shrugged. "Not too many Second Years did. Only about eight, I think, out of a class of forty. In fact, Jim's pretty sure that he and Draco only made it in because of Quidditch. Something to do with an experiment in eye-hand coordination Lockhart's running. Anyway, Jim says that even though he's on a research team, he'll still be joining us most days for P.E. We'd both planned to run and workout in the mornings anyway, so this way we'll just be doing it in a crowd. Might make it easier to get up on time in the mornings." He snickered and then turned to George. "Say, if you're really feeling bad because you're on a research Team and me and Fred aren't, you're welcome to get up at dawn with the rest of us. I'm sure the exercise would do you good."

Ron managed to keep a straight face for almost three seconds before he burst out laughing at George's horrified expression. Fred was confused for a second, but then, he started laughing as well.

"Well, how about that, Brother-Of-Mine? Our little Ron can do pranks after all. I didn't know he had it in him!"

Ron smiled. "How would you have known? You never involve me in any of your pranks except when I'm the target of them." The Twins suddenly grew quiet, and Ron rolled his eyes. "I didn't mean it like _that_. I'm just saying it might be ... _nice_ to be involved in your pranks sometime. Did it ever occur to you that your little brother might want follow in your footsteps?"

The Twins eyes lit up at that, and they smiled in unison. "Do you have anything specific in mind?" "Oh, dear under-appreciated brother of ours?"

Ron smiled. "Oh, I don't know. I did have a few ideas that might ... liven things up around here."

And that was how the Great Prank War of 1992 got started.

* * *

_**11:55 p.m.**_

_**Gilderoy Lockhart's Private Quarters**_

The DADA instructor sat at the private desk in his living quarters reading a book. Specifically, if one were to judge a book by its cover, Lockhart was reading once more from his own autobiography, **Magical Me**. The book was floating in mid-air, and when he finished one page, a lazy flick of his wand caused it to flip to the next without him ever actually touching it. He considered himself an avid reader with a keen interest in a great many subjects, magical and mundane. That was part of why he'd come to Hogwarts. True, he was quite looking forward to watching the progress in his research teams, observing as all the bright young minds he'd taken under his wing delved into magical mysteries of all kinds, ranging from the Patronus to advanced ward design to refinement of the Polyjuice potion. Perhaps he'd even find out what in Merlin's name a _nargle_ was. But he also had a secondary purpose in accepting this position: the unfettered access it gave him to the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts Library, one of the largest repositories of obscure and dangerous magic in all of Europe.

Lockhart yawned and glanced at the clock on the wall. He thought he'd best be off to bed now, as he'd have only six hours of sleep before the first day of his Physical Fitness class. He was rather looking forward to putting the Hogwarts students – well, those who weren't better suited for research work – through their paces. With another flick of his wand, the book closed itself and dropped onto the desk, emitting an angry snarl as it did. Lockhart glanced down at the cover in mild surprise.

It was, as one might expect, a picture of Gilderoy Lockhart, but one that looked far different than the wizard's normal appearance. His hair was not perfectly styled but instead rather bedraggled. His skin was pale and his cheeks sallow and sunken. His eyes seemed to blaze with a murderous hatred, and his "winning smile" was replaced with a feral snarl that suggested he wanted to leap out of the picture and maul anyone he could reach with his grasping, talon-like hands.

The DADA instructor shook his head and sighed in annoyance. From a drawer in the desk, he withdrew a pair of white silk gloves which he then donned. He glanced in the drawer as he did and was pleased to see that there was still a few dozen pairs of gloves inside. He'd probably need them all at this rate. Once protected, he carefully removed the dust jacket (and its moving picture of a crazed frothing Gilderoy Lockhart) from the book before wadding the paper up and placing it into a lidded brass container on the desk. Then, he arose from the desk and crossed to the other side of the room where his trunk rested. From inside, he pulled a new dust jacket from the stack of them hidden inside, this one still depicting the face of the handsome and debonair Gilderoy Lockhart that he was accustomed to showing the world. Carefully, he wrapped the enchanted paper around the old leather-bound book, and while the new picture of Lockhart retained his normal appearance and genial mood, there was already the faintest hint of distress in his eyes and his award-winning smile immediately seemed the tiniest bit forced.

Having once more covered the library book with a false dust cover, Lockhart removed his gloves and dropped them into the brass jar where he had placed the previous dust jacket. Then, he waved his wand over the jar and whispered "_**INCENDIO.**_" There was a burst of yellow flame, accompanied by an agonized squeal from the burning paper, as he slammed the lid down tightly. Lockhart shook his head in annoyance. The frequency with which he needed to replace the dust jacket due to magical corruption from the book within was becoming tedious, but he knew it was necessary. After all, he was Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin (Third Class) and Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League.

It simply wouldn't do for a wizard of his standing and reputation to be seen wandering around the school brazenly reading out of a book with a title as provocative as **Magick Moste Evile**.

* * *

**The next chapter will be uploaded on October 30, 2015. "Pranks and Other Diversions (Pt 1)," featuring Potions complications for Neville, important revelations from Snape, flying lessons for the First Year Slytherins, and a new fashion accessory for Jim.  
**


	54. HP&TSE 20 - Pranks & Other Diversions, 1

**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY **

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.  
**

* * *

**CHAPTER 20: Pranks and Other Diversions**

_**7 September 1992**_

The potion turning lime-green was the first clue that something was amiss. The second clue was when it started screaming. Harry was partnered with Neville in Potions today, and he immediately noticed the problem and called out for Professor Snape just before the potion's agonized wailing started. Seemingly in response, Harry, Neville and everyone around them clutched their heads and began to sway as if overcome by vertigo. Luckily, before anyone passed out (or possibly died), Snape was close enough to cast a Silencing Charm on the cauldron which now had what appeared to be several mouths floating in the gooey green surface of the cauldron, all wailing in silent agony. Snape frowned at the contents of the cauldron and then banished it with a slash of his wand, along with the silencing spell. Then, he turned to Neville with an obviously annoyed expression.

"Your hands, Longbottom! Show them to me." A nervous Neville held out his hands, and Snape grabbed one and turned it over so that the palm was facing up. Then, he waved his wand silently, and the boy's hands turned the same vivid green as the vanished potion. The man sighed.

"Five points from Gryffindor. You will both sit quietly until the end of class. Longbottom, you will think long and hard about what _you_ might have done to have earned that point loss. If you can come up with an explanation and a good excuse, I _might_ let you off without an additional punishment."

After enduring a small amount of sniggering from Draco and his lackeys, the two somewhat dejected boys sat down until the end of class. Then, at Snape's summons, they relocated to the front row of class.

"Well," Snape asked.

Neville swallowed and glanced down at his hands which were still green. "I'm sorry, sir. I can't imagine what could have happened."

"Can't you?" he replied. "Well let me hazzard a guess. By any chance were you assisting Professor Sprout with unpackaging the Mandrake seeds that arrived this morning? And were you perhaps foolish enough to not wear gloves while handling those seeds or to even wash your hands afterwards?"

Neville scrunched up his eyes in frustration. "Sorry sir. I _did_ use gloves, but I was running late and didn't have a chance to do a full decontamination. Honestly, I never realized that I'd been contaminated." He looked down at his glowing hands. "Certainly not this much."

"Well, don't apologize to me about it, Longbottom. Apologize to your lab partner for whom you've just earned a zero for the day." The boy looked even more downcast, and Snape sighed. "Unless, of course, the two of you can find a time within the next week that also fits within _my_ schedule to come in and brew that potion over again."

Harry nodded. "We'll compare schedules and let you know before the end of the day. Thank you, Professor."

"_However,_ you're not getting off scot-free, Longbottom. By Monday, I want three feet of parchment from you on the importance of keeping yourself free of contaminants while brewing potions, and another three feet on the reactive properties of the Mandrake plant. I must confess I am disappointed in you, Mr. Longbottom. If there was a single student in your Year who I would have expected to know about the dangers of even the slightest speck of Mandrake pollen introduced into a potion, it would have been you."

"Again, I am sorry, sir. It won't happen again."

"See that it does not. In any case, since you are both here, there is another matter I wished to discuss with you two. Mr. Potter, you will no doubt recall some rather serious concerns you raised last May regarding the confrontation between the Other Potter and the Dark Lord. Specifically, your insinuation that the Headmaster might have deliberately engineered that confrontation. However, I will require a secrecy oath before I tell you anything more. Indeed, I am only offering to tell you anything _now_ because you were both potential subjects of the Prophecy and I believe you are entitled to be kept aware of developments pertaining to it, but _only_ if you can keep it a secret. Speaking of which, how is your Occlumency progressing, Potter?"

"I am confident that I'd be classified as a Second Level Occlumens. I anticipate reaching Third Level by the end of the school year."

"Excellent. And I see, Mr. Longbottom, that you now carry the protections of your Heir's Ring. Your oaths then, gentlemen?"

The two boys each swore a simple secrecy oath followed by a mumbled "_so mote it be_" that would prevent them both from ever deliberately revealing the contents of their current conversation with the Potions Master.

"Good. Now, I can reveal to you the results of my investigation." He took a deep breath. "It was all just a string of coincidences."

Harry and Neville stared at Snape as if waiting for him to say he was joking.

"That's ... an _awful lot_ of coincidences, isn't it, sir?" said Harry.

"Even more than you realize, I suspect. Tell me, Mr. Longbottom. How _exactly_ did you and your Gryffindor compatriots even discover the Cerberus in the first place?"

Neville quickly related the tale of Jim's abortive duel with Draco, how he and Hermione only accompanied Jim and Ron because they'd been locked out of their dorm, how they'd all ran from Filch and Mrs. Norris, and how Hermione got them inside with the Alohomora spell she'd picked up from an out-of-print book she'd acquired.

"In other words," said Snape, "the only reason the Other Potter _ever_ learned of the Cerberus and the trapdoor it guarded was because Miss Granger accompanied him by complete happenstance and because she just happened to know how to unlock the door with a rare spell not a part of the First Year curriculum, again by complete happenstance. Honestly, do either of you really think that the Headmaster could have engineered such a sequence of events as part of any coherent plan? If you doubt me, then consider this. You may recall that during his announcements last year after the Sorting, the Headmaster specifically said that the Third Floor corridor was out of bounds for any students who did not wish to die a painful death."

Harry nodded. "Yes. I always thought it was odd for the Headmaster to draw so much attention to that corridor if he wanted everyone to stay away from it. Looking back, I'm surprised the Weasley Twins didn't find Fluffy that night!"

"That, Mr. Potter, is because you are young and still ignorant of the more subtle warding techniques. When the Headmaster spoke those specific words, they served to trigger a memetic ward on the corridor in question. Any student who heard those words and who later _intentionally_ tried to enter the Third Floor corridor would have been overwhelmed by an ever-increasing sense of impending certain death that would have driven away anyone not at least a fourth-level Occlumens or possessed of comparable protection. The only reason Mr. Longbottom, the Other Potter and the other two Gryffindors were able to overcome that ward and even approach the door was because they were _lost_ at the time and didn't realize where they were. And you all were only able to return to that corridor for the final confrontation with Quirrell and the Dark Lord because Quirrell had secretly _deactivated_ that particular ward earlier that afternoon precisely because he wanted all of you to join him in the Mirror Room."

Harry and Neville must have both looked astonished, because Snape shook his head before speaking again. "The truth, Mr. Potter, is that far from trying to engineer a confrontation between the Boy-Who-Lived and the Dark Lord, the Headmaster was attempting to ensure that such a confrontation _never happened_. The original plan was for the Mirror of Erised to be in place by September 1st with the expectation that Quirrell would attempt to steal the Philosopher's Stone sometime around Halloween. That plan was thwarted almost from the beginning by a series of increasingly improbable coincidences that eventually brought about the very confrontation the Headmaster sought to avoid."

Harry's eyes widened as he recalled the words of Countess Zabini. "Prophecies _want_ to come true," he repeated aloud. "And they have the power to shape minor random events to help bring themselves to fulfillment."

"Indeed, Mr. Potter. The entire incident proved rather conclusively that the Prophecy cannot simply be subverted, or at least, not as easily and directly as the Headmaster had thought."

"Well, in that case," asked Neville. "Why are they trying to subvert it at all? I mean, Jim's pretty clearly the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord. So why don't people focus on letting him do that?"

Snape actually winced at the Gryffindor's bluntness. "Questions like that, Longbottom, are why I swore you to an oath of secrecy before I said anything at all. Let me begin by saying that I still do not know the entire Prophecy. To my knowledge, no one does except for the Headmaster and both Lily and James Potter. However, note that the first line refers to '_the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord_" rather than simply '_the one who __will__ vanquish the Dark Lord._' I suspect that whatever hidden power is at the Other Potter's disposal, it is not one that guarantees his victory."

"So what's Plan B?" asked Harry as he considered the implications of what Snape had said. The man shrugged.

"I imagine that the Headmaster and the Potters are investigating stratagems for ensuring that any future confrontations take place under controlled circumstances that will give the Other Potter the best chance for victory. That is certainly what I would do in their position. Beyond that, I do not know. Lord Potter does not wish to allow me any role in their strategizing, and I have no particular interest in forcing my way into their deliberations. " Snape paused. "Which segues into another related but more personal matter for you alone, Mr. Potter. Mr. Longbottom, will you excuse us?"

Neville looked at his friend who nodded silently. Then, he left the room.

"I had planned to contact you about this later," said Snape. "But now is as good a time as any. Your mother wishes to have lunch with you one day this week at your convenience."

Harry did a double-take. "Sorry? My mother does what now?"

Snape sniffed at Harry's lack of decorum. "Pursuant to the injunction which your solicitors put into place at your direction, your parents are forbidden to interact with you except when _I_ am present. After the events of this past summer, your mother now wishes to try to get to know you and presumably seek some sort of rapprochement."

"Will my father be there?" asked Harry doubtfully.

"_Good Lord, No!_ Your mother knows us all well enough to realize that putting you, your father and myself into an enclosed space is a recipe for disaster."

Harry thought that was probably an understatement.

* * *

_**9 September 1992**_

On a bright sunny afternoon, Ginny, Tori and the rest of the Slytherin First Years made their way outside for their first day of flying lessons. Following Harry's advice, Ginny had worked herself like mad to stay ahead of her class work. She'd won a total of six points in the last week which put her near the top of the Slytherin firsties, but she wasn't exactly dominating her Year academically the way Harry had the year before. Since their last encounter, she'd avoided Ron as much as possible, though he gave no outward sign of his former hostility. She'd also spent as much free time as she could with her other brothers. "_I wonder if Percy still has his notes from First Year_," she thought to herself.

Once out on the pitch, she noticed that the Slytherins were paired with the Ravenclaws. She'd only met a few Eagles so far. Dequon Chang ("Deck" to his friends) was a extremely outgoing and genial Asian boy who was determined to embarrass his cousin Cho Chang at every opportunity. Saffron Brown was a bookish girl with curly brown hair and glasses who seemed resigned to living in the shadow of her older sister Lavender. Jacob Harrison was a Muggleborn from Liverpool who was still getting used to the whole "magic thing" as his father was a computer programmer and his mother a secondary school physics teacher. And of course, there was Marietta Edgecombe who was busy gossiping with Drusilla Crabbe, probably about her. While Crabbe was doing her best to act poised, Ginny thought she looked a bit queasy.

"Are you okay, Crabbe?" she asked.

Drusilla coughed. "I'll be ... fine, Weasley. After all, how hard can this be?"

"You should listen to Weasley's advice, Crabbe," said Niles Harper in a nasty voice. "She's probably used to flying on second hand brooms that fall apart all the time. I bet that's all her brood can afford." Harper and Bletchley laughed at that until Madame Hooch blew her whistle.

"Alright, everyone," she said. "Everyone take your position next to a broom." She gave her usual instructions on how to call the broom into one's hand and instructed the class to try it. Tori yelled "UP!" a little _too _assertively, and her broom jumped up and bopped her in the nose. Ginny, who was just about to summon her own broom, stopped to see that her friend was alright.

"Better look after yourself first, Weasley," said Kevin Bletchley with a laugh. "Assuming you can even get your broom to listen to you."

Ginny said nothing. She just stared at the two Slytherin boys with obvious disdain. Then, without even looking down, she casually put her hand out and calmly said "Up" without even raising her voice. The broom flew up into her hand with a slap faster than any of the Slytherin boys had managed. "Anymore advice from the peanut gallery, Bletchley?" she asked mildly. The nasty grins faded from the boys faces to be replaced by looks of angry consternation.

A few minutes later, after everyone had managed to summon their broomsticks, Madame Hooch instructed the class on how to properly mount and hold the broom – stopping briefly to compliment Ginny on her perfect grip – before preparing them for their first take-offs. She blew her whistle, but immediately there was a commotion as Drusilla Crabbe suddenly shot up off the ground higher and higher until she took off into the air, screaming the whole way.

"Oh for Merlin's sake," exclaimed Madame Hooch, who suddenly was reminded of the Longbottom fiasco from the previous year. "Not this again!"

By this point, Drusilla was about sixty feet up in the air and screaming her head off when there was a blur of motion from the ground. Before anyone even knew what had happened, Ginny was up in the air facing the other girl with her hand firmly gripping the tip of Crabbe's broom which suddenly stabilized. "DRUSILLA! SHUT! UP!" Startled, the girl stopped screaming.

"Good!" said Ginny. "Now, keep your hands on your broom but _relax your grip_. Just barely hold on to keep yourself steady. And _just keep looking at me_." Drusilla swallowed and nodded, and the two brooms gradually started drifting back down to the ground in a gentle corkscrew motion. After a few seconds, they touched down, and to Ginny's surprise, a tearful Drusilla rushed forward and gave her a huge hug that nearly squeezed the life out of her.

The rest of the students crowded around the duo as Madame Hooch moved through the students. "Miss Crabbe, are you quite alright?" The girl nodded. "Miss Weasley, I would say that was very reckless of you if it weren't obvious that you were in complete control the whole time. Would you care to explain though what exactly you did up there?"

"Oh, well, from the way Miss Crabbe's broom took off, it looked to me like some of the dorsal bristles must be loose and that threw the vertical stabilizers off. But I realized that if I could grab hold of the tip of her broom with my offhand and get her to relax her grip enough, the brooms would sync up and I could pilot her down." She turned and looked innocently in the direction of Niles and Kevin. "It was obvious what to do if you're experienced enough with a broom."

Hooch chuckled and examined Crabbe's broomstick. "You're quite right. My apologies, Miss Crabbe. This broom should never have been put out for student use. In fact, I wonder now if it's the same one poor Longbottom got last year." She turned back towards Ginny. "Well handled, Weasley. Can I assume that your brother Charlie has had an influence on you?"

Ginny gave what she intended to be a bashful smile. "Yes, Madame Hooch. He always made a point of making sure the family brooms were thoroughly rethatched every summer. When he couldn't get any of our brothers to help him, I volunteered. He taught me a lot ... when my parents weren't looking, that is."

Hooch laughed again. "Very good. Five points to Slytherin for quick thinking and deft broom-handling. Miss Crabbe, do you wish to go to the infirmary for a Calming Draught? I would not want you flying on this broom in any case." The girl nodded. "Weasley, since it's abundantly clear that you're past the beginner level, why don't you escort Miss Crabbe?"

Ginny nodded. As she led Drusilla away, she noticed that most of the students (including the Slytherin boys) were giving her slightly awestruck expressions. Tori was grinning from ear to ear and giving a thumbs-up gesture. Even Wilkes smiled approvingly and offered a "Nice job, Weasley" as she passed by. When they were away from the class, Ginny turned once more to Drusilla. "Are you going to be okay?" she asked.

Drusilla nodded. "I think so. And ... thank you ... _Ginny._" Ginny smiled at that. "Mind you, I'll probably still have to be somewhat horrible to you whenever Draco is around ... but thank you."

Ginny nodded. "It's alright. I'll try not to take it personally."

* * *

_**Later that night ...**_

"I still don't know if this is a good idea," said the first Weasley.

"Look, we all agreed he deserves a little something for always slagging on the Slytherins even though he knows our sister's in there, right?" said the second Weasley. "Well, hopefully, this will make him think twice about it in the future. And it won't hurt anyone. It's completely harmless. Honestly, I bet he'll even get a laugh over it."

"I dunno," said the third Weasley. "You have to be careful about pulling pranks on a house-mate even if he deserves it. We all do have to sleep here, after all."

"That's the beauty of this," said the second Weasley. "He'll assume it was Harry or some other Slytherin. He'll never even realize it was us. Best case scenario: Jim learns to keep his mouth shut about Slytherins."

"And the worst case scenario?" asked the first Weasley, uneasily.

The second Weasley shrugged "Most likely, Jim and Harry get into a prank war between themselves, and we just get to sit back and watch."

The second and third Weasleys laughed at that, while the first remained pensive.

* * *

_**10 September 1992**_

The presence of Neville Longbottom in the Potions room first thing in the morning when the boy did not have class again for four days was the first clue that something was amiss. The look of obvious anger on the face of a boy known for serene unflappability was the second.

"Mr. Longbottom," drawled Snape. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm still working on your six feet of parchment due on Monday, sir. Fair is fair – I should have done a full decontamination just to be safe. _But_ I thought you should know about this!" With that, the Gryffindor slapped a pair of heavy gardening gloves onto Snape's desk. The man crooked an eyebrow at his student who was acting remarkably out of character.

"I see a pair of gloves, Longbottom, the presence of which tells me nothing I don't already know."

"They're my Herbology gloves, sir. And someone has thoughtfully filled both of them with powdered dust from crushed Mandrake leaves. It was some idiot's idea of a joke, I'll wager, but one involving a dangerous ingredient that could have _killed_ us if Harry and I had been working with a different potion last Monday."

"I see. Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I will make appropriate announcements in my classes regarding the dangers of using Mandrake for frivolous purposes. And in light of this, perhaps my earlier punishment was too hasty. Reduce your writing assignment to a foot and a half on each topic."

"If it's all the same, sir, I'd rather keep it at the original length. Somebody may have pranked me but that's no excuse for not washing up properly. As for the other, well, it's actually kind of interesting. I had _no idea _what all you can use Mandrakes for."

Snape snorted. "Gryffindors."

* * *

_**Later during lunch ...**_

The weight on Jim's head was the first clue that something was amiss. The second clue was when the high-pitched singing started. Lunch was nearly over when Jim Potter bit into a treacle tart and immediately felt the sudden pressure on the top of his head. Hermione, Neville and Ron looked at him in amazement, while several other Gryffindors started to laugh, particularly after the singing started up in a thick Irish accent. Specifically, singing which emanated from the brilliant green and golden royal crown that had appeared on Jim's head, the one bearing the golden inscription "_Jim Potter, King of the Leprechauns_." And the song the crown produced – and which half the school would sing regularly for weeks to come whenever Jim came near – was set to the tune of "God Save the Queen" with lyrics as follows:

_King of the Leprechauns  
His brains are made of bronze  
He makes us sick.  
_

_It's really obvious that  
Jim is a total prat  
Smart as a Beater's Bat  
and just as thick._

Jim snatched the crown off his head and examined the inscription, his face turning red as more people in the Great Hall looked in his direction and started laughing. The song was apparently on a loop, as it started up again immediately. Annoyed, Jim shook the crown repeatedly in an effort to get it to stop. Then, he cast a Silencing spell on it. That somehow caused the singing to _increase_ in volume_. _Finally, in frustration, Jim dropped the crown onto the floor underneath the table, hoping that would at least muffle the singing. Instead, as soon as it left his hands, the crown disappeared with a pop ... and then immediately reappeared on top of his head. This continued for several minutes, with Jim continually trying to dispose of the crown and it reappearing on top of his head and still singing its insipid tune. Finally, several Sixth and Seventh Year students (led by Percy Weasley) all cast Finites simultaneously on the crown while Jim held it in his hands, and that worked. But before the joke crown vanished, just for a second, Jim (and only Jim) could make out four small sparkling letters at the base of the crown: SRGD. And almost immediately, Jim knew what they stood for.

"_Slytherins Rule. Gryffindors Drool._"

At the sound of continual laughter all around him, the boy's face flushed in embarrassment. He looked up across the room to see if Harry was watching. He was, although the Slytherin actually had the _gall_ to act surprised, as if he'd had nothing to do with the prank even though it practically bore his signature. Part of Jim wanted to walk across the room to confront his twin... and punch him in the jaw. Luckily, he was studying Occlumency now from the book his godfather had secretly gotten for him, and so Jim followed the advice the book gave for dealing with feelings of anger, embarrassment or unhappiness:

"_Take all those negative feelings and squish them down into a tiny ball deep in the pit of your stomach until you can freely unleash them all at once on your enemy."_

So Jim took that burning feeling of shame out of his cheeks and shoved it down into the pit of his stomach where it joined all the other little fires of anger, fear and unhappiness that he'd been shoving down there since his twelfth birthday. And the fire grew just a little bit hotter.

* * *

**I regret to inform my loyal readers that between a recent minor injury and increased work commitments, I am not as far ahead on "HP&amp;TSE" as I had hoped. I am also at a point in Book Two where the plotting is becoming a bit intricate and I don't want to screw anything up and leave a plot hole for later. Finally, as I mentioned previously, I will be writing a separate novel-length work for NaNoWriMO. So, rather than risk getting ahead of myself and being forced to have an _unscheduled_ lapse in updating, I have elected to reduce my updating schedule down to once per week. This will continue at least through November and possibly through December depending on how far ahead I can work through the holidays. I hate to do it, but I do think quality is more important than posting frequency and I hope you all agree.**

**Accordingly, the next chapter will be uploaded on Friday, November 6, 2015. "Pranks and Other Diversion (Pt. 2)," in which Harry and Lily have a rather tense luncheon, and then someone makes a stink in the Slytherin Common Room. Also, why DO the Malfoys and Weasleys hate each other anyway?**

**AN: Also, to Guest reviewer "lampshade," I regret to inform you that the phrase "_So mote it be" _will likely be used again and, in fact, may very well prove _integral_ to the ultimate plot. Sorry. **


	55. HP&TSE 21 - Pranks & Other Diversions, 2

**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY **

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

**Modified on 11/17/15. See AN 2a.**

* * *

_**CHAPTER 21: Pranks and Other Distractions (Pt. 2)**_

_**11 September 1992**_

The presence of treacle tart on the table was the first clue that something was amiss. Jim was notorious for his obsessive love of treacle tart. Indeed, according to the rumor mill, whatever magical effect caused that "_King of the Leprechaun_" nonsense a few days prior was triggered by Jim biting into a slice of the desert which had been impregnated with some potion to link him to the enchanted crown. Harry, however, was more of a creme brulee fan, possibly due to fact that it required a blowtorch. And the plate of treacle tarts sitting between Lily Potter and himself was a subtle reminder that his mother knew next to nothing about him.

For about ten minutes, the two had made forced but polite chit-chat while Snape sat between them eating silently and psychically projecting to everyone on Earth his desire to be somewhere else. Harry was doing well in all his classes, but particularly DADA and Potions. Lily loved teaching Muggle Studies and was thrilled to have had the chance to update a class that was almost a century behind on Muggle politics and technology. Snape took another bite of chicken. Harry was looking forward to his first Quidditch match (he left out the fact that he was Chaser rather than Seeker). Since the number of students taking Muggle Studies was still rather low, Lily was spending her free time working with Professors Flitwick and Vector with an eye towards eventually completing a Mastery in Charms, Arithmancy or both. Snape took a big sip of wine. With each overly polite exchange, Snape took another bite of food and chewed it a minimum of thirty times to reduce the likelihood that he might be caught without anything in his mouth and thus asked a question.

Finally, after a particularly uncomfortable lull, Harry opened his mouth to speak, closed it, and looked down at the table. "I'm sorry," he said hesitantly. "I just realized ... I'm not sure what to call you. Most Slytherins would say '_Mother_' but that seems awfully ... formal to me. And I'm not sure about '_Mum_' because ..." He stopped abruptly and looked towards Lily with an embarrassed expression.

"Because I haven't earned that title, perhaps?" she asked sadly. She took a deep breath. "Perhaps, then, until you feel comfortable calling me '_Mum_,' you could just call me Lily and your father James. That would be ... familiar, at least."

"Okay ... Lily ... at the risk of, I dunno, shattering the mood or something ... what made you decide to reach out to me. I mean, it's been six weeks since the birthday party and, well, you weren't very talkative then."

"I didn't know what to say. I still don't. I already knew at that point that someone had tried to kill you while you were living with Petunia. And I also knew at that point that the Dursleys themselves had mistreated you, although I still don't know all the details. You have every reason to hold that against me, and I don't have any defense that_ I _would consider persuasive let alone one _you _should." At that, she gave a quick glance towards Snape. "And then, someone tried to kill you again at the party. That just ... brought everything from my school days back."

"What do you mean?" he asked, genuinely curious.

She hesitated and then reached into her bag and produced a framed picture of an older man and woman. "I wanted to give you this before you left today. This is Michael and Rose Evans. My parents, your grandparents. Please keep it. I have other copies." She paused as if to collect herself. "Your father and I got married late in the summer of 1979. We tried to keep everything low key, but James was Heir to an Ancient and Noble House, so naturally the Prophet eventually found out about the marriage and made a big story out of it ... and out of how James and I were somehow heroically defying You-Know-Who by getting married despite our different blood statuses. And ... the Death Eaters didn't like that, so they found out where I lived, broke in, and tortured your grandparents with the Cruciatus Curse for hours. Finally, they got bored and left ... after setting the house on fire with Mum and Dad trapped inside." She paused suddenly. "Did ... did Petunia ever mention any of this? Is that why she ...?

"_Abused me?_" thought Harry. "_No. There was a totally different reason for that._" He shook his head. "No, she never talked about them or how they died. I doubt that had anything to do with it." He studied the picture of the grandparents who had died before he was born. As much as people said he looked like his father, he could also see traces of himself in Robert Evans. For one thing, his eyes were much closer to the intense green of his grandfather than the softer shade of his mother. "_If they'd lived, would Lily have sent me to them instead of Petunia? And would they have ended up treating me just the same?_"

Harry set the picture aside and looked into his mother's eyes. "Was that why you sent me away? Because you thought that I'd be killed if I stayed with the Potter family?"

"Yes," she said simply. "In light of recent events, can you blame me for that?"

"No, but I _can_ blame you for not checking up on me for ten years. The Dursleys told me that you had _died_."

"The Dursleys..." She stopped, anger flashing over her face before being replaced by sadness again. "The Dursleys did a lot of things they weren't supposed to. They _were_ supposed to tell you that James and I had died in a car crash. Their ... _embellishments_ about it being caused by James's drunk driving were _not_ a part of the story. You were supposed to be raised by Petunia and Vernon with kindness, if not love, until you finished school. At that point, you would be given access to a sizeable trust fund that would provide a very comfortable standard of living for the rest of your life, enough for you to never work if that was your desire. And _of course_, all of that was conditional on you _actually being a squib_. Petunia was supposed to contact me _immediately_ if you showed any signs of accidental magic, at which point we'd have revealed the truth to you and brought you back into wizarding society. She never did. Until your Hogwarts letter was generated, we never had any clue you were a wizard."

"I know. I understand all that. I'm guess I'm just struggling with the bit where me being a squib is an _excuse _for sending me away and letting me think I was an orphan_._"

She shrugged helplessly. "It seemed best to have a clean break. Even ignoring the dangers specific to our family, there was and is institutional bigotry towards squibs who remain within the wizarding world. If you'd stayed with us, you would have been completely home-schooled because wizarding law would not have allowed for a child from a wizarding home to go to a Muggle school. You would likely have never even _seen_ a child who wasn't a wizard or witch while you were with us. There's very little work for adult squibs in the wizarding world, but mainstreaming into the Muggle world when you were older would have been very difficult because there was no paper trail saying where you went to school or where you had lived, and you'd have been woefully ignorant of Muggle culture. And that's _before_ we get into about the issues of Death Eaters who wanted revenge against Jim or the very real possibility that Jim might unintentionally drain you of your very life while defending himself some day. I mean, after Jim drove off You-Know-Who last June, you and he_ both_ were in comas for days. I know it _looks_ like we were favoring Jim over you when we sent you away, but honestly? I made the decision that I'd rather have a live child who thought he was an orphan than a dead one I'd have to bury. I deeply regret everything that happened, Harry. But looking back and thinking about what I knew at the time, I still am not sure I made the wrong decision."

"_You_ made the decision? Do you mean James was opposed?"

She nodded. "Yes. Dumbledore and I had to talk him into it. He was completely in denial over the medical reports saying you were a squib. Then again, considering how things worked out, maybe he saw something the rest of us all missed. But when Petunia never contacted us to let us know you had signs of magic, he came to accept it. And then, a few weeks before your eleventh birthday, Albus contacted us to let us know that there was a letter for you."

Harry nodded. "But then, I was Sorted. And that ... changed."

"Yes. I always knew that knew that James wasn't ... rational when it came to Slytherins." At that, Snape nearly choked on a sip of wine and coughed violently for a few seconds. Lily smiled at him with what Harry thought was a surprising fondness. "Well, I say Slytherins but it was really just Slytherin students here at Hogwarts. I don't know if you knew this but your maternal grandmother, Dorea Black Potter, was in your house. She and your grandfather had a rather famous and occasionally violent feud when they were at school together but then got over their differences after graduation and eventually started courting. Still, from the way James tells it, even _she_ was strongly opposed to the thought of him being Sorted into her old house. And of course, when James was in school, it was different because everyone knew that You-Know-Who was actively recruiting among Slytherin alumni. A lot of James's anti-Slytherin hostility was a response to some fairly overt bigotry that was commonplace within your house at that time."

Severus snorted softly at that. She sighed. "And yes, some of _that_ was a response to bullying from a quartet of schoolboys who were allowed to run wild by their doting and overly-forgiving teachers. _That said,_ Severus, you can't sit there and pretend the Slytherins were completely blameless. I do remember getting hexed pretty regularly by Rosier and Mulciber just for being a Muggleborn." She paused and then smiled almost mischievously. "I _also_ remember what you did to the Marauders at the start of Sixth Year. That prank with the raspberry tarts and Minerva McGongall's sexy voice?"

To Harry's amazement, his normally emotionless Potions professor blushed slightly. And then ... he _smiled_, as if savoring one of his most favorite memories.

"What did you do to them?" Harry asked in quiet awe. Snape coughed and regained his composure.

"Nothing for you to know about, Potter," he said. "At least not until you're older."

Harry shook his head in bemusement. Then, he looked back towards Lily. "On the morning of my birthday party, James said he wanted to try to reconcile. Do you think he's serious about that?"

She paused as if considering the matter. "I ... don't know. He's told me that he is, but it's a rather abrupt change. And he's apparently willing to reconcile on the basis of a recommendation from Peter Pettigrew, and frankly, I've never trusted that man."

Harry nodded. "I appreciate you being forthright about that."

"Thank you." The two were silent for a few seconds. Snape quickly popped a bit of potato into his mouth and started chewing before anyone looked his way.

"Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to change the subject to something a bit lighter. Normally, I'm opposed to pranks, but I _do_ appreciate good spellwork. How in Merlin's name did you get that singing crown spell to work on Jim the other day?"

Harry's eyes shot up in surprise. "I don't know whether to be offended or flattered, but that wasn't me. Although I agree it was impressive spellwork."

"Really? Jim seems convinced it was you. He says you practically signed your name to it."

"Hmmph. Well, that only proves it _wasn't me._ A real Slytherin would never sign his name to a prank. We'd sign someone else's name to frame them for our misdeeds."

"Ha-ha. I've no doubt. Although whoever it was, I hope they don't make a habit of mocking Jim over those books. He's embarrassed by them enough as it is."

"Then why keep printing them? I know the story behind them. And I know you could stop publication of them tomorrow if you wanted."

She sighed with resigned expression. "James and Jim both would be thrilled if that happened, but that's another area where I made sure to have my way. I decided very early on that Jim's public image was something that we would have to zealously protect and control. The books help with that."

"I don't understand," Harry said in confusion. "Jim's the Boy-Who-Lived. People _bow_ when he walks by. What sort of protections do you think he needs?"

"You'd be surprised." She hesitated. "Harry, the wizarding world as a whole is very ... credulous. And also very fickle. When Jim was a baby and everyone found out what he'd done, there were people who thought he was some sort of Wizarding Messiah." Her expression hardened. "But there were also other views. Views spread by people who thought that if Jim could destroy You-Know-Who as a baby, it must mean that he was destined to someday become a greater Dark Lord than You-Know-Who himself. In those first years, there were followers of You-Know-Who who wanted to kill Jim for revenge, but there were others who wanted to kidnap him instead and ... raise him properly '_according to Pureblood values_.' And there were even a few on the Light side who thought it might be in everyone's best interest if the government took him into protective custody to protect him from _bad influences._"

Harry's brow furrowed. "Really?! There are people out there who actually think Jim is ... Dark Lord material?"

"Not as many today as there were in 1983, but probably still a few. Jim told me that Draco Malfoy made an abortive attempt to befriend him on the train to Hogwarts last year. I suspect it was because Lucius Malfoy was sounding Jim out to find out what he was actually like as a person."

"I was there. It was an ... odd interaction, now that I think about it. And the books?"

She shrugged and smiled. "After we won the court case, we discovered how popular those books were, and I decided that it was a good way to shape public opinion in Jim's favor. Today, all that most wizards and witches know about Jim is that he raises lots of money for charity and that he appears in children's books as an earnest, heroic young man who stands steadfast against the forces of evil."

"Okay, but why the _Hardy Boys_?"

She smiled almost sheepishly. "Nostalgia? When I was a girl, I used to have the biggest crush on Shaun Cassidy." Harry stared at her in confusion, and she smiled. "Sorry, let's just say that I was a Muggleborn who came of age in the 1970's and it left its mark on me."

Harry chuckled and then looked down at his watch. "Ooo, I need to run. I've got Transfiguration in ten minutes." He paused and looked back up at his mother. "I've ... enjoyed this. I, uh, wouldn't mind doing it again ... if you want." Then, he glanced over at Snape. "We may need to wait a week or two to give Professor Snape a chance to recover."

Snape glared at him through hooded eyes that promised dreadful detentions in the future. Lily just smiled. "I'd like that."

Harry nodded and left the room.

"I must confess," said Snape after the door closed, "that went _much_ better than I'd expected. You were wise to pursue a general policy of total honesty. That said, I warn you now: If you ever suggest that your husband _join_ us in future bonding sessions, I'll put poison in your afternoon tea."

She laughed. "If I ever propose something that crazy, Severus, I hope I _drink _it."

* * *

_**Later that afternoon ...**_

As he made his way back to his dorm, Harry thought back to his luncheon with Lily. He didn't think he'd forgiven her for abandoning him to the Dursleys so completely. Certainly not now, and possibly not ever. However, two thoughts gave him pause. The pragmatic one was that Lily at least seemed to want a genuine reconciliation with him, whereas James's attitude about that seemed much more suspect. If Lily was a potential ally in any future conflict against James, it would be foolish to spurn her out of bitterness over his upbringing with the Dursleys. It was the second thought that Harry found more troubling, so much so that he found it difficult to articulate beyond thinking: "_what if she was right?" _If Lily had spoken truthfully and had genuinely believed him to be the squib son of Lord Potter and the squib brother of the Boy-Who-Lived, then it was perfectly reasonable and arguably_ compassionate_ for her to have arranged for him to be raised as a Muggle. And while he still thought she should have checked in from time to time, Harry also realized that Lily could not have anticipated Harry's strange affliction that made Muggles hate him, the affliction that ultimately drove Vernon Dursley to homicidal madness. Had it not been for that little quirk, might he have grown up in relative happiness with guardians who could at least feign affection towards him? And if he had been a squib, would it not have been _better_ to have never known about magic at all than to have wondered "_what if?_"

Harry's thoughts were suddenly broken up as he rounded the corner near the Slytherin entryway to face of a new bit of weirdness: Titus Mitchell and Miranda Bonneville, the Sixth Year Slytherin Prefects, standing outside the entrance to their House's dormitory with giant translucent bubbles around their heads. As Harry moved towards the entrance, Titus put out a hand to stop him.

"Hold it, Potter. Some tossers – and by tossers, I mean most likely the Weasley Terrors – have been sneaking dungbombs into the bookbags of Slytherin students. So no one goes in until we've checked you out. Then, we'll cast the Bubblehead Charm on you so you don't vomit all over the Common Room floor and make the stink even worse. Now, hands out and arms up."

Bemused, Harry did as he was told. "_**SCRUTIMINIUS DUNGBOMB**_," the prefect intoned. Then, to Harry's surprise, the other boy's wand lit up and gave a soft humming sound. The hum slowly rose in pitch as Titus slowly moved his wand around until it came to rest against Harry's book bag.

"Okay, Potter. Stay very still." Harry froze as Mitchell carefully opened up Harry's book bag and then gently removed the prank explosive. Then, he carefully twisted the top and cast a Finite on it before visibly relaxing. There was a piece of paper wrapped around the dungbomb which he removed before tossing the device into a metal can next to the door. From the clang, it sounded like there were several other deactivated dungbombs inside. He held the paper out to Harry. It contained just four letters: G-R-S-D.

"G-R-S-D. Just like all the rest. Any clue what it means, Potter?" he asked.

Harry shrugged. "George and Ron Send Dungbombs? Although this really seems more like Fred's thing than either of them, I think."

"Whatever. If you get any better ideas than that, let one of the prefects know. Now hold still." Harry again did as he was told as the prefect cast the Bubble-Head Charm on him and then allowed him into the Slytherin Common Room. The scene was oddly surrealistic, as the dozen or so Slytherins in the Common Room all had large bubbles around their heads and were attempting to carry on as normal even as Marcus and Missy walked around the room casting air-purifying spells to cancel out the bombs that had gone off earlier. In the center of the room, Harry noticed that Draco and several members of his circle were facing off against Ginny, Amy Wilkes and Astoria Greengrass, with Theo and Blaise standing nearby, ready to intervene if necessary.

"I still say this _STENCH _came from the Weasley Terrors!" Draco said in an tinny muffled voice. "And that means _YOU_ probably had something to do with it!"

"Don't be such an _idiot_, Malfoy!" Ginny replied in the same oddly distorted voice. "One of those dungbombs went off in _my_ bag! The Twins might prank Slytherin House, but they wouldn't use me to do it! And I certainly wouldn't prank my own house where I sleep at night!"

"A likely story! I don't believe _ANYTHING _a _WEASLEY _has to say about anything! Who KNOWS what demented ideas are going on in your _STUPID WEASEL HEAD_!"

Biting down on the urge to laugh at "_Stupid Weasel Head_," Harry strode over to the group. "Draco, calm down!"

"DON'T TELL ME TO CALM DOWN JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE ON _HER SIDE!_"

"Draco," Harry replied calmly. "I'm not on _anybody's _side. I just want you to calm down because all your shouting is about to burst your bubble."

At that, Draco looked around and tentatively reached up to feel the bubble of clean air around his head. It had indeed increased over a foot in diameter due to his shouting. With obvious difficulty, he calmed down and the bubble began to shrink back to its normal size.

"Now, while Draco's deflating, someone else calmly tell me what all's been going on."

Blaise stepped forward. "About an hour ago, Miss Wilkes here entered the Common Room and a few minutes later, a dungbomb that had been hidden on her person went off. Immediately, several students became violently ill. Luckily, some of the older students were on hand to cast Bubble Head Charms and begin purifying the Common Room, a process that is close to wrapping up. A few minutes later, Miss Weasley entered and a dungbomb that had been hidden in her bag nearly detonated. However, she recognized the sound that a dungbomb makes before it goes off, threw her book bag into an empty corner, and alerted Marcus who put a shield up over it."

Harry nodded. "Well done, Miss Weasley."

"Hah!" exclaimed Pansy Parkinson. "I'll bet she brought a live dungbomb into the dungeon on purpose just so she could make a big show of warning people about it in order to curry favor with everyone!"

"_That's..._" Ginny paused mid-retort. "That's actually something that would have been totally clever and cunning if I _had_ done it ... which I didn't. So... thanks for the compliment, I guess?"

"Oh, shut up, Weasel!" barked Draco. Ginny narrowed her eyes and stared intently at the tip of Draco's nose until he grew uncomfortable. "What are you looking at?"

"Your nostrils are very small. I was trying to decide if a Bat-Bogie Hex would actually injure you seriously."

"Why you ...!" Draco started fumbling for his wand, and Ginny did the same. Luckily, before Harry had to intervene, Amy Wilkes, who had apparently palmed her wand some time earlier, raised it towards Draco.

"We've been standing around like idiots with giant bubbles on our heads for the last half-hour," she said in a bored voice. "Can we please not make things even more ridiculous with a duel here in the Common Room? With our luck, someone will shoot off a fire spell and _ignite_ all the fumes from the dungbombs."

"Joining sides with the blood traitor, Amaryllis?" said Pansy in a snide voice. "Especially that one? _That's_ a surprise."

"What can I say, _Pansy_. I'm a _Wilkes_ and we're all _craaaazyyy_, as I've heard you sniping behind my back for the last two weeks. Who _knows_ what sort of horrible curses I can cast just because of my evil family tree?"

At that point, Marcus came over near the group and cast a detection spell of some kind. Then, he braced himself, used his wand to stab his bubble (which popped loudly), and inhaled. Satisfied, he exhaled and addressed the room.

"Right. The room's cleared of dung-stench, so everyone can pop your bubbles." He paused. "In retrospect, I should have said that in some way that sounded less stupid. And for _Merlin's sake_, keep an eye on your bags and backpacks until we find out what wanker has been responsible for all this and string him up from his goolies, got it?"

With that, he turned towards the group of First and Second Years, shook his head, and then turned to Harry. "I'll leave this lot to you. I'm not in the mood to deal with ... _pre-adolescent drama_." Then, he turned and stalked off leaving the group behind. With a laugh, Harry stabbed the bubble around his own head with his wand, and soon after, there were other loud pops all around the Common Room.

"Right," said Harry, "without getting drawn into '_pre-adolescent drama_' myself, let me just say this. I am quite certain that Miss Weasley had nothing to do with this nonsense. And I'm pretty confident that the Weasley Twins had nothing to do with it either."

"Then who was it?" asked Draco angrily.

"Personally, I suspect the Git-Who-Lived. The prank was juvenile, low brow, and most importantly, could only have been pulled of in the manner we've seen by someone with an invisibility cloak. As for motive, I am reliably informed that my brother thinks that I'm responsible for that '_King of the Leprechauns_' nonsense from the other day, and this was his feeble attempt at revenge."

"Wait, that wasn't you?" asked Drusilla Crabbe in confusion.

He gave her a pitying look. "Do you _see_ huge banners hung all over the Common Room proclaiming that I reduced Jim Potter to sputtering rage in front of the entire school? People are _still_ humming that tune whenever Jim is around. I _wish_ that I could legitimately take credit for it, and the only reason I haven't _pretended_ to be responsible is because I'm cautious about stealing the thunder of whoever actually did it until I know who they are."

With that, Harry glanced over at Theo and gave him a _significant look_. Theo smirked and nodded slightly while patting his own book bag meaningfully.

"But enough about pranks and other such nonsense. Let's move on to the more interesting question of why you two," he pointed at Ginny and Draco, "are so eager to start a rumble here in the Common Room."

"Because he's pompous, bigoted, obnoxious tit," spat Ginny.

"Because she's ..." Draco struggled to find any words he could say without contravening his Vow. "A _Weasley!_"

"Actually," said Harry with a smug expression, "it's because you're both under a spell."

"_WHAT?!_" Ginny and Draco said simultaneously. Then, they both looked at each other angrily.

Harry sat down in an overstuffed chair and regarded the two Slytherins and their respective tribes. "Mr. Nott, your report please?"

By that point, Theo had pulled several pages of parchment from his bag and was sorting through them. Then, he coughed loudly and began to speak.

"Prior to the events of 1788, the Noble House of Weasley and the Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy had been in a general state of de facto alliance for more than 100 years. While the House of Weasley never formally swore fealty to the House of Malfoy, the two families had several joint business ventures and supported one another politically in the Wizengamot. It was widely understood that the House of Malfoy would support the elevation of the Weasleys to the status of Ancient and Noble House as soon as one of those seats became vacant."

Ginny and Draco stared at Theo in utter confusion while Harry just smiled. Theo continued.

"This state of affairs continued until 1788, when the Heads of the two Houses – Hephaestus Malfoy (Hufflepuff, Class of 1750) and Barnabas Weasley (Slytherin, Class of 1753) – decided to formalize their alliance with a marriage contract between Meleager, the Malfoy Heir, and Camilla, the eldest daughter of Barnabas. However, problems arose when Meleager, in a serious breach of etiquette, rather loudly let it be known that he was less interested in Camilla, who was six years his senior, than in Ludmilla Weasley, who was only one year his junior and who was considered to be more attractive than her older sister."

Ginny's eyes widened at the mention of Ludmilla Weasley, who Ron had mentioned during their confrontation as being the last female Weasley prior to her. Draco was equally surprised at the reference to Hephaestus Malfoy and his Heir, Meleager. He knew his own family tree quite well and recalled that Hephaestus was succeeded by Corvus Malfoy, whose unidentified older brother had been blasted off the family tree for unknown reasons.

"After his initial protests, Meleager bowed to his father's wishes ... at first. But then, only a week before the wedding, Meleager disappeared never to be seen again, along with Ludmilla, the bride price, the dowery, and all the wedding gifts that had been received up to that point. Each family blamed the other for the scandal. Barnabas Weasley called Meleager a rake who had seduced his baby girl, while Hephaestus called Ludmilla a slattern who had deceived his beloved son perhaps to his death. The situation deteriorated quickly, with three duels between members of the two houses over the course of the next year. Things came to a head in 1790 when Barnabas Weasley publicly accused Livilla Malfoy, Hephaestus's wife, of cursing the Weasley family with a _redacted _spell."

"A what?" exclaimed Draco. "What's a _redacted _spell?"

"Something very bad, apparently, because _all_ of the written accounts from that era _literally_ have the name of the spell blacked out. But whatever it was, Livilla would have been cast through the Veil of Death rather than just imprisoned in Azkaban if the charges had been proven. However, the burden of proof was on the Weasleys, and Barnabas was unable to secure a conviction in the Wizengamot. After Livilla was acquitted, the Malfoys turned around and sued the Weasleys for libel and slander, and the damages awarded to them over a false allegation of using a _redacted_ spell caused the Weasleys to lose their Wizengamot seat. Most of the financial difficulties the Weasleys have had over the last two centuries stem from these events."

At that, Draco sneered at Ginny who stuck her tongue out at him.

"Anyway, having lost the court case, Barnabas Weasley exercised his power as Head of House to declare _family enmity _against the Malfoys, and Hephaestus Malfoy reciprocated."

"What does _that_ mean?" asked Ginny.

Harry took over. "It means, Miss Weasley, that for nearly two hundred years, every Weasley born into your family has instinctively hated all Malfoys on sight, and every Malfoy born during that period has hated all Weasleys for the same reason. In other words, your mutual hostility is not _natural_. It's a magical effect that continues to plague both your families to this day, even though you've probably _all_ _forgotten _the original reason for it."

"So how do they get rid of it?" asked Astoria.

"House enmity can only be ended by mutual agreement of the current Heads of the affected Houses," answered Theo authoritatively.

"Which hardly seems likely since our fathers can't get within ten feet without getting into fistfights," said Ginny.

"Why are you so interested in this anyway, Potter?" asked Draco in annoyance.

"Two reasons. First, I was curious about why you had such an extreme aversion to Ron on the train last year when you'd never met him before then, and later why your father had such an extreme and _public_ altercation with Mr. Weasley. Second, I ... well, let's just say I disapprove of mind-altering compulsion spells. The idea of magic that's been thoughtlessly applied forcing one person to hate another without even realizing why ... offends me."

"You make it sound like you plan to do something about it," said Ginny suspiciously.

He shrugged. "In the short term, all I plan to do is ask you two to act like any responsible young witches and wizards. You know your feelings are unnatural. So even if you can't stop feeling the way you do, you _can_ control how you respond publicly to those feelings. Don't allow yourselves to be overcome by external compulsions. And above all, don't embarrass Slytherin House over some ancient feud that has no relevance for either one of you."

"And in the long term?" asked Draco, just as suspiciously as Ginny was earlier.

"Well," said Harry with a cheerful grin. "If my short term solution fails, then I suppose I'll just have to make it a project of mine to bring your two warring families together in a spirit of peace and harmony. And you both know how I love my projects."

At that, Draco and Ginny, who both had experience with the byzantine and anarchic mind of Harry Potter, paled considerably.

* * *

**The next chapter will be uploaded on Friday, November 13, 2015. "The Boggart," in which Harry confronts his greatest fear while the Prank War enters a new and more serious phase.**

**AN 1: Every now and then, someone points a contradiction between this fic and something on Pottermore. I regret to say that I just don't have enough hours in the day to keep up with Pottermore and check everything I write against it. I use the Harry Potter Wikia for my fact-checking, and if it cites to something interesting from Pottermore, I might use it (and if so, I'll cite to it in an AN). _But_ otherwise, while Pottermore is _the_ canon, it isn't _my_ canon, and if my facts differ from JKR's about some detail outside the books or movies, please just roll with it. Case in point: James's grandfather is Charlus _not_ Fleamont. I had already used Charlus before the Potter family history was posted by JKR, but even if I hadn't, I don't think I could bring myself to use that name. Also, the Potters did not make their fortune in potions and certainly didn't invent Sleekeazy, seeing as how the "famously unruly hair of the Potter men" is an identifying mark from the books.**

**AN 2: Due to a math error on my part, the last chapter of Book One indicated that both sets of Harry's grandparents died after James and Lily graduated. It was actually during the summer before their Seventh Year. It was bonding over their shared tragedies that let them get over their antipathy and start dating. I'll edit that chapter when I get around to it.**

**AN 2a: Due to an even bigger problem with the timeline pointed out to me by alert reader Gwendolyn McCormick, I am changing what I wrote in the previous paragraph. All four of Harry's grandparents died in 1979 which was the same year James and Lily got married (as indicated in the last chapter of Book One). After the marriage, they moved directly into Godric's Hollow because Charlus and Dorea still lived in the Manor until their deaths late in that year. James, being an emotional clod, refused to take off his Heir's ring until Harry and Jim was born, at which point he put on the Lord's ring and stuck the Heir's ring into a drawer in the nursery. The paragraph where Lily explains all this to Harry has been edited above. Sorry for any confusion._  
_**

**AN 3: Undoubtedly, some people will think I'm going too easy on Lily and may be angry that it looks like Harry is forgiving her too easily. Stay tuned. This is a tentative first step, one chapter in a seven-volume series, and there will be a long way to go, if ever, before Harry ever calls Lily "Mum."**


	56. HP&TSE 22 - The Boggart (Pt 1)

**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY  
**

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.  
**

* * *

**CHAPTER 22: The Boggart (Pt 1)  
**

_**25 September 1992**_

_**7:00 p.m.**_

Since the Day of the Dungbombs, there had been no further pranks attempted against Slytherin House. Harry contemplated some sort of revenge prank against Jim, but he decided against it for two reasons. First, he wasn't _completely_ sure that it had been Jim's prank. Second (and more importantly in Harry's mind), he'd considered the dungbomb prank to be so juvenile as to be unworthy of a response. Certainly, he didn't see the need to be drawn into a prank war with the Git-Who-Lived over it. Apparently, however, someone in his House felt differently because a few days after the dungbomb episode both the Git and the Weasel had shown up for breakfast in particularly foul moods and sporting emerald green hair with silver highlights. It seemed that someone had reverse-engineered the prank that the Twins had tried to use on Harry the year before. Or perhaps the Twins themselves had gotten annoyed with Jim and Ron over something and did it themselves. Harry made a mental note to ask one of them whenever he remembered to care about his brother.

That night, right after dinner, Harry and the members of Team Protector met in the main DADA classroom for their first boggart encounter. Professor Lockhart spent the first thirty minutes explaining once again what a boggart was, how it had the ability to disguise itself as whatever the nearest viewer feared most, and how the Boggart-Banishing spell could repel it by forcing it to assume an amusing form rather than a terrifying one. The trick was knowing what your biggest fear was, having an idea for how to make that fear into something funny, and being fast enough to do so before you fell completely under the boggart's sway. At the best of times, boggart exposure was often embarrassing, but if one's greatest fear stemmed from an actual traumatic event, the boggart could often force its victim to relieve the experience _and_ the attendant trauma. The actual boggart they would be using was currently in a heavy trunk sitting against the back wall of the classroom.

"Right then," said Lockhart amiably. "I've watched you all demonstrate the Boggart-Banishing spell to my satisfaction. You all have the wandwork and incantation down. The only question now is whether you can demonstrate both while maintaining the required mental framework. Now, you may have noticed that there were a number of chairs out in the hall. I'll ask you all to step outside and wait until I call you in. I have prepared you all to face your boggart-fears as much as possible short of direct exposure. However, some of you may still find the experience disturbing, possibly even traumatic, especially if your greatest fear turns out to be something other than what you were expecting and you are unable to use the defensive charm properly. In any case, it would be the height of irresponsibility for me to let any of you face a boggart untested with all your classmates watching, to say nothing of a breach of your privacy and trust. Mr. Flint, you're first. Everyone else, outside."

With that, the other team members stepped out into the corridor. The group was pensive and mostly quiet, other than a few nervous Hufflepuffs who were urgently practicing the Boggart-Banishing spell. Harry and Neville sat next to each other off to one side.

"So," whispered Neville, "what do you think your _biggest fear_ is?"

Harry shrugged in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner. "I'm assuming it's doxies. Or my uncle. Or my uncle _and_ doxies. Or maybe Voldemort trying to strangle me." He paused thoughtfully. "It's kind of disturbing, now that I think of it, that You-Know-Who is only _fourth _on my list. You?"

"I'm still not sure. I know it'll have something to do with Uncle Algie, but I still don't know what exactly. A year ago, I'd have thought it was drowning, but I think I'm over that, so I really have no idea." He furrowed his brow. "It's entirely possible that my greatest fear is a plate of Cousin Enid's meringues."

After about five minutes, Marcus came out looking visibly shaken with a half-eaten bar of chocolate in his hand. He sat down next to Harry wearily.

"Don't. Ask." he said irritably before the two boys could speak. Then, he finished his chocolate while staring straight ahead at the wall. Harry and Neville just looked at each other nervously. One by one, the other team members were called in next and came back out just as shaken and disturbed before finally it was Neville's turn. To Harry's surprise, his friend was in and out in under a minute, and while he came out holding an uneaten piece of chocolate, he seemed thoughtful rather than upset as most of the team members had been so far.

"You okay?" Harry asked.

"Huh? Oh yeah, surprisingly fine. It was confusing at first, but not all that scary once I figured out what was going on." Then, he turned towards Marcus, who was still looking a little peaky. "You want my chocolate?" he asked. Marcus numbly took the candy bar while looking stunned at how serene the young boy was.

"Um, Nev?" asked Harry. "So what _was_ it? I mean, if you don't mind telling me."

"Oh, not at all. It was a giant piece of flagstone pavement flying towards me ready to bash my head in. Then, I realized that it wasn't really flying towards me. That was just how the boggart interpreted my uncle dropping me to my death. Once I realized that, I just cast the spell and it turned into bouncy rubber and that was that."

"That ... was that," Harry repeated before he broke out into a grin. "Don't ever change, Nev."

On the other side of him, a dumbstruck Flint just shook his head. "Gryffindors," he mumbled through a mouth full of chocolate.

Finally, it was Harry's turn. He took a deep breath and entered the classroom which was empty except for Lockhart, who sat in a chair off to the side behind a small writing desk, and the trunk, which was in the middle of the floor. There was a stack of chocolate bars on Lockhart's desk.

"Alright, Mr. Potter. Do you feel confident that you know your fear? And how to transform it into something amusing?" Harry answered yes to both questions. "Very good. Now draw your wand, move to within a few feet of the trunk, and nod when you're ready for me to open it."

Harry stepped forward wand in hand and nodded. "_**ABIERTO,**_" intoned the Professor. The trunk's lid popped open, and a strange mist-that-wasn't-a-mist billowed out and quickly took a solid shape. Harry wasn't surprised to see that his boggart looked like Vernon. He wasn't even surprised to see that the Vernon of his nightmares was bigger than normal, a bloated eight-foot-tall monstrosity. The thing for which Harry was completely unprepared, however, was _Vernon's smile._ That smile that was always in his nightmares but that he never liked to think about because it represented how much _joy_ Vernon took from trying to kill him in one of the most painful ways known to wizard-kind. And then, _Smiling Vernon _opened his mouth to bellow what he always bellowed at Harry right before he woke up from his _nightmares_ and Harry felt his arm moving in the familiar pattern of the banishing charm and from somewhere far away Harry heard a voice very much like his own yell out the word _**RIDDIKULUS!**_ with a voice full of _terror and rage _and...

Harry shook his head as the boggart's effects faded. Smiling Vernon didn't bellow anything. Instead, he made a sort of farting sound, like air escaping from a balloon. And just like a balloon, Smiling Vernon suddenly turned into a Giant Inflatable Vernon that flew around in the air as it deflated before landing back in its trunk. The lid of the trunk slammed itself shut, and Harry was alone with the Professor. Suddenly aware once again of where he was, Harry turned slowly towards Lockhart who now stood a few feet behind him with an unreadable expression. He held out a candy bar in one hand, but Harry noticed that his wand was in the other, presumably in case the boy faltered. Harry took the chocolate and tore a big bite out of it as his heart rate returned to normal.

"You did exceptionally well, Mr. Potter. One of the best responses in the class."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said shakily as he put his wand away.

With that, Lockhart left Harry behind to call the other students back into the room. The group reentered with varying degrees of trepidation, and Lockhart began conjuring seats for all of them. "Mr. Flint, we're done with the boggart for this evening. Kindly assist Mr. Potter with putting it back in the closet well away the other students. Normally, boggarts will remain hidden away unless exposed, but sometimes the sound of a crowd nearby makes them frisky, _ha-Ha!_"

Marcus flinched slightly at Lockhart's laugh, before moving over to help Harry with the heavy trunk. They were nearly to the closet when it happened. From the far corner of the room, seemingly out of empty space, a voice called out "_**ABIERTO!**_" and the lid of the trunk flew open. The strange mist flew out again, and suddenly, towering over Flint was a hideous crone with pallid skin, milky-white eyes, and grasping talon-like hands. She wore a filthy nightdress and was bald save for a few wisps of hair.

"_MARCUS!" _she screamed in a voice like broken glass. "_WHERE'S MY TEA?! DO Y'WANT GRANNY TO GET THE BELT?! BRING ME MY TEA!"_

With a startled cry, Marcus dropped his end of the trunk and pulled back in sudden terror. The weight of the trunk landed on Harry's foot and he yelped in pain and fell down. The instant Marcus had moved far enough away, the boggart instantly turned towards Harry, and its form shifted like smoke. In place of Marcus Flint's senile cackling grandmother was Smiling Vernon once again, bigger than ever and now towering over the fallen Harry. The boy tried to pop out his wand, but it slipped out of its holster through fear-numbed fingers and fell to the floor. Vernon's smile grew wider until the corner of his lips reached his ears, and then he drew in a deep breath and bellowed out ...

"_**SUPPERTIME!"**_

And with that, Smiling Vernon _**ripped open his own chest**_ to unleash the swarm of doxies inside, the swarm that promptly fell on the screaming Harry Potter. Several of the students cried out in utter horror at the scene – a half-dozen doxies was usually considered reason enough to contact the Ministry for a Hazardous Creature Control unit. A score of them crawling over a single target was unthinkable. While the rest of the class was distracted, Emily Rossum, who was the last one to reenter, was knocked aside by some invisible force that yanked the door open and then closed it just as quickly. Up front, both Neville and Lockhart rushed forward to help Harry. Lockhart was just a bit faster, and with a slash of his wand, Harry was yanked away from the boggart's chest and caught by his young Gryffindor friend. As Neville tended to Harry, Lockhart waved his arms wildly in an attempt to draw the boggart's attention away from Harry.

He succeeded.

The boggart's form blurred again as all of the doxies that had been attacking Harry suddenly coalesced into a new and even more terrifying form. Looming over Professor Lockhart stood a ten-foot-tall lupine figure with jet black fur, teeth the size of daggers, and eyes of purest amber. None of the students had ever seen such a creature in the flesh before, but all of them knew instantly what it was: _a werewolf_. The nightmare creature threw back its head and gave an unearthly howl, and most of the students screamed in absolute terror. But from his vantage point, Neville was the only one who could see Lockhart's face, a face that showed true fear for just a second before it was replaced by a different emotion: _hate._

With a feral snarl, he thrust his wand towards the false werewolf. "_**AVAD...!**_" He growled out two syllables of a spell that only Neville was close enough to hear before he caught himself. Then, he slashed a different spell with his wand. "_**RIDDIKULUS!**_" he bellowed in a fury. There was a flash, and the werewolf instantly shrank down into the size of a terrified Chihuahua that turned tail and bolted back into the trunk which immediately slammed shut. But if Lockhart found anything amusing in the boggart's retreat, it didn't show. He whirled around to face the class, still enraged.

"_Who_ cast that _spell_?! _Who unleashed that BOGGART?!"_ The whole class froze, suddenly almost as frightened of their teacher as they had been of the werewolf.

"Whoever it was is gone, sir," said Emily. "There was someone standing over there in the corner invisibly. They knocked me down and ran out the door."

"Jim Potter's got an invisibility cloak," said Neville, who was still cradling a shivering Harry Potter. His voice was ice-cold, startling those in the room who knew him as perhaps the most affable student in the whole school.

With obvious difficulty, Lockhart brought himself back under control. "Students, I ... apologize for this ... unpleasantness. While I had hoped to spend some time discussing the implications of the Boggart-Banishing Charm for our larger efforts, I think it best that we call it a night. We will reconvene at a future date that will be posted tomorrow. Mr. Longbottom, please help Mr. Potter to the infirmary. I will assist Mr. Flint."

"I ... don't need ... infirmary," said the still shivering Flint.

Lockhart quickly knelt next to the prefect and spoke in a quiet tone. "I realize that, Mr. Flint, but I don't wish Mr. Potter to feel the embarrassment of being the only one affected. Do you?"

Marcus looked up at the instructor. He wasn't sure he believed the man, but he knew a face-saving offer when he saw one. He took a deep breath and spoke more loudly. "I'll go to the infirmary if you insist, sir, but I don't need any help walking."

"Of course not, Mr. Flint. I didn't mean to imply otherwise." With that, he extended a hand to the young man and helped him to his feet. As everyone exited the class, Lockhart also caught up with Emily and whispered something in her ear. She nodded and ran on ahead of the rest of the group.

* * *

_**Meanwhile in the Gryffindor Common Room**_ ...

Hermione Granger put down her quill and started rubbing her temples, acutely aware that she was doing the same thing Harry Potter did whenever _he _was confronted by something exasperating. Luna Lovegood sat on the couch next to her, placidly waiting for the other witch to regain control of the flurry of nargles which had risen up in a boojacentric flight pattern and were threatening to awaken the fury-flies and the teeth-gnashers. She didn't say any of that, of course, as she'd noticed that Hermione's wrackspurts became agitated whenever she mentioned any of the other things she perceived fluttering about inside and outside the other girl's head. Luna was actually very fond of Hermione, who normally did an admirable job of keep her wrackspurts under control, even if by doing so it forced her nargles to float rather listlessly while maintaining a particularly bland shade of beige.

For her part, Hermione was now sure that at least _some_ of Luna's claims were true – there were too many instances in which she could intuit things about other people's inner moods with just a glance. The trouble was figuring out the patterns for her accurate perceptions while filtering out the concepts that were probably _not_ true. In particular, Hermione's mind absolutely recoiled from acknowledging the existence of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack. The most frustrating thing about her work with Team Mysterioso was that out of the four members, Ginny was in Slytherin and Penelope Clearwater was in Ravenclaw. That meant it fell to Hermione to spend her time observing her housemate Luna for insights into the things she claimed to see. The four of them met twice a week to go over her notes and look for patterns, but the actual observational work mainly fell to her.

Suddenly, Jim Potter came into the room, flushed and out-of-breath. Luna looked up at the boy, and her face paled. "Jim?" she called out in an urgent voice.

"Not now, Luna," he replied tersely without even looking at the girl.

Luna shot up out off the couch and shouted at him "_JIM!_" He stopped in surprise and looked back at the girl. Her eyes widened. "What did you _DO_, Jim?!" she said almost fearfully. He stared back at her for a few seconds with an equally fearful look on his own face. Then, he ran up the stairs to the boy's dormitory.

"Luna?" Hermione spoke softly. "What's happened?"

Luna turned towards her and started rubbing her arms as if she'd suddenly grown cold. "Something bad."

"Is there something specific we should be doing about ... the bad something?" Hermione asked carefully. Luna thought for a second and then shook her head. "Alright, then. Let's just sit back down. And I want you to tell me _everything_ about what you noticed about Jim as he came in. And every way you think he's different now than he was before."

The two sat, and Hermione began to furiously copy down Luna's description of what she saw in Jim that so alarmed her. About fifteen minutes later, the door opened again, and Emily Rossen came in just as out-of-breath as Jim had been. "Has anyone seen Potter?" she asked the room.

Percy stood up from his seat near the fireplace where he'd been talking to Ron about the younger boy's Charms assignment. "Yes, he just went up to his room."

"Would you go and get him please?" she said tersely. Percy nodded and headed upstairs.

"Emily, what's wrong?" Hermione asked.

The Head Girl, who seemed visibly angry, just shook her head. "I'm sorry, Hermione. It's not something I can talk about right now."

A moment later, Percy returned with a fidgety Jim. "Is there a problem?" he asked nervously.

Emily looked at the Boy-Who-Lived with obvious disdain. "Your brother Harry is in the infirmary. _Someone _attacked him." Jim's eyes bulged at her description. "Well, in a manner of speaking, anyway. I'm sure Professor Lockhart can explain it better than I. Also, your parents are on their way there as well. As is the Headmaster. This way please." And without further comment, she led the now-frightened boy towards the door. But before they could get through it, Neville came in. He saw Jim and immediately move towards him with a murderous look on his face. Emily stepped between them.

"It's alright, Neville. I'm taking Jim to the infirmary now. You will stay here and calm yourself. Understood?"

The boy glared at Jim with barely contained fury. "Fine. I'll be here whenever you get back." With that, Emily led the shocked Jim out of the dorm.

The still distraught Neville made his way over to the sofa where Luna and Hermione were waiting, and they moved so he could sit down between them.

"Neville, what happened?" asked Hermione with concern.

"I..." he stopped suddenly overcome with emotion. Luna reached up and started rubbing his upper back in a circular motion.

"Shhh," she said. "Close your eyes and count down from ten in your head while you breathe. It will sing them to sleep. Then you can tell us"

Without even thinking much about it, he put his head down into his hands and did as she asked. Hermione fought down the temptation to take notes on what Luna had said and instead just waited quietly. Once Neville had calmed down, he told them what had happened ... as well as his fears for what significance the word "_Suppertime!_" might have when it came to Harry's uncle and the doxies that had nearly killed him.

Over by the fire, Ron continued reviewing his notes from the day's classes, seemingly oblivious to the drama that surrounded him.

* * *

_**Later in the Infirmary ...**_

Lily Potter ran into the infirmary and was immediately intercepted by Lockhart and Madame Pomfrey.

"Lily! Harry's alright!" said the mediwitch. "I just gave him a Dreamless Sleep. He'll be out until tomorrow."

"What happened? Emily just said he'd been hurt."

Madame Pomfrey paused, and her mouth tightened. "It was a severe reaction to boggart exposure. It gave him a flashback to the doxy incident, and the trauma sent him into shock. But I've already treated him, and as I said, he'll be _fine_ by morning."

Lily glared at Lockhart. "And how _exactly_ did he end up exposed to a _boggart_?"

Lockhart sniffed. "In light of these traumatic circumstances, Professor Potter, I'll forgive your tone. Your son was initially exposed to the boggart under my close supervision as part of his advanced DADA training, and _he performed admirably_, banishing the boggart easily without any necessary intervention on my part. It was not until later in the session that _someone else_ intentionally unleashed the boggart a second time when Mr. Potter was closest to it and under circumstances in which he could not effectively defend himself. I banished the creature myself immediately, but not until after several seconds of direct exposure, for which you have my profuse apologies."

"And who was it that unleashed a boggart on my son?" she asked angrily.

"I don't know, Professor Potter, but according to the Head Girl, it was someone wearing an invisibility cloak. You can ask her yourself. She's on her way back here now with your other son."

Lily paled. "Jim? Why is she bringing him here?"

Lockhart chuckled. "Well, I assumed he'd want to be here out of concern for his brother. Was I mistaken?"

Lily didn't answer, for at that moment, Emily and Jim entered the infirmary. "Ah, speak of the devil. Miss Rossen, I was just telling Professor Potter that some invisible assailant was responsible for unleashing the boggart against Mr. Potter and Mr. Flint. Could you share your observations with us?"

She nodded. "The person was definitely invisible and must have been in the room for some time. I don't think it was an invisibility spell because all the ones I know end instantly if you cast any other spell, and the intruder definitely used the Door-Opening Charm on the trunk which held the boggart while maintaining invisibility. Also, as the intruder knocked me down on the way to the door, I felt some silk-like fabric brush against my leg. I'm fairly confident it was someone with an invisibility cloak." With that last remark, Emily turned to look directly at Jim, who didn't make eye contact.

"Jim," said Lily. "Come with me." With that, she took her younger son by the arm, and led him off to a corner where she hastily erected a privacy shield around them both. "Now you listen to me, James Potter Jr. You have one chance to tell me the absolute truth. Because if you lie to me and I find out later, I swear to God and Merlin both that I will pull you out of this school and home-school you at the Manor until you're old enough to take your NEWTS! Now did you have anything to do with what happened to your brother?"

As those two were talking, Marcus Flint came from around the corner and joined Emily and Professor Lockhart. The look he gave Jim Potter suggested a strong desire to hex the boy in the back.

"Feeling better, Flint?" said Lockhart somewhat loudly.

"Yes sir," he replied in a low voice, without taking his eyes of Jim's back.

"Excellent!" said Lockhart as he loudly clapped his hands together, startling to two prefects. "Then, I suppose there's no reason for you to dally around here. Miss Rossen still has her evening rounds to do. Perhaps you could accompany her for a while before heading back to your dormitory."

Marcus looked up at Lockhart for a few seconds as if to be sure he'd interpreted the hidden order correctly: _get out of here before you do something stupid to the Boy-Who-Lived and get expelled._ Then, he nodded respectfully and followed Emily out of the Infirmary. Lockhart watched them leave and then turned to study Lily and Jim's silent conversation.

* * *

_**Minutes later ...**_

"I bet the little swot gets off scot free," muttered Flint.

"I don't think so," replied Emily. "Professor McGonagall has very little patience for Jim at this point. If he's proven guilty, which I think is likely, I'm sure she'll insist on a fair punishment."

Flint snorted but didn't respond. The two walked in silence towards the dungeons.

"Are you ... angry that everyone saw your boggart?" Emily asked tentatively.

"What do you think? I'm seventeen years old, a prefect about to graduate, and my biggest fear is still the crazy old bitch who died when I was six. Would _you_ want everyone to know that?"

She shrugged. "Did you banish it successfully? The first time you saw it, I mean?"

He was silent for a few seconds. "It took me two tries, but I got her. You?"

It was Emily's turn to hesitate. "No. My boggart was a clown who terrified at a birthday party when I was a small child. I've been afraid of clowns ever since. I tried three times to banish it but I couldn't. I mean ... how can you make _clowns_ funny if you're instinctively afraid of them?"

He considered the idea. "That's a good question. I never thought of it that way."

They walked in silence until they reached the entrance to the dorm. "Well," he said. "Thanks for, um ... Just ... thanks."

"Don't mention, Flint." She turned to go

"Rossen!" he said suddenly. She stopped and turned back to him. "How are you at potions?"

* * *

Not long after, Lily and Jim were joined by James Potter (who looked like he'd gotten back up out of bed to Floo to the school), Dumbledore, Snape and McGonagall. Lockhart once again explained what happened, and then Lily turned to her son.

"Jim, I believe you have something you wanted to say at this point," she prompted.

The boy looked sullen and beaten down. "I ... I was the one in the invisibility cloak. I believed... I still believe that Harry played a prank on me the other day, so I used the cloak to spy on his boggart test. When I saw ... well, the first time he confronted the boggart, it was just a really big fat version of our Uncle Vernon. I ... thought it was funny that his biggest fear was just a Muggle, so when the rest of the team came in, I let the boggart out again. I promise I didn't mean for it to turn into a bunch of doxies and attack him like that. I... I'm sorry. I'll take to whatever punishment you think is appropriate."

Snape sniffed and then looked towards McGonagall, who was as angry as he'd seen his fellow professor in years.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor, plus one month of detention," she said. Jim gasped but then nodded. James looked as though he wanted to say something but thought better of it. Then, Lockhart coughed delicately.

"I am curious about one detail," he said. "On the night of the Sorting Feast, Headmaster, you referred the students to Mr. Filch's list of forbidden items. I haven't reviewed that list myself, but I would be rather surprised if invisibility cloaks were not on it."

"They are indeed _normally_ forbidden, Gilderoy," said Dumbledore. "However, there is a general exception to the rules governing contraband items which are also classified as family heirlooms. While most invisibility cloaks are common magical items, the Potter Cloak is such a family artifact and thus is not covered by the general prohibition. The exception was put into effect by the Board of Governors in 1908 during the tenure of Headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black. There was some speculation on the part of the Board that Black had abused his position as Headmaster to improperly seize magical items which were properly entailed to noble estates."

"Mm-hmm," said Lockhart. "From what I've heard, that _does_ sound like something he'd have done. Be that as it may, however, is such an artifact really the sort thing to which a twelve-year-old child should have unfettered access?"

"Jim is the Boy-Who-Lived," said James tersely. "He needs to be able to defend himself, and as his father and the Head of House Potter, I have decided that he should have access to our family's cloak."

"Of course, of course," said Lockhart. "And out of curiosity, since his arrival at Hogwarts, how many times has he actually needed the cloak for self-defense rather than personal entertainment?" James bristled at that, while Jim looked terrified of losing access to the family cloak. Finally, Lily spoke up.

"I can see where this is going, so perhaps I can suggest a compromise. During Jim's month of detention, the cloak will remain with Professor McGonagall. Perhaps four weeks without it will teach Jim some responsibility." With that, she turned towards James, as if daring him to contradict her. He grimaced but said nothing.

"I think a temporary confiscation of Jim's cloak is a most satisfactory solution," said Dumbledore, who then turned to Jim. "I hope this will help you to understand how these pranks can suddenly turn very serious, young man. And I also hope you will do the right thing and apologize to your brother as soon as possible so that the two of you can hopefully put this behind you."

Jim nodded. With that, the impromptu disciplinary meeting ended. Professor McGonagall accompanied Jim to take custody of the invisibility cloak, while Lily and James went once more to check on Harry's prognosis, and Snape went to inform the Slytherins of what had happened and how they were to respond.

* * *

_**One hour later ...**_

Just as he was about to retire for the night, there was a knock at Severus Snape's door. He opened it, and to his surprise, Lily Potter pushed past him into his sitting room. He closed the door and turned to face her.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Lady Potter."

"Let's just cut to the chase, Severus. I know you're more skilled than me at dueling and far more skilled than me at the Dark Arts. But I do have one thing going for me – I'm an angry mother, whether you think I'm entitled to that status or not. And I am telling you right now that _neither of us_ is leaving this room until you tell me _exactly_ what happened between Harry and Vernon Dursley on the night of the doxy attack!"

* * *

**The next chapter will be posted on Friday, November 20, 2015. "The Boggart (Pt 2)," in which Jim struggles with the repercussions of his ill-considered prank and Prof. Lockhart gives an impromptu (and disturbing) lecture.  
**

**AN 1: "Hello. My name is Remus Lupin, and I'm your new DADA instructor. Today, we'll be learning how to banish a boggart, a creature which can transform itself into your worst nightmare. And we'll be doing it together in class, so you can all see what each other's deepest, most personal fears are. Because there's no way any of you has a fear that would be mortifying if it were discovered by your school rivals."**

**I think not.**

**The cavalier way in which Remus introduced the boggart to the entire class without any thought to their individual privacy was only one of many problems I have with POA, which was IMO the most flawed of the seven books in the series. YMMV. If nothing else, the revelation that Neville's boggart was _Snape_ should have immediately resulted in a parent teacher conference to determine why a 12-year-old was pathologically afraid of a teacher. Molly's much more extreme and traumatic reaction to the boggart in Grimmauld Place was further proof that it was insanely reckless to expose children to the thing. It's frankly a miracle that none of Remus's students had a boggart in the form of a dead parent or sibling.**


	57. HP&TSE 23 - The Boggart (Pt 2)

**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY  
**

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.  
**

**Updated 11/24/15 to correct a minor error ("First years" to "Second years").**

* * *

**CHAPTER 23: The Boggart (Pt. 2)**

"_I think a temporary confiscation of Jim's cloak is a most satisfactory solution," said Dumbledore, who then turned to Jim. "I hope this will help you to understand how these pranks can suddenly turn very serious, young man. And I also hope you will do the right thing and apologize to your brother as soon as possible so that the two of you can put this behind you."_

_Jim nodded. With that, the impromptu disciplinary meeting ended. Professor McGonagall accompanied Jim to take custody of the invisibility cloak, while Lily and James went once more to check on Harry's prognosis, and the other staff members retired for the night. _

* * *

Jim stepped into the Gryffindor Common Room, followed by McGonagall. Instantly, he froze. It looked like over half the House was there waiting for him, and most of them looked unhappy. Longbottom, Granger and Lovegood sat together on a sofa. The first two were staring at him in judgment, the third with something that looked strangely like pity. From over in a corner, Ron flashed him a smile and a nod, reassuring Jim that he would still have at least one friend in the House, but everyone else just looked at him in confusion and worry, as if waiting to hear how the Boy-Who-Lived had screwed up this week.

At McGonagall's direction, Jim went upstairs to retrieve the cloak while she addressed the House. With an icy calm, she explained to everyone that Jim had performed a prank which had injured another student and informed them of his punishment. The reaction was a mixture of shock at the nature of the offense and fury over the points lost. McGonagall also announced that her tolerance for pranks was at an end, and any further pranks against Slytherin House would be met with the harshest sanctions. Jim returned with the cloak and gave it to McGonagall, who left without another word to him.

Later, Jim and Ron were sitting alone in their dorm room discussing what had happened.

"It's not fair," said Ron bitterly.

Jim shrugged. "I deserved it. If anything, I probably got off easy. It was stupid of me to let the boggart loose like that. It's lucky he wasn't hurt worse."

"I thought the plan was to just get a picture of Harry's boggart with Colin's camera. What happened?"

"The first time, Harry was too fast. The boggart popped out and took Vernon's form... sort of... but Harry banished it before I could take the picture. I thought I could let it out again and then take a quick photo before he could get his wand out. I just thought it was Uncle Vernon he was afraid of. I should have realized that doxies would play a part in it."

"So? How does that change things?" Ron asked.

Jim sighed. "Mum says if your boggart is actually based on a physically traumatic event, exposure causes you to relieve that trauma. When Harry couldn't banish the boggart the second time, he _felt_ as though he was getting stung nearly to death again. It must have been agonizing."

Ron was silent for several seconds. "Look, it may have been bad for Harry, but that punishment was still way too harsh for an accident. If you want me to, I'll go to McGonagall and tell her the whole 'boggart thing' was originally my idea to begin with. Maybe she'll split your detention time and give some of it to me."

Jim smiled wanly and punched his friend in the arm. "Nah, mate. It was your idea, but it was my screw-up, so I'll take the punishment. There's no reason for _both_ of us to be in the doghouse."

"If you think that's best. So what are you going to do about Harry? You _know_ he'll come after you for this."

"I'll talk to him tomorrow morning and apologize. I hope he'll agree to, well, a cease-fire I guess."

"He won't honor it, Jim. He's a _Slytherin_!"

"Hey now, your _sister's_ a Slytherin, mate!" Jim said with a smile. "We need to be a bit more open-minded now, don't we?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Never mind Ginny. Harry's the one who'll be coming after you."

"And if he does, I'll deal with it. But if I do, _I can't get caught_. I've lost my father's cloak for a month! If I get caught pranking Harry again, I might lose it for good."

Ron nodded sagely at that and then looked at his friend quizzically. "I've always meant to ask you – what's the deal with that cloak, anyway? It sure looks a lot higher quality than most invisibility cloaks I've seen."

Jim smiled and puffed up a bit in pride. "Have I never told you? It's got quite a history to it." And with a smug expression, he began expounding on that history to his best friend who listened with rapt attention.

* * *

_**Meanwhile in the Slytherin Common Room**_

"Right, you lot!" bellowed Flint to get everyone's attention. "I just talked to Professor Snape. Here's all the news you're going to get so listen up. Earlier tonight during Lockhart's DADA session on boggarts, the Other Potter snuck in and let the boggart loose, and it attacked our Potter when he couldn't defend himself. He's in the infirmary until morning, but he'll be fine. In fact, I'm pretty sure the little bugger was faking most of it to get the Git-Who-Lived into trouble. In that, he succeeded, since the Other Potter has four weeks of detention and cost his house _fifty points_."

Several Slytherins openly laughed at that. "So," Marcus continued, "the word handed down by Snape himself is as follows: _do nothing to Jim Potter over this._ Got it?"

"So we're just going to let him get away with this? With attacking one of our own?" said Adrian Pucey angrily.

Missy Bulstrode stepped forward. "No, Pucey. It means we're going to get him _our _way. The _Slytherin_ way. Right now, Jim Potter has his Head of House and most of the Gryffs furious at him. _And_ he's got ten hours of detention every week for the next month. That will cut into his Quidditch practice time almost up until the Slytherin-Gryffindor Quidditch match on November 7th. Don't do _anything_ between now and then that might cause people to get back on his side. Talk this up among the Claws and even the Puffs. Make sure everyone knows that this was an unprovoked attack by a Gryffindor bully. With luck, he'll snap and pull something else and get kicked off the Quidditch team altogether."

Everyone nodded at that properly Slytherin approach, and the members of the House broke up and headed for bed. Theo and Blaise sidled up to Marcus.

"So," Blaise asked quietly but intently, "was Harry really faking it or was he actually hurt?"

Marcus looked around to make sure they were alone. "It was ... bad. It could have been a lot worse. I mean, he'll be out in the morning instead of stuck in St. Mungo's for a week with the Mind Healers. But, yeah, it was pretty bad. And if Lockhart hadn't stopped me, I'd have hexed that little bastard as soon as he came into the infirmary. But I have to admit, Snape's got a point. I think Harry would much rather we just let everyone in the school think the Git's a needlessly cruel bully than get involved in some stupid prank war that will be bad for the House's reputation."

The two boys nodded and then went off to brainstorm on rumors to spread about the Boy-Who-Lived. It was the Slytherin way.

* * *

_**Just before midnight in the quarters of Severus Snape ...**_

_Just as he was about to retire for the night, there was a knock at Severus Snape's door. He opened it, and to his surprise, Lily Potter pushed past him into his sitting room. He closed the door and turned to face her._

"_To what do I owe the pleasure, Lady Potter."_

"_Let's just cut to the chase, Severus. I know you're more skilled than me at dueling and far more skilled than me at the Dark Arts. But I do have one thing going for me – I'm an angry mother. And I am telling you right now that neither of us is leaving this room until you tell me exactly what happened between Harry and Vernon Dursley on the night of the doxy attack!"_

Snape stared for a few seconds at his old friend. Then ... he laughed. "Your righteous indignation is noted, Lily. But it is hardly impressive enough to induce me to betray any of my charges' confidences, not even your son's. In any case, I fail to see what answers you want from me. There is very little I could tell you that's not already spelled out in the auror's report."

That was a lie, of course, as there was a **_great deal _**of sensitive information about Harry Potter to which Snape was privy that was **_not_ **in the auror's report, but he thought it would be sufficient to divert the angry woman. Lily stared at him silently with her brow furrowed in confusion.

"Ah. I _see_," said Snape in sudden understanding. "You did not even know that there _was_ an auror's report. Which raises the question: Did your husband the Senior Auror simply forget to mention it to you? Or did he overtly lie about its contents?"

It took all of Snape's skill at Occlumency to not smile at the look of rising fury on Lily's face.

* * *

_**Early the next morning...**_

Jim woke before dawn as normal and headed downstairs for his morning workout. He was surprised to find a pajama-clad Neville Longbottom already in the Common Room, sitting in an overstuffed chair, waiting for him.

"Longbottom," he said, somewhat uneasily.

"Potter," the boy replied coldly.

"Look," Jim said, "I know you're mad at me, and you have reason to be. But I've accepted my punishment and I'm going to apologize to Harry later this morning. I hope that will be the end of it. But if you try to start something with me on Harry's behalf, I _will_ defend myself."

Neville sniffed disdainfully. "I'll keep that in mind. And I'm glad to see you're accepting your punishment and apologizing, since that's pretty much the bare minimum I'd have expected from any decent person. Anyway, I was just curious. What exactly _is_ your problem with Harry?"

Jim stiffened. "I don't know what you mean."

"Last year, you stood up to You-Know-Who with Harry at your side. One would think that would have been some kind of bonding experience for you and your long lost twin. But no, you're still as mean towards him as ever. And even though you know You-Know-Who is floating around, you're more interested in playing pranks on Harry. I don't get it. It's like you're _jealous_ of the brother who got sent off to live with abusive Muggles."

"You don't know what you're talking about, Longbottom. And besides, Harry _started_ this prank war."

"Well, good job finishing it. Has it occurred to you yet that the price you'll be paying both in detentions and in ill-will from the other Gryffindors will be _worse_ than the effects of any of the pranks you claim Harry has played on you so far?"

Jim started to respond angrily but then deflated. "Yeah, Longbottom. Actually that _has_ occurred to me. In fact, that thought pretty much kept me up all night. Satisfied?"

"Not quite. Did you see _everyone's_ boggarts last night?"

He hesitated before answering. "Yes. For what it's worth, you actually did the best out of the whole class."

"Thanks," Neville said sarcastically. "So I guess you know everyone's biggest fears, huh."

Jim looked away. He'd been expecting conventional fears – monsters, wild animals, things like that. It had left him deeply uncomfortable to realize that over half the people in Harry's study group had boggart-fears manifesting as family members or which were otherwise related to generally traumatic childhoods. He'd never fully grasped just how ... sheltered his upbringing had been, and not just compared to Harry's.

"I ... I won't tell what anyone's fears are, Neville. I promise."

The other boy nodded. "Good to know. But I was curious about one thing. How many seconds did it take Harry to banish his boggart?"

Jim crooked an eyebrow. The question was unexpected. "I dunno. Two, maybe three seconds. Why?"

"You think you could beat him?"

He stiffened. "What do you mean?"

Neville finally stood up from his chair and walked right up to look Jim directly in the eye. "I mean, do you think you could possibly have handled that boggart as well as your brother? It's easy to laugh at other people's fears, Potter, when you've never faced your own. You've been given every advantage while Harry's fought for every scrap he has, and he's still better than you in every way that I think matters. Frankly, Potter, as '_Boys-Who-Lived_' go, you're a bit of a disappointment."

And with that, Neville simply walked back upstairs, leaving the other boy alone with his shame and frustration.

* * *

_**Later that morning around 10:00 a.m. in the office of Rufus Scrimgeour...**_

The Chief Auror carefully removed the letter with the Hogwarts insignia from the barn owl which had delivered. Then, he took an owl treat from a candy dish on his desk and tossed it to the bird before sending it away. The name at the top of the letter caught him by surprise, and the request contained in the letter's body even more so. Putting it aside, Scrimgeour rose painfully from his desk and hobbled around to the door leaning heavily on the cane that was now a permanent fixture in his life. He poked his head out the door and called out for his secretary.

"Eleanor," he said. But then, before he could give any instructions, he noticed James Potter standing nearby talking with Kingsley Shacklebolt about a case. "Come into my office please."

Eleanor Burke, the ancient witch who'd been the secretary for Rufus Scrimgeour and the three Chief Aurors who preceded him, came into the office armed with a pad and a Ministry-issue Everfull Quill.

"Yes, Chief Auror?"

Rufus sat back down slowly as he considered his instructions. "Eleanor, I need you to pull a recently closed file for me. It was an incident report involving Harry Potter and his Muggle relatives. Make one copy and send it via secured owl post to Professor Lily Potter at Hogwarts. Oh, and make another copy and bring it to me." Then, he coughed somewhat delicately. "If at all possible, I'd rather James Potter _not_ know about this."

"Certainly, sir. I'll get it done straight away." Seeing that Scrimgeour had no other orders, the witch left to do as he'd instructed. Rufus watched the woman depart, mildly curious as to how she'd go about letting Potter know what he'd specifically instructed her not to tell him and what promises Potter would have to make in exchange for the information. Eleanor had been loyal to him for years, but she'd been a Slytherin too, and they both knew he was on his way out. Accordingly, she'd happily take this chance to find out if Potter was someone with whom she could deal. Probably not. Potter was too much of a Gryffindor for the ... ethical fluidity it took to surround himself with people like Eleanor and make proper use of their particular skill sets. In fact, Rufus felt confident that Potter was too much of a Gryffindor to handle any part of the Chief Auror's duties. The best Chief Aurors had always been either Slytherins or Hufflepuffs, after all. Even worse, Scrimgeour thought that James Potter embodied the absolute worst combination of Gryffindor merits and flaws. Bold when he should be cautious, and overbearing when he should be discreet. Morally rigid when times call for pragmatism, and yet almost cowardly when matters as insignificant as reputation and personal honor were all that were at stake. All in all, a disastrous mix of qualities for a Chief Auror. Alas, the ultimate decision was Fudge's, and Fudge was far too enamored of the Boy-Who-Lived's fame to care about James Potter's deficiencies. Then again, getting the Chief Auror's job wasn't the same has _keeping _it.

"_Power wears out those who cannot hold it, Chief Auror Potter_," he thought to himself, repeating the adage that old Caractacus Flint had shared with him all those decades ago. Then, Scrimgeour shook his head and returned to his work.

* * *

**Back at Hogwarts ...**

Jim had tried to visit Harry in the infirmary, but his brother had already checked out. He also looked for Harry that morning and at lunch, but the boy was nowhere to be found. So instead, he resolved to meet with Harry and apologize before DADA that afternoon. But while he couldn't find Harry, he did have one brief encounter with Ginny Weasley. The girl walked straight up to him as he was entering the Great Hall at lunchtime and thrust a book at him. It was an autographed copy of _**Jim Potter and The Secret of Skull Mountain**_.

"Here," she said without preamble. "I don't need this anymore. I'm too old for fairy tales." Then, she turned and stalked off.

After lunch, as the Gryffindors and Slytherins waited for Lockhart to open the door for the afternoon's DADA class, Jim tried to get close enough to Harry to talk, with Ron by his side. To Jim's surprise, nearly the entire Second Year Slytherin class closed ranks behind his brother, including Draco and his bookends. It was a startling show of unity in support of Harry from a House that was not known for loyalty and camaraderie. Jim cleared his throat.

"Harry?" he began somewhat nervously. "I was wondering if we could talk for a minute? You know ... away from everyone?"

Harry stared at him impassively for several seconds "What about, Jim?" he finally said.

Jim swallowed. "About ... about what happened last night."

Harry stared some more and then looked down almost languidly at his watch. "Class it about to start, Jim. I don't think we'll have time. And I'll be tied up after class. I have a checkup with Madam Pomfrey scheduled at 4."

Jim winced, acutely aware of how everyone, Slytherin and Gryffindor, was watching. "Well, maybe after supper?"

After a few seconds, Harry smiled. "Alright, Jim. Meet me at 7:00 in Classroom 102. It's just down from the Great Hall so it will be convenient for us both. Does that work for you?"

Jim nodded and started to speak again when the classroom door opened. Harry turned and walked through the door without the slightest further acknowledgment of him and with the entire Second Year Slytherin class in tow. The Gryffindors followed, and while they weren't as cold as the Slytherins, most of them still gave Jim the cold shoulder, though Ron, as usual, was there to support him. Inside, the students took their seats somewhat cautiously. Lockhart was already seated behind his desk and staring off to one side of the classroom with an unusually grim expression. There was a pensieve on his desk. The students took their seats and waited patiently while the teacher seemed to ignore their presence. Finally, just as they were starting to look back and forth at one another nervously, he stirred and began to speak.

"Put your books away, class," he said almost quietly. "I'll be lecturing off the syllabus today, so do _try_ to stay awake. Now, I imagine you all know about the incident last night in which a boggart was unleashed in uncontrolled circumstances. Without going into detail, I will say that the matter troubles me greatly, particularly as one person's greatest fear was publicly exposed in front of the entire assembled group. Rather than allow the school's rumor mill to run amok, I have decided to address that person's fear, and the issues implicated by it, this week in all my DADA classes."

Harry stiffened in his seat in surprise and betrayal, and he was acutely aware of the concerned expressions being shot his way by all of his friends. On the back row, Jim closed his eyes and pinched his brow between his fingers.

"But first," Lockhart continued, "there is some terminology we should discuss, terminology that, to be frank, none of you were able to adequately answer from my little quiz." He stood and gestured with his wand. "_**PYROLOGOS.**_" Then, he continued flicking his wand as if he were writing on a blackboard, and in response, flaming letters appeared in the air. In a vertical line on the left side were three words: Dark, Light, and Grey. Across the top were five more words in a horizontal line: Magic, Wizards, Lords, Objects and Creatures.

"What is '_dark magic_'?" he asked. "I ask rhetorically, students, as I am in no mood for the Socratic method today. There are many definitions of dark magic, particularly among lay-wizards. Most of these definitions are influenced by the lay-wizard's views on morality or ethics or simply grounded in ignorance. Most of them are also rubbish. In point of fact, there is only one definition of dark magic that matters in the eyes of the British wizarding law. Dark magic is magic used in the commission of a violent crime or for any other violent antisocial act. For purposes of this definition, you may consider violence against the mind or soul to be equivalent to violence against the body. Accordingly, a dark wizard is a wizard or witch who uses magic for deliberate intentional violence or to violate the body, mind or soul of another sentient being without the lawful right to do so. The actual spell used doesn't matter. If you use Wingardium Leviosa to levitate a brick in order to bash someone's brains in and you didn't act in self-defense or defense of others, _you are a dark wizard _and, in that context, Wingardium Leviosa is a dark spell. Similarly, some might describe Rictumsempra, the Tickling Charm, to be the mildest form of offensive magic we teach at Hogwarts, but that didn't stop Erasmus Wilkes from modifying it into a dark curse that literally caused his victims to laugh themselves to death. That said, some spells are considered 'darker' than others in the sense that such spells have very little utility outside of violent crime. Similarly, a propensity to regularly use magic aggressively makes a wizard darker than one who only occasionally dabbles in such conflicts. There are also a few very rare spells which are invariably considered dark because they are also esoteric in nature and the mindset needed to cast them automatically brands the wizards as being of a violent or cruel nature. The Unforgivables are but the most famous of these. If one believes in conspiracy theories, there are a handful of even darker spells now lost to us but identified by the legendary Anathema Codex, spells which are considered so intrinsically evil that mere knowledge of how to perform them is proscribed, though if the Codex ever truly existed, the Ministry has long since erased all public knowledge of it along with the spells it described. Outside of those rare examples of indisputably dark magic, whether a spell is dark or not is largely a question of semantics and circumstances."

Lockhart rose, walked to the side of his desk, and tapped his wand to the pensieve. A ghostly mist rose from it and coalesced into the translucent life-sized form of a cruel-looking man with a thick beard and Slavic features and who was dressed in an Azkaban prisoner's uniform.

"Case in point: In the last war, the Death Eater Antonin Dolohov was notorious for his signature use of the Entrail-Expelling Curse which, well, does exactly what the name implies. As an example of dark magic, the Entrail-Expelling Curse is easily one of the most deadly spells known to wizards, arguably second only to the Killing Curse in terms of lethality. It _can _be blocked or parried, unlike the Killing Curse, but otherwise a victim hit by it even with a glancing blow _will die _in less than ten seconds absent the immediate application of extremely high-level healing magic of a sort normally available only to healers in the St. Mungo's emergency ward. Most wizards would unquestionably consider the curse to be extremely dark magic, and yet it can be found in a tome upstairs in the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts Library. Despite its restriction, that tome is _not_ a book on dark magic. On the contrary, it's called **Rackharrow's Guide to Magical Farming**, and it is actually a collection of spells used for animal husbandry. Dolohov's favorite curse was the reason for its restriction, as no other spell in the book has any combat applications whatsoever. You see, the Entrail-Expelling Curse was originally known less theatrically as the Hog-Slaughtering Charm. The spell was developed by Eastern European wizards in the 15th century to facilitate the slaughter and preparation of farm animals prior to cooking. And believe it or not, Antonin Dolohov was apparently the first person in the spell's entire history to ever think to employ the spell against a living human rather than a dead pig, for which he is currently serving a life-sentence in Azkaban."

Lockhart flicked his wrist, and flaming check marks appeared at the intersection of Dark/Wizard and Dark/Magic.

"In light of what I've just said, it should not surprise you to learn that a similar analysis applies to dark objects and dark creatures. A dark object is an object enchanted to harm others in some capacity, such as the cursed toys produced by Erasmus Wilkes. A dark creature is a magical animal that is inherently hostile towards living beings and especially wizards and witches, usually one bred by dark wizards for that purpose. To be classified as a dark creature, the animal must either be of a sort that is highly susceptible to control by a dark wizard and thus useful as an attack animal _or_ the creature must have some degree of sentience and intelligence but nevertheless regard wizarding kind as either an enemy or as a food source. Dragons are incredibly dangerous Class XXXXX creatures, but they are not _dark_ because they lack the intellect to _choose_ to harm wizards and because they are not generally suitable for use by dark wizards as creatures of mass destruction. Acromantulas, on the other hand, _are_ dark creatures because they are intelligent beings capable of conversing with us and yet still willing to _eat _us for food. Likewise, inferi, while not sentient, are still dark creatures, for they are the created servants of necromancers, bound to obey their creators' destructive whims. Goblins were, at one point, considered dark creatures until various magical treaties limited their ability to indiscriminately attack us, and so that descriptor was removed from them."

He flicked his wand again, adding check marks for Dark/Objects and Dark/Creatures.

"Now, having mentioned two notorious Death Eaters, let us segue into the topic of Dark Lords. This term has a bit more nuance to it compared to ordinary dark wizards. A dark wizard is any wizard who uses magic for violence or destruction. A Dark Lord – both words are always capitalized, by the way – is a dark wizard whose violence targets society itself. Some seek political conquest. Others pursue forbidden magic that, if unleashed, threatens destruction or loss of life on a massive scale. Many of them do both. And yet, the term Dark Lord also has a political dimension to it. For if a Dark Lord is someone who threatens society, then it follows that anyone who threatens the political status quo risks being called a Dark Lord. Raise your hand if you've ever heard of the Dark Lord McAvity."

No one raised their hand.

"Not surprising." Lockhart tapped the bowl again, and the image of Antonin Dolohov was replaced by that of an earnest-looking man wearing a wizard's robe over a distinctly Muggle business suit. "Alexander McAvity was a Muggleborn wizard who graduated Hogwarts in 1952 at the top of his class only to be denied employment at the Ministry due to his blood status. Incensed at the institutional bigotry against Muggleborns that continued to flourish even in the aftermath of the Grindelwald Conflict, McAvity sought to organize his fellow Muggleborns, politically isolated Halfbloods, and socially-conscious Purebloods into a political group that would fight for the rights of Muggleborn, squibs and Muggles. The government and the media condemned him as a Dark Lord who would tear down our entire society and shatter the Statute of Secrecy _blah-blah-blah_, and he was accused of all sorts of crimes that he couldn't possibly have committed, particularly since the man was an admirer of the Muggle political activist Mahatma Gandhi, one of the Muggle world's most prominent advocates for non-violent political change. While McAvity did win several important concessions from the Wizengamot, he was eventually forced to flee the country to evade several trumped up charges brought by the Ministry that would have sent him to Azkaban. Today, the 'Dark Lord McAvity' is a senior official in the government of Wizarding Australia, a fact which causes all kinds of unpleasantness at the ICW meetings to which he is a delegate. The movement he created survived his departure, however, and won further concessions throughout the 60's and 70's. Some argue that the rise of You-Know-Who was precipitated in part by the successes of McAvity and his followers which frightened the more reactionary Purebloods into embracing anyone who promised to preserve their power and status."

He turned to add another check mark but then stopped and turned back to the class. "There is one other important aspect to the term Dark Lord. Unlike the other terms I've mentioned, '_Dark Lord_' has a secondary meaning. Specifically, it is a term of art in the field of Divination. True prophecies almost never mention evil wizards by name but instead use the expression '_Dark Lord_' to identify a particularly awful dark wizard whose destined rise and/or defeat is foretold by the prophecy. In other words, in the context of prophecy, a Dark Lord is a wizard so terrible that Magic and Fate themselves have taken notice of him." At that, Jim and Harry and their friends who fought against Voldemort the previous year turned to look at one another. According to Voldemort himself, the prophecy about Jim referred to '_the one with the power to vanquish __**the Dark Lord**__._'

"Now, I saved the term '_Dark Lord_' for last because, as it happens, it is only in reference to Dark Lords that the terms Light and Grey matter at all. There are no light spells or light objects. Some people assume that the Patronus Charm is a 'light spell' because of it's effectiveness against some dark creatures, but ultimately, it merely requires the wizard to be able to maintain a happy thought, and there have been many dark wizards who could cast the Patronus. There is only one arguably light creature: the phoenix, though opinion is rather divided on the matter due to that noble bird's rarity. No, '_The Light_' as the term is generally used in Magical Britain simply refers to whatever political alliance sets itself into opposition against the Dark Lord of the day, and "the Grey" refers simply to those who practice neutrality between the two sides to the extent they are able. Some Grey families avoid such conflicts completely by going into seclusion or fleeing the country for the duration of the conflict. Others actively encourage different family members to join both sides of any conflict so that _someone_ will be assured of living through it. However, these political terms are ultimately fluid and driven by social consensus. Albus Dumbledore was considered the Leader of the Light during the Grindelwald Conflict and again during the Wizarding War against You-Know-Who. However, Abraxas Malfoy of all people _claimed_ the title of Lord of Light during Alexander McAvity's period of activity, a claim effectively endorsed by both the Wizengamot and our media over the objections of Albus Dumbledore, who was considered Grey in that conflict even though he openly agreed with McAvity on many points."

Lockhart added question marks to Light/Lord and Grey/wizard and X's to all the other Light and Grey combinations. Meanwhile, several students turned to look towards Draco, whose face revealed nothing of his thoughts, not even whether he'd even been aware of the conflict between his grandfather and "the Dark Lord" McAvity. Lockhart paused as if to collect himself before forging ahead. "Now then, with our terminology established, let us move on to the true topic of today's lecture, a topic which lies at the intersection of Dark Lord, dark magic, dark creature and dark wizard. Students, let me introduce to you ... my greatest fear."

And with that, Lockhart tapped the pensieve again, and the smiling face of Alexander McAvity was replaced with a monstrosity – the same half-frenzied werewolf that the boggart turned into the night before. Several students gasped out loud, and on the front row, Lavender Brown gave out a small squeak of fear. Harry didn't flinch, but he was surprised to feel ... _something _poking around his Occlumency shields. Inexplicably, it made him think of some feral animal scratching at the door to his room, looking for a way in.

"Do you all feel that?" asked Lockhart. "The fear? The intuitive sense that you are now a prey animal and a predator stalks nearby? There is no shame in it. That sensation is supernaturally induced, an inherent property of the werewolf which is as much a part of its arsenal as tooth or claw. And what you feel now is muted. That is only a frozen memory of my encounter with this ... charming fellow, and the psychically-induced fear you're experiencing right now is less potent than that generated by a boggart copying the beast and far less potent than that generated by the true beast itself. In the presence an actual transformed werewolf, most people are so paralyzed with fear that they're barely capable of running for their lives, let alone mounting any sort of defense."

Lockhart paced around the desk, never taking his eyes off the werewolf as he spoke, as if he didn't even trust his own memory to not run amok. "There have always been those who had the power to become wolves. The occasional animagus. Wizards who had mastered human-animal Transfiguration. Some ancient wizards once bred the power to assume wolf form within isolated Muggle populations among the Vikings, the ancient Greeks, and certain tribes in the Americas, though those populations have been extinct for centuries. But none of those is ... a werewolf."

"The Lycanthropic Curse was created in the 14th century by the Dark Lord Emeric the Evil. Emeric wanted an army of bloodthirsty monsters bound to his will that could sweep across the land as his conquering army, and what we call lycanthropy represents the fruits of his experiments. The curse was, thankfully, an imperfect vessel for his ambitions. The werewolf is at its most powerful when fully transformed under the full moon, which is also the only time it can transmit the curse to others, but during that time, it is also a mindless predator incapable of higher reasoning. It was said that Emeric could exercise some control over them in this state, but never enough to deploy them as an effective fighting force. And even under his control, transformed werewolves almost always enter a ravenous frenzy when in combat and are far more likely to kill their targets when Emeric would have preferred to leave victims alive but cursed to grow his ranks. A rather important design flaw, and one which likely saved Wizarding Europe from conquest by an invincible werewolf army."

He turned back to face the class. "There are those who view werewolves as tragic and misunderstood creatures. They are only dangerous one night out of the month, they say. They are not responsible for their condition, they say. They deserve our pity and acceptance, they say." Lockhart's face hardened, and there was no trace of _Witch Weekly's_ Winning Smile. "Sentimental _tripe_! Such misplaced compassion ignores the _true_ danger of the werewolf. Yes, the monster is only visible to the naked eye on the night of the full moon, but it is still there the rest of the month, lurking behind the werewolf's eyes. _Every_ werewolf from the moment of infection carries the Beast within him. Most try to fight it as long as they can. Muggles rarely last more than a lunar cycle. Strong-willed wizards can last for years, and some research suggests that infected children have a greater resistance than most. But eventually, every werewolf gives in to the Beast."

He tapped the bowl again, and the werewolf disappeared to be replaced by a burly unshaven man with cruel eyes and a sneer. "_This _is Eustace Tully, also known as 'the Wagga Wagga Werewolf." Then, he stopped and chuckled. "No, no. Let us not hide behind pretense any longer. Students, raise your hand if you have actually _read_ **Wanderings with Werewolves**. The whole book, not just the pocket part." About a third of the class raised their hands. "Well, _throw it out_. It's fiction. Rubbish, the whole book. I did not '_defeat the Wagga Wagga Werewolf_ _with the Homomorphus Charm_.' That spell can force an animagus to revert to his human form but it has no effect on werewolves. And more importantly, there was no Wagga Wagga Werewolf _in the singular._ It was an entire _pack_ consisting of _over a dozen _of these creatures! I was _forbidden_ by three different wizarding governments as well as my publishers from revealing the true story of how I brought that pack down after it had cut a bloody swath through New South Wales. Because it would "_traumatize my readers_" to accurately relate the things I witnessed! Because it would stir up bigotry and hatred against those werewolves who were _not_ ruthless cannibal-killers! Because it would have embarrassed the Australian Wizarding government for me to have _exposed their __ineptitude__ in dealing with the werewolf threat!_" By this time, Lockhart was nearly shouting in anger. He took a few breaths to calm himself. "And finally, because _I_ might have faced criminal prosecution if I had revealed what spells I _really_ used to bring Tully and his pack of animals down. Which is why that particular book is filled with drivel about using the Homomorphus Charm which any _idiot_ should know would be ineffective!"

The class was so silent one could hear a pin drop. Lockhart turned back to the ghostly figure floating above the pensieve. "You have seen Eustace Tully on the night of the full moon. And here, you see Eustace Tully as he appeared when he pretended, however ineffectually, to be human. _This_ is what Eustace Tully looked like to the vast majority of his victims." Lockhart tapped the pensieve again, and the figure of Eustace Tully changed, growing larger and more hirsute, and sprouting talon-like claws, jet black eyes and obvious fangs. "A werewolf who gives in to his Beast merges with it to become a hybrid creature. While he can only fully transform on the night of the full moon, he can assume _this _form at will. It will no doubt seem familiar to any of you who have seen pictures of the notorious Fenrir Greyback who served He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in the last war, for he maintains this transitional shape at all times. In it, the werewolf is stronger, faster and more damage-resistant than any human. His claws can cut to the bone, and they leave permanent curse marks even if they do not actually transmit the curse itself. But the most important change is _in here_."

With that, Lockhart turned back to the class and tapped his finger against his temple. "A werewolf who surrenders to his Beast abandons his humanity, as well as his ability to view humans as anything other than prey. Oh, he can _pretend_, of course. The werewolf is a cunning predator and sensible enough to feign humanity if doing so is advantageous. But remember this! A werewolf who hunts and kills on the night of the full moon will eat his prey as any wild animal would. When Eustace Tully and his gang killed, they did so by the light of day. And when they _ate their victims_, they sat at dinner tables and used _knives and forks!_"

Lockhart regarded his horrified class, half of whom looked physically sick. "Any questions?"

* * *

By late that afternoon, reports of Lockhart's ... _spirited _views about werewolves were all over the school, and Lockhart, Dumbledore and McGonagall were all absent from supper. The rumor mill was working overtime, and some students were certain that Lockhart had already been sacked. Whether the sacking was because he was a horrendous bigot against a cruelly abused minority group or because he was a brave truth-teller martyred for trying to warn students of a legitimate danger varied depending on the politics of the speaker. Of course, not all the rumors were exclusively about Lockhart. Quite a few Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were discussing a rumor they'd overheard from Theo Nott and Daphne Greengrass suggesting that Lockhart was really at Hogwarts to investigate whether the Boy-Who-Lived had been replaced by some dark creature, thus explaining his recent scandalous conduct.

After the evening meal, Jim made his way to Classroom 102. Inside, he found his brother ... along with all the other seven members of Team Protector.

"I hope you don't mind, Little Brother," Harry said easily, "but the way I see it, I wasn't the only one wronged by what you did. You spied on _everyone's_ boggart-fears, so anything you have to say about it, you can say to them a well."

Jim sighed in annoyance. He should have expected Harry would to do ... _something._ And now, the intimate brother-to-brother apology he'd planned would be made in front of an audience from a cross-section of the school, most of whom actively disliked him. He took a deep breath and dove in. It was a long rambling apology, but it was genuine. The Hufflepuffs seemed to buy it, at least. Ten minutes later, everyone left except Jim and Harry, though Neville and Flint both looked like they would have stayed behind had Harry not reassured them that he'd be okay. Jim grimaced and bit down on his anger. "_Honestly_," he thought, "_they act like I'm going to stab him or something once they're gone!_"

Harry studied his brother for a moment. "I'd like to congratulate you, Jim, on how heartfelt your apology seemed to be. I don't know if you're sincere, but if not, you fake it well."

"It was sincere, Harry, I ... I didn't want things to go down like they did. I wanted to scare you a bit. Scare you and embarrass you in front of some classmates. I never wanted to actually hurt you."

Harry nodded. "Just scare and embarrass me. Right. Like that makes it okay."

"Oh, come on, Harry. You've gotten your licks in on me this year. You know you have. I spent a whole day last week with green and silver hair."

"Believe it or not, that wasn't me."

"Yeah, right. Like the Leprechaun crown wasn't you, either?"

"Nope. I know this is impossible for you to believe, Jim, but my world doesn't revolve around you, and I've been rather busy this year. I've only ever played one prank on you, and that was the fake cloak from last Easter."

"Oh _please_! Every prank that's been pulled on me this year has been tagged with SRGD! That's your calling card!"

"That's ... What?! I don't _have _a calling card! What does that even mean, anyway?"

Jim stared at Harry in consternation. "Slytherins Rule? Gryffindors Drool? Any of that ringing a bell?"

Harry stared for a second and then laughed. "Oh, _that_! You know, I'd forgotten all about that! I mean, a _lot_ has happened for me since last Easter, Little Brother." Harry thought for a second. "Ah! And I guess GRSD is short for '_Gryffindors Rule. Slytherins Drool._'" He snorted. "So your dungbomb prank was derivative as well as juvenile. That's ... kinda funny, if only unintentionally."

"Whatever," Jim said angrily. "Look, Harry. Whether those were your pranks or not, the fact remains: I played a prank that got you hurt, but as a result, I'm a pariah in my House and I have a month of detentions. Can't we just ... call it even?"

Harry actually did a double-take at that. "You ... hurt me, and then got punished for it. And that's ... even to you?! Amazing."

"Dammit, Harry!"

Harry raised a hand as if to placate the boy. "Alright, alright. I won't lift a finger to help you repair your reputation, but if you do nothing else to me or any other Slytherin, I won't retaliate for what you've done so far. Honestly, I find the idea of a prank war ... tedious. I can't for the life of me see why you Gryffindors enjoy them." He walked up close to Jim. "_But_ if you play one more stupid prank on me or any of my friends, I swear to Merlin and Morgana that I will respond with everything I have. You won't see it coming. You'll never prove it was me. But whatever I do will haunt you till the end of your days. Got it?"

Jim nodded at the threat. Harry shook his head almost contemptuously and left the room. Despite everything, Jim sighed in relief. Harry seemed sincere about agreeing to a truce. With that out of the way, Jim only had one thing left to do.

* * *

Twenty minutes before curfew, Jim crept into the DADA classroom. It was empty this time of night, empty and dark. Stealthily (or at least as stealthily as Jim could manage without the benefits of an invisibility cloak), the boy made his way across the room to the storage closet in the back corner. A whispered Alohomora unlocked the closet door, and then, with some grunting effort, Jim was able to pull the trunk housing the boggart out of the closet and into the main classroom. He spent a few moments staring at the trunk with trepidation. Then, he took a deep breath, pointed his wand at the trunk, and said "_**ABIERTO.**_"

He was expecting Voldemort, whether sticking out of the back of an undead Quirrell's head or in some other form. He'd admitted to himself that it _might_ be Harry, through he wasn't sure what that said about either him or his brother. But what Jim was _not_ expecting was for his boggart to rise up out of the trunk and assume the form of _Hermione Granger_. Specifically, a Hermione Granger sporting the most venomous smirk he'd ever seen on a fellow Gryffindor.

"_You know, I just had the __**funniest**__ notion!_" she said in a voice that dripped with contempt for him. "_Wouldn't it be __**amusing**__ if, for all this time, it had been __**Harry** __who destroyed You-Know-Who? And the reason your parents sent him to his Muggle relatives was to keep him hidden away while they put __**you** __forward and made you famous just to __**hide** __the fact that Harry was the real Boy-Who-Lived?" _Then, not-Hermione started to laugh.

Jim's hand started to tremble slightly. Why was _this_ his boggart? He slashed his wand angrily.

"_**RIDIKKULUS!**_"

The boggart didn't disappear. Instead, it transformed itself into Neville Longbottom. "_It's easy to laugh at other people's fears, Potter, when you've never faced your own. You've been given every advantage, while Harry's fought for every scrap he has, and he's still better than you in every way that I think matters. Frankly, Potter, as '__**Boys-Who-Lived**__' go, you've been a bit of a disappointment._"

"_**RIDIKKULUS!**_" Jim shouted a good bit louder. The boggart changed again, this time into someone whose appearance caused Jim's voice to catch in his throat.

"_You're __**not good enough**__!_" said Lily Potter. "_You're wasting time on games and pranks when Voldemort's out there getting stronger. You have to try __**harder**__. Because if you fail, we'll all __**die**__. And it will be __**your**__ fault!_"

"_**RI-RIDIKKULUS!**_"

"_You should be working on finding out your secret power,_" said a disapproving James Potter. "_Merlin knows you couldn't possibly defeat Voldemort on your own without some kind of magical advantage. I mean ... look at you!_"

"_**RI-sob-RIDIKKULUS!**_" Jim could barely get the incantation out over his sudden overpowering emotions. His wand hand shook uncontrollably, and as the boggart changed one last time, the magic word died on his lips.

"_It should have been **me**,_" said Harry Potter with a malicious confidence. "_**I**__ should have been the Boy-Who-Lived. Like Neville said, I'm __**better**__ than you in every way that matters. And if I __**had**__ been the Boy-Who-Lived and been blessed with your advantages, Voldemort would already be __**gone**__. Instead, all our hopes rest on a miserable failure who can't even manage a boggart let alone a Dark Lord. __**Pitiful**__!_"

Jim staggered back and fell as not-Harry started laughing at his distress. The laughter continued as Jim picked himself up and ran out of the classroom. Then, the instant the door closed, not-Harry abruptly stopped laughing and then dissolved once more into a fog-that-was-not-a-fog. The boggart flowed back into its trunk, and the lid slammed itself shut with a mighty thud. After a few seconds, the last echoes died away, and finally the classroom was silent once more.

* * *

**November 2015 has _sucked! _A fall that sprained my wrist so I couldn't type for four days. Then, immediately after that, I got food poisoning and went into the hospital for two days. Then, I spent two weeks trying desperately to get caught up with my paying job and didn't have time to write _anything_. And as I write these words, I'm on day five of a severe chest cold which I have to see a doctor about Monday before I end up with pneumonia. Consequently, I'm taking a week off ****to recuperate and enjoy Thanksgiving with my extended family. Hopefully, that will also give me a chance to whip the next few chapters into shape because right now, I'm not happy with them at all. **

**The next chapter will (God willing and nothing else happens) be posted in two weeks on Friday, December 4, 2015_._ "Title TBD," in which some stuff happens. Definitely Halloween, probably a petrified cat, possibly a Quidditch match and some Potter-on-Potter violence. **

**AN 1: The Boggart Pt 2 is easily the longest chapter I've done so far, mainly because Lockhart's rant fell right in the middle and so there was no good place to cut. Besides, it's been pointed out to me that the pace of Year Two is a bit slow. This is the 23rd chapter of Secret Enemy and we're not out of September yet! Halloween will accelerate things, I promise (as Halloween always does in Harry Potter stories). So consider this extra long chapter a Thanksgiving present. :)  
**

**AN 2: Are werewolves irredeemable monsters? We'll see. The whole point (for me anyway) of this fic was to subvert as many HP fanfic cliches as possible. One such trope that I consider overused is the idea that werewolves are a pitiful despised minority group that only follows Voldemort because wizarding society is so mean and bigoted towards them. Usually in such stories, this bigotry conflict changes overnight because (a) Lupin stops moping and claims the Alpha status that he deserves for being one of JKR's favorites and (b) someone, usually Harry, points out to everyone that werewolves who take their potion are harmless fluffy puppies, and all the stupid wizards who are irrationally hateful towards werewolves suddenly change their minds. Oh, and throw in lots of intra-pack politics brazenly cribbed from Werewolf: The Apocalypse. **

**While there are some good stories that make use of those themes (A Marauder's Plan by CatsAreCool and Were's Harry by DobbyElfLord, both of which I like even though they've been quiet for a while), I wanted to do something else. Now, Gilderoy is not a reliable narrator on the topic of werewolves. You'll find out more later, but for now, let's just say that the Wagga Wagga Werewolf was the moment everything changed for Gilderoy Lockhart. Right now, our DADA instructor feels towards werewolves sort of like how Mad-Eye Moody feels towards, well, everything. But this raises an important point: why should people become accepting of werewolves just because a potion now allows them to retain their awareness during the full moon when that is the only time they can infect other people? If you think about it, a transformed werewolf in control of his faculties may be more dangerous to the public.**

**Finally, all of this will probably raise questions about "where's Remus"? All I can say is (a) he's coming, (b) he will not be an insane cannibal, (c) he may or may not be the DADA instructor, and (d) he will be much more _ambiguous_ than he was in canon.  
**

**AN 3: Of course Slytherin Harry will not be drawn into a _prank war_. He played one prank on Jim in Year One (Slytherin Maneuvers pt 2) to blow of steam during that rather stressful Easter break but has since moved on to bigger things. And why should he waste his time with _pranks_ against Jim? Right now, Jim is nearly as ostracized as canon-Harry was when everyone thought he was the Heir of Slytherin ... and it's not even October yet!**

**AN 4: I made a minor change to the previous chapter after alert reader Gwendolyn McCormick pointed out a plot hole. Michael and Rose Evans died in 1979 not 1977 as Lily indicated before. They died soon after the wedding, and Charlus and Dorea Potter died a few months later but still in 1979.  
**

**AN 5: "**_**Power wears out those who cannot hold it" **_**is from Godfather Pt 3. Other than**_** "Just when I thought I was out, they pulled me bake in," **_**it was the only memorable line from the movie.**


	58. HP&TSE 24 - Family Dysfunctions (Pt 1)

**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY  
**

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

**And we're back!**

* * *

**CHAPTER 24: Family Dysfunctions (Pt 1)  
**

_**27 October 1992**_

Somewhat surprisingly, Jim's month long detention passed without incident other than the boy's obvious signs of exhaustion. Rather stoically, he'd incorporated ten hours of detention spent mainly scrubbing various parts of the castle into his weekly schedule without dropping anything else, including schoolwork, twelve hours of Quidditch practice, five hours of ping pong practice (he was getting rather good at the game), and two hours spent on exercise every morning. He also became more diligent in his studies and actually regained almost half the fifty points his prank had cost Gryffindor House. Unbeknownst to anyone else, he also continued to spend an hour a day meditating on the exercises contained in the Occlumency book he'd gotten from Peter Pettigrew. Those exercises helped him remain calm in the face of the hostility he still drew from his fellow students, but he had to visit Madame Pomfrey three times for potions to soothe the burning sensation he now continually felt in his stomach and chest. He had also taken to discreetly purchasing Pepper-Up Potions and Calming Draughts from an enterprising Seventh Year Ravenclaw who was happy to brew such potions in his spare time if the price was right.

Ironically, it was for Harry that the month of October suddenly became more stressful. The week after the boggart incident, he met again with Snape and his mother for lunch. However, while she had been content with small talk and personal questions of a mundane nature during their first meeting, the second saw the woman diving headfirst into some very probing questions about how the Dursleys had treated Harry. Admittedly, the questions were presented in a style that Gryffindors might consider subtle, but to any Slytherin worthy of the name, they were blunt and invasive. Halfway through the meal, Harry made an excuse to leave early. He also made excuses to avoid every subsequent request by his mother for follow-up lunches. Eventually, Harry finally approached Snape who, with some embarrassment, admitted that he had revealed to Lily Potter the existence of an auror's report about his last night with the Dursleys, one James Potter had apparently concealed from her. Snape and Harry both assumed that her sudden interest in his upbringing meant she now knew that he had been intentionally thrown out into a doxy swarm by the head of the family in whose care _she_ had left the boy all those years ago. While Harry's vindictive side took a certain amount of pleasure in whatever guilt Lily might feel over the matter, his more pragmatic side did not want Lily or anyone else looking too closely into what might have influenced Vernon in his homicide attempt.

On October 25th, Jim's detention ended. With obvious reluctance, McGonagall returned his cloak, admonishing the boy that if he were caught using it without a very, very, _very_ good reason, he would earn a historic number of point deductions. She also advised Jim that Mr. Filch now knew of his cloak and that Mrs. Norris would likely be able to detect him even if he were invisible. He accepted her comments gracefully and passed the news about Filch and Mrs. Norris on to his friend Ron who shook his head once more at the unfairness of it all.

Today, both Harry and Jim were summoned to the Headmaster's office just after their DADA class ended - apparently, Lockhart had not been sacked over "the werewolf lecture" after all. The password, to Harry's bemusement, was "Jelly Babies." Dumbledore's sweet tooth and its effects on his password choices were well-known among the Slytherins. The two entered his office together, and they were both surprised to see Lily and James Potter present along with McGonagall and Snape. All of them, including the Headmaster, looked rather grim.

"Thank you both for coming so promptly. Harry, Jim, please take a seat." The old man gestured to two empty chairs. As he sat, Harry examined everyone's faces. Snape's, of course, was an impassive mask, but everyone else showed signs of varying degrees of emotional strain. Finally, Dumbledore spoke.

"Harry, we asked you here today to discuss some matters pertaining to the Dursleys."

The boy stiffened, his Occlumency shields smoothing his own face down into a mask of self-control that mirrored his Head of House. "I don't see what's necessary to discuss, sir. I assume that everyone here has some knowledge of how the Dursleys treated me. But I don't live with them anymore, and I'll be perfectly content to not ever think of them again."

"I fully understand that, my boy," Dumbledore said. "However, we all felt it important to make you aware of ... recent events."

"Recent events, sir?" he said suspiciously.

Dumbledore nodded over in James's direction, and the younger man addressed his son with obvious reluctance.

"Harry ... Vernon Dursley passed away late last night."

There was a yawning chasm of silence that lasted for almost four full seconds, interrupted only the soft whirring of various devices and doodads on the shelf behind Dumbledore's desk.

"... What?" Harry said in a flat voice.

"It appears to have been a second heart attack, Harry," Lily said. "He was ... a very sick man who nearly died after his first attack in July. And it seems that he didn't do a good enough job of following his doctor's orders about taking care of himself, particularly where his medication was concerned. This is actually fairly common among older Muggle heart attack patients, and especially obese ones."

"You said it _appears_ to have been a heart attack," Harry said in a low quiet voice. "Has he been checked for ... other causes?"

James and Lily looked at each other for a second before James spoke. "Yes, Harry. In light of ... your history with him, I thought it best to arrange a discreet magical examination of the body. He shows no signs of curses or hexes, nor any signs of magical poisons or potions of any kind. Diagnostic spells simply show that he failed to take his medication as he should have, which is vitally important for Muggle patients with his symptoms and history. And there would have been signs if his failure to take his medication was due to a Confundus or an Imperius."

Harry said nothing. Finally, Lily spoke once more.

"Harry, about your last ... encounter with Vernon. The auror who interviewed Vernon said..." She paused and looked at James helplessly. He seemed just as tongue-tied. Harry steeled himself mentally and then sliced the Gordian Knot in two.

"On the 4th of July, Vernon Dursley tried to murder me. I was already safe inside the house's wards when the doxies got to it, but the sight of them clawing at the windows frightened the Dursleys and caused Vernon to go berserk. He hit me hard enough to nearly knock me unconscious and then threw me out the back door to be stung to death and then devoured. Any questions?"

Save Snape, the other adults simply stared at Harry in total shock for the matter-of-fact way in which he laid out the facts. Jim was left speechless with his mouth hanging open.

"Why ... why didn't you tell us any of this?" said James in horror.

Harry shrugged. "Whatever our ... relationship, I saw no upside to dragging the House of Potter into a scandal, which is what would have happened if it had gotten out that Lord and Lady Potter left their Heir with abusive Muggles who eventually tried to kill him in one of the most painful ways to die known to the wizarding world. I survived. I was completely healed. And I would never have to go back there again. So I let it go." Harry fixed his father with a firm gaze. "Which I _assumed_ you _knew_ since you had access to the auror report."

James swallowed and glanced at his wife who was visibly angry with him. "You're right. I knew most of the details, though I left that part out when I told Lily and Jim."

"_Dad!_" exclaimed Jim in shock.

"I'm sorry, son, but Harry was right. If the truth had gotten out, the scandal would have been all over the papers. When Harry never pressed the issue, I assumed that the trauma of the doxy attack had caused him to block out the memories, so I decided ... to let sleeping dogs lie, I guess." He turned towards Harry. "So, now that we all know what we all know, what do you want to do about it, Harry?

"I see no reason to do anything different... James." The man winced slightly at Harry's refusal to call him _dad_, but he wasn't particularly surprised. Evidently, Lily had discussed that with him. "Vernon is dead, and I see no reason to bring a scandal down on the family when there's not even a possibility of punishing the person responsible for my ... for my injuries. As long as I never have to set foot on Privet Drive again, the sleeping dogs can continue to lie as far as I'm concerned."

If Harry's cold pragmatism was upsetting to any of the adults in the room, none of them spoke of it, though Lily, McGonagall, and Dumbledore all looked at him with concern.

"Do... do you want to go to the funeral?" asked Lily hesitantly. "Maybe get some closure?"

Harry looked at Lily as if she'd gone insane. "Absolutely not. I don't need ... _closure _for Vernon Dursley."

"Harry," interrupted Jim uneasily. "He's your boggart-fear." Then, Jim flinched from glare Harry gave him. "I mean, maybe going to the funeral will help you get over your fear of him."

"Why? Are you all expecting a storm of doxies to come flying out of the casket at me?" Harry turned towards Dumbledore. "Headmaster, thank you for alerting me to these developments. Was there anything else we need to discuss?"

The old man sighed. "No, Harry. You're free to go."

Harry stood, nodded respectfully towards Snape and McGongall, and left without another word. Once outside, he took a moment to calm and center himself. Nearby was a mirror hanging on the wall, and Harry paused to check his appearance. Then, he stopped and merely stared deeply into the reflection of his own green eyes.

"You killed him," he said softly to himself. "You might as well have slit his throat." Then, he took a deep shuddering breath and walked away.

* * *

_**29 October 1992**_

"You want us to _what?!_" Astoria Greengrass asked in amazement.

"Look," replied Ginny. "I promised Luna I'd come, but it'll only be for an hour. After that, we can skip out and catch the end of the Halloween Feast."

"If Sir Whatshisname ..." said Amaryllis Wilkes.

"Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington," interrupted Ginny.

"... Whatever. Anyway, if he invited Luna Lovegood to his, and I can't believe I'm saying this, _Death Day Party_, and she asked you along as her 'plus one' or whatever, why do you need us to go with you?" Amy finished expectantly.

Ginny paused and then made a face. "Because except for us, it'll be all ghosts and it'll be kind of creepy. So I wanted some backup."

Amy smirked. "Yeah, that's what I thought, Weasley. I just wanted to hear you admit it. I'm in."

"You are?!" squeaked Astoria.

"Sure! It's Halloween!" replied Amy with a laugh. "What could be more appropriate than a Death Day Party full of all the castle's ghosts! Besides, like Weasley said. We'll be there an hour and then make the Halloween Feast. What could go wrong?"

Tori looked doubtful but eventually agreed. Ginny was pleased, although the way Amy said "_What could go wrong?_" suddenly reminded her uncomfortably of Blaise's constant lectures about the gods of irony.

* * *

_**30 October 1992**_

On Friday, Harry and Theo made their way down to the edge of Black Lake where Neville was waiting under the tree that was their usual meeting spot. '

"What's up?" Harry said. "Theo said you wanted to talk to me about something personal."

"Yeah," said Neville with a wry smile. "Actually, the truth is ... Theo wanted _me _to talk to _you_. He said you were being moodier than normal since you heard about your uncle dying, and he thought you needed to speak to someone you could actually trust without all the Slytherin bullshit. His words, not mine."

Harry turned towards Theo, who merely shrugged. "It's the truth, isn't it?"

Harry frowned at his two best friends in annoyance, and then he sighed and sat down next to Neville.

"I'll leave you guys to it then," said Theo as he started to head back to the castle.

"Stay,Theo," said Harry. "I want you to hear this too. Honestly, I need to get this off my chest to ... somebody, and there's really only four classmates I trust here at Hogwarts. But Hermione doesn't know any Occlumency, and Blaise ... well, he's a friend, but his mum has some sort of weird prophetic agenda for me, so I can't trust him with anything really sensitive. And this ... is really sensitive."

Harry's best friends looked at each other. Then, Theo sat down on the other side of Harry who surrounded the trio with the most impressive privacy charms he knew before telling them _everything_. About how the Dursleys had treated him. About how _every _Muggle treated him. About how Vernon had deliberately tried to kill him with the doxies. About how, in Harry's mind, both Vernon's actions and his death were almost certainly the result of the stress of sharing a home with Harry and his mysterious fear-inducing aura.

"Harry," said Neville, "you can't think that way. Even if something's been done to you that affects Muggles, it can't have been anything _you _did. You must have been a baby when it started."

"I know, Nev," said Harry as he stared out at the lake, idly rubbing his scar. "But ... I hated Vernon Dursley for so long. There were times when I _wished _him dead. And now it's happened, but only after I learned that it may never have been his fault at all. I'll never know what the _real_ Vernon was like or how he'd have treated me if I didn't have this... whatever it is." He turned to look at his friend. "And that's without addressing my M... I mean, Lily. How am I supposed to tell her that there's some ... defect in me that may have driven her sister partially insane and may have killed her brother-in-law? And _should_ I tell her while things are still so bad between me and James? I don't believe for a second that he's really accepting me. He _admitted_ that he had Vernon's body checked for dark magic. I have to assume that if he'd found anything magical in Vernon's death, he'd try to pin it on me."

The trio was silent for a moment. Then, Theo spoke. "Harry, this ... condition you're talking about. Does Jim have it too?"

Harry looked at Theo in surprise. "I don't know. I've never seen Jim around Muggles for any length of time."

"Well it seems to me that if you _both_ have it, James can't possibly claim it's something exclusively bad about _you_. Not to mention, I think it would be easier to find a cure or counterspell or whatever if the healers have a pair of twins to compare and study."

"Theo's right," said Neville excitedly. "If it affects him too, then it's probably some sort of Boy-Who-Lived thing that you just got caught up in. You said you can see the effects on Muggles almost immediately. See if you can arrange for Jim to talk with some Muggles for a few minutes and watch their responses."

"How I am I supposed to do that?" Harry asked irritably.

Neville shrugged. "I dunno. You're the Slytherin mastermind, not me."

Harry snorted. He'd consider his friends' suggestion. Perhaps over Christmas break, he could arrange such a meeting. In the meantime, it felt good to be able to talk to _someone_ his own age.

* * *

_**31 October 1992  
Halloween**_

To Harry's surprise, it only took until Saturday to get some persuasive data. Just after breakfast, Jim came down wearing a Muggle-style suit that looked profoundly uncomfortable on him. He was joined in the foyer by Lily Potter, who was wearing a conservative black Muggle dress. The two left to walk to Hogsmeade where they would join James, and then the three would apparate together to Vernon's funeral. That Vernon Dursley's funeral was on Halloween was strangely appropriate in Harry's opinion.

When the trio returned two hours later, Jim was sporting a black eye.

Apparently, they'd been at the funeral service for less than two minutes when Dudley saw Jim, assumed he was Harry, and screamed out "MUM! THE FREAK'S HERE!" loud enough for the whole room to hear. Despite the Potters' protests that Jim was not Harry and that Harry chose not to come, Vernon's grieving sister Marge started screaming obscenities and moved to strike Jim with her cane. Things quickly spiraled out of control, and the Potters were forced to withdraw, but not before Jim and his father both took some licks, including a haymaker punch to the head for Jim courtesy of his hysterical and brutish cousin.

After returning from Madame Pomfrey, Jim relayed the whole sordid affair to the Gryffindor Common Room, and Neville quietly passed the information on to Harry while on the way to dinner. Harry was thoughtful the rest of the day as he contemplated the news. Though he didn't say so to Neville, there was a part of him ("_The Nidhogg part of my brain_," as he called it) that really wanted to see a pensieve memory of the whole fracas.

* * *

That evening, the Halloween Feast lived up to its usual hype, though Harry was surprised that Ginny, Amy and Astoria were absent. Harry was also surprised when Ron showed up slightly out of breath just after the food appeared. Given the boy's eating habits, he was usually already waiting with knife and fork in each hand and with his mouth hanging open long before the food arrived. Other than that, the meal passed without incident, and at its conclusion, the students left to head back to their dorms, which was when the strangeness started.

Most of the students' paths out of the Great Hall led them past a set of stairs leading up to the First Floor, stairs which were now flooding with water coming from a disused lavatory on the floor above. And from that direction, Harry could hear the sounds of shouting, some of which was coming from his three missing firsties. Bounding up the stairs and round the corner (with several classmates following behind), he found Ginny, Amy, and Tori huddled together and trying to put on a brave face while being harangued and threatened with torture by an enraged Argus Filch.

"MONSTERS! MURDERERS! KILLERS OF CATS!" he ranted.

"We didn't kill _anything_!" Ginny yelled back furiously. "Mrs. Norris was like that when we got here!"

"LIES! MRS. NORRIS NEVER DID NOTHING TO ANY OF YOU! YOU ALL JUST HAVE TO BREAK THE RULES ALL THE TIME!"

At that point, Harry noticed that the poor feline was apparently dead or at least very, very stiff, and suspended by a cord from the ceiling. He also noticed in the dim light some writing on the wall behind the cat. It looked like a dark red paint – or at least, Harry _hoped_ it was paint – and spelled out the following cryptic message:

**THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED!  
ENEMIES OF THE HEIR BEWARE! **

and below that in even larger letters

**SLYTHERINS RULE!**

Harry glanced around and noticed that Jim and Ron had moved up to stand next to him and take in the scene.

"Anything you want to share, Little Brother?" he asked mildly.

Jim looked back and forth between the writing and his brother. "What? This wasn't me, Harry, I swear! I'm _done_ with pranks. I promise."

"Mm-hmm," Harry said noncommitally. Then, both brothers were distracted by a rude laugh from a few feet away.

"Ha-ha! Enemies of the Heir _beware!_" laughed Draco. "You'll be next ..." he stopped abruptly, coughed and then pulled at his collar, "enemies ... of the Heir... whoever you are!"

Harry rolled his eyes. By that point, Dumbledore, Snape and Lockhart had made their way to the front to examine the cat. Then, the Headmaster moved to console the man.

"Mr. Filch, Mrs. Norris is not dead, but merely petrified. She can be restored through a potion that Professor Snape can prepare from distilled Mandrake root just as soon as the Mandrakes growing in the green houses reach maturity. As for these young ladies, I assure you that whatever force petrified your cat was well beyond the skill of any First Year. Indeed beyond the skill of most Seventh years."

At that point, Luna Lovegood came around the opposite corner, stopped, and took in the scene, which included a crying man clutching a petrified cat, a wall covered in a threatening message possibly written in blood, and a large mass of Hogwarts students with expressions ranging from curiosity to horror. She winced slightly as her eyes passed over Harry and Jim standing next to one another. Then, she turned to her three Slytherin friends.

"I see why you left early," she said brightly. "This looks _much_ more exciting than Sir Nicholas's poetry reading."

Soon after, the Headmaster commanded that all the students return to their dorms for the evening. As they left, Lockhart pulled Dumbledore and Snape aside.

"How much distilled Mandrake root is required for the depetrification potion?" he asked.

"It varies," replied Snape, "according to body weight. For a human, from four to six drams depending on size. For a cat, one dram will likely suffice, though we have none at all in stock."

"I have five drams," Lockhart responded. "I keep it on hand for my lectures about pixies and other creatures with paralytic attacks, though this appears to be much more ... aggressive than any of the creatures I'd prepared for."

"We would be appreciative of your donation, Gilderoy," said Dumbledore. "It would mean a great deal to Mr. Filch if Mrs. Norris can be restored immediately instead of months from now."

"Well, Headmaster, that's the thing," said Lockhart after looking around to be sure no one was listening. "Do you really want to use my limited supply now on Filch's cat? Or are we sure that this isn't going to happen again? Only next time with _a student_?"

Dumbledore and Snape merely looked at one another pensively.

* * *

_**Thirty minutes later...**_

Harry stopped in front of the entrance to the Prince's Lair with Draco, Blaise, Theo, Missy and Marcus all following behind him.

"Moldy Shorts!" Harry said authoritatively.

Draco looked at him sharply. "Really?!"

"I'm sorry, Draco," Harry replied testily as he crossed through the black entryway into the Lair. "Does my lack of respect for your father's old boss offend you?"

Draco said nothing as Harry walked around the table and flicked his wand towards the fireplace. In response, the enchanted logs within burst into flame. Then, he and everyone else took a seat, leaving the Hydra Throne empty. Harry turned to face his classmate.

"So, Draco, here we are again. Of course, I can easily change that password if you don't see any benefits to having access to this room."

Draco looked around at the massive library. According to Harry, most of the books were still warded against touch, but not all. Of course, the books were only a practical benefit. Even a fool could see that this room was where all the power in Slytherin House would reside, at least as long as Harry Potter was around to command it. "Go on."

"The Heir. What do you know?"

Draco's eyes widened. "You _don't _know about the Heir of Slytherin? Remarkable, considering how you've been lording your princely status over us all."

"No, Draco. I've just been lording my natural superiority over you and the other Death Eater spawn. As far as most people are concerned, I'm a kick-ass Chaser and all-around smart-ass who's otherwise flying under the radar." Draco's forehead creased in confusion at the mention of "_radar._" Harry sighed. "_Never mind_. Let's just say that I'm generally discreet in my actions, a concept which is still beyond you. I mean _seriously_?! Would you _really_ have blurted out '_You'll be next, M__udbloods!__' _in front of three professors and dozens of fellow students if you hadn't taken an _Unbreakable Vow _forbidding it?!"

Draco blushed slightly at having his lack of discretion pointed out. Meanwhile, Harry turned his attention from Draco to the vacant throne to his left. Then, he hissed loudly at it, and the Hydra's nine heads sprang to life. To everyone but Harry, it was still a startling display. Harry conversed with several of the heads – mainly the cobra and the three-headed runespoor, it seemed – for about a minute before turning back to his fellow Slytherins.

"Right, the Hydra's never heard of anyone who claims '_the Heir of Slytherin_' as a title. In fact, the runespoor is quite certain that there hasn't been a student who could legally claim to be one of Salazar Slytherin's heirs since 1588. Also, something about King Phillip II and the Spanish Armada. Blaise, could you do a bit of research on that in the next day or so?"

"On it," Blaise said as he pulled out some parchment and made himself a note.

"Now then, Draco, do you have anything _useful_ to add?" asked Harry with some asperity.

Draco started to say something insulting but then thought better of it. "There was a story my mother told me when I was a child. When my grandfather Abraxas Malfoy was at Hogwarts, there were a number of ... incidents in which several Mud ... _Muggle-borns _were attacked, and eventually one was killed. There were no more incidents after that. According to the story, the attacks were by a monster that had been left by Salazar Slytherin in a secret room called the Chamber of Secrets so that one day his rightful heir could use it to purge the school of ... Muggleborns." He hesitated and thought. "Obviously, though, that's inconsistent with the man _you_ say that Salazar Slytherin was."

"Yes," said Harry firmly. "Yes, it is." He turned back to the Hydra and hissed back and forth with it some more. Towards the end, Harry's hissing became a bit heated, and in response, the runespoor's responses became noticeably aggressive. Then, Harry turned back to the group.

"Hmm. Apparently, there _is_ or at least _was_ a Chamber of Secrets, but information about it is limited to actual Princes. I don't have full access, so the Hydra won't tell me anything beyond the fact of the Chamber's existence. Draco, when did these events from your grandfather's story take place."

Draco thought for a moment. "Late 30's to early 40's, I suppose."

Harry stood up and examined the list of prior Princes. "The Throne was vacant from 1914 to 1943, but the last Chamber opening might have been during the tenure of ... Tom Marvolo Riddle." He paused and then looked around the group. "Anyone recognize that name? Riddle's not a Pureblood name, is it?" No one else had heard of any wizards named Riddle. "Right, Theo, while Blaise is doing legal research, I'd appreciate it if you hit the old _Prophet_ records, from 1937 through 1943. Merlin knows this school hides its secrets, but surely if a student _died_ at the hands of a mysterious creature, it would have made the papers."

Theo nodded and took notes of his own while Harry moved back to his seat. "Now then. It seems to me that there's two possibilities. Either someone is actively trying to make Slytherin House look bad. Or some idiot is _unintentionally _working to make the House look bad. So let's figure out what this is all about and put a stop to it before it gets serious. Questions?"

"Are we sure it's not the Git-Who-Lived?" asked Flint. "I mean, '_Slytherin Rules_' is the sort of crap he'd use in a prank to frame us for it."

Harry shrugged. "He's on my short list, but he denies it, and he's a terrible liar. Also, Dumbledore said that whatever petrified the cat had some powerful and highly illegal magic behind it, and I don't think that describes Jim at all. I'm thinking it's one of the dumber Slytherins trying to intimidate the other Houses, one of the dumber Gryffindors trying to make us look bad, one of the _smarter_ Slytherins trying to frame Jim by leaving a clue so obvious that only an idiot would assume we did it, or one of the smarter _Gryffindors_ trying to frame Jim the same way. He's made quite a few enemies in his own House lately."

"No Puffs or Claws?" Marcus asked.

Harry shook his head. "No Hufflepuff would perform a prank that involved petrifying a cat and hanging it up by its tail. And if a Ravenclaw figured out a petrification spell that flummoxed even Dumbledore, he wouldn't have used in a prank - he'd have published a journal article about it." The others laughed. "Anyway, we have a place to start, so let's get to it first thing tomorrow. Well, those of us not stuck doing ... say, what _does _Lockhart have everyone doing tomorrow?

"Cross-referencing the runic structure of a portkey and a banishment Charm," said Missy.

"Researching the history of Memory Charms in the 19th Century," said Blaise.

"Reviewing my happiest memories in a pensieve before we start Patronus work," said Marcus.

"Ping pong," said Draco almost bitterly.

Harry chuckled. "You sound disappointed, Draco, but I am _really_ curious to see what the heck Lockhart is up to with that. Oh, and by the way, I was rough on you earlier, but thanks for your help tonight."

Draco's mouth twitched slightly. "Don't mention it. Anything for the House."

With that, the group broke up and headed to their respective rooms, leaving the Prince's Lair empty once more.

* * *

_**1 November 1992**_

Just before dawn the next morning, Jim rose before his dorm-mates as was his practice. It was a Sunday, but the Hufflepuffs had the Quidditch pitch today, so for once, he had some early morning free time. Given the previous night's excitement, he'd decided that he would find Harry today and insist on doing something with his brother. After the drama of Vernon's funeral, Jim felt he had some insights into how awful it was for Harry to grow up with that family, and he wanted to do what he could to help Harry work past it. More importantly, he wanted to reassure his brother that he had nothing to do with that prank from the night before involving Filch's cat and the graffiti on the wall that implicated the Slytherins. Jim was sure that if the two pooled their resources, they could get to the bottom of the mystery quickly. Then, he laughed at the thought of Harry and himself getting together to solve a mystery. At last, they really were like the Hardy Boys.

As he got up to head to the bathroom, however, he noticed something odd. The lock on his trunk was open. He looked around the room. His fellow Gryffindors were all still asleep, even Ron, the loudest snorer of the five. Jim opened the trunk and lit up a Lumos with his wand to see if anything was missing. There was. Jim normally stored his father's invisibility cloak within a moleskin pouch at the bottom of his trunk. The pouch was now gone, and in its place was a piece of parchment that had been folded over and sealed. Slowly, he removed the paper and broke the seal. By the light of his glowing wand, Jim read the message it contained.

_Dear Git-Who-Lived:_

_I so enjoyed your little prank last night. How you must have thrilled to see three little firsties (one of them your only real friend's little sister) cowering in fear of Argus Filch and nearly in tears over __your__ handy work_. _Such a fine specimen of Gryffindor chivalry. _

_Anyway, since it's now clear that your lack of honor is exceeded only by your lack of style, I thought it best to deprive you of your number one pranking aid, lest you embarrass our family name any further. Good luck proving it was me._

_Sincerely,_

_You-Know-Who_

_P.S. Slytherins Rule. Gryffindors Drool._

_P.P.S. Poof! _

As Jim read to the very last word, there was indeed a sudden _poof _as the letter in his hand disappeared in a gout of green flame. Jim stood there, still with a glowing wand in one hand, as he stared down into the trunk where his family's heirloom cloak was supposed to be. His gripped his wand so tightly that his knuckles cracked. Then, he pushed that anger within him deep down into the pit of his stomach like the Occlumency book said. This time, however, he was surprised to find that there was just no more room, and the slow burning brush pile he'd been maintaining for weeks now suddenly ignited into a blazing inferno.

"I'll kill him," said the Boy-Who-Lived with an eerily calm voice that belied a rage that was already completely out of control.

* * *

**The next chapter will be posted on Friday, December 11, 2015. "Family Dysfunctions (Pt. 2)" in which Harry and Jim's relationship deteriorates even further, Hermione's study group focuses its attention on the Chamber of Secrets****, and** **Lockhart tries his hand at discipline in his own inimitable style.  
**

**AN 1: For the foreseeable future, updates will be posted every Friday. If I reach my target goal of getting ten or more chapters ahead, I'll consider returning to my former twice-a-week schedule, but not until then.**


	59. HP&TSE 25 - Family Dysfunctions (Pt 2)

**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY **

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.  
**

* * *

**CHAPTER 25: Family Dysfunctions (Pt 2)**

Harry, Theo, and Blaise were headed towards the Great Hall for Sunday breakfast when they were accosted by Jim Potter, whose eyes were practically bloodshot with anger. Trailing behind him were most of the Second Year Gryffindors, half of whom seemed to be trying to calm him down while the rest were apparently just along for the show.

Before Harry could say anything, Jim was already in his face. "Look, I told you last night that I had _nothing_ to do with that graffiti or the cat! I've _kept_ my side of our truce! Now _give it back_!"

Harry blinked. "What in Merlin's name are you talking about, Little Brother?" He was mildly surprised when Jim practically growled at the phrase _Little Brother_; Harry had thought that Jim was immune to that little dig, but apparently it still had the power to annoy him after all.

"The_ cloak_, Harry! I know you've got it. I know you think that's a cute way to get revenge on me. But you've had your laughs so _give it back_!" _Fire burning. _

At that, Harry did a double-take. "Someone _stole_ a Potter family heirloom? No, let me rephrase that. You _let_ someone steal a Potter family heirloom?"

Jim's whole face twitched violently."I didn't let anyone do anything. You took it while I was asleep. And I _know_ it was you because _you left a note __gloating__ about it!_"

"Jim, calm down," said Neville urgently, but the boy ignored him. _Fire raging._

"A _note_," said Harry disdainfully. "Why would I ever leave a note if I stole something from you?! That's ... amateur-level."

"GODDAMMIT, HARRY!" _Out of control. _By this point, a crowd was starting to gather. Inside the Great Hall, Professor Lockhart interrupted his discussion with Professor Sprout about Mandrakes to investigate the commotion.

"Jim," said Hermione, "Please. Get a hold of yourself."

"DON'T TELL ME TO CALM DOWN!" Jim bellowed. Instinctively, Hermione took a step back. _Pressure building._

"And besides," said Harry with a hint of ice creeping into his voice, as he was now growing irritated with his brother's belligerence, "why would I need to _steal_ the cloak when I've already proven I can just _trick you_ into giving it to me whenever I need it?"

Jim's head snapped back around towards his brother. He was too angry to respond, to angry even to think about anything except the red haze that began to stain his vision.

_Boom._

With a roar of unrestrained fury, Jim hurled himself at Harry before anyone could react, knocking the other boy to the ground. Then, he began raining blows down on his brother's head while yelling incoherently at him.

"I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I WISH YOU'D STAYED WITH THE DURSLEYS AND DIED THERE!"

After a few seconds of shock, Neville and Theo each grabbed Jim by an arm and dragged him away off of Harry. Immediately, Jim's martial arts training kicked in, and he quickly threw the other two boys off of him and turned back to his brother. Instantly, he noticed three things. One, Harry's nose was bleeding. Two, Harry now had his wand in his hand. Three, Harry's eyes looked even greener than usual.

"_**FLIPPENDO**_!" the Slytherin intoned in an icy voice. The magic slammed into Jim, flinging him up into the air in a somersault to land hard on the marble some fifteen feet away. Instantly, both boys scrambled to their feet, Jim drawing his own wand as he did. Most of the students jumped back in surprise, but Neville actually planted himself between the twins with his arms extended towards each.

"STOP THIS! BOTH OF YOU!" he yelled. Neither Potter lowered his wand.

"I quite agree. _**EXPELLIARMUS DUO!**_" There was a flash of light, and both Harry and Jim's wands flew out of their respective hands to land at Professor Lockhart's feet. "Now, will someone explain to me _what in the name of Merlin's saggy Y-fronts IS GOING ON?!_"

"The Psycho-Who-Lived just attacked me, sir, and I defended myself," said Harry.

"Yes, with a jinx that could have broken your brother's neck, not to mention how many other students could have been hurt had he landed on them. And what's your excuse, Gryffindor Potter?"

"The snake stole something that belongs to me," said Jim.

"That's a lie!" interrupted Harry.

"Enough!" said Lockhart. He rubbed his forehead in annoyance. Then, he sent minor healing charms to both Harry and Jim, along with a Scourgify to clean away the blood off of Harry's shirt. "You two and I are taking this to the Headmaster's office. Now!" Then, the professor paused. "Oh, and Longbottom? One point to Gryffindor for bodily imposing yourself between two armed combatants in an effort to stop a fight. Courageous, but in the future, I'd recommend a Protego instead."

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, the brothers were back in Dumbledore's office, along with Lockhart, McGonagall, Snape, and the boys' parents. James looked like he'd just woken up. Jim stared at the floor in a daze, as if he were coming out of a fugue state. Harry's Occlumency had reasserted itself, and his face was a bland mask that mirrored that of his Head of House.

"So, in summation, Jim," said the Headmaster, "you awoke this morning to discover that the Potter invisibility cloak was missing. You say that there was a letter left behind implicating your brother but it self-immolated. You then confronted your brother, and when you were unsatisfied with his response, you attacked him physically. Is that about the size of it?"

Jim nodded without looking up.

"Harry, do you have anything to add?"

"Only that, for the record, I _do not_ have the cloak. To be honest, I'm somewhat _flattered _that Jim thinks I'm skilled enough to sneak across the school in the dead of night, bypass the security on Gryffindor Tower, and break into his trunk without waking Jim or any of his dorm-mates, but to repeat, I _do not_ have the cloak." He turned towards James. "Although now that the topic's been raised, I am curious. _Is_ the cloak magically entailed? Because if so, I would think there would be a few legal complications if you just up and gave it to your second son in place of your _Heir_."

James stiffened at the implied rebuke. "The cloak is entailed, Harry. Your rights to it will vest after you become Heir Apparent. Until then, it's mine to lend as I choose, and since Jim is the Boy-Who-Lived, I made the decision for safety reasons to lend it to him even though he's not the Heir."

"Mm-hmm. With the end result that he's lost a priceless Potter heirloom."

"I haven't _lost_ it!" Jim said angrily. "It was _stolen_."

"Enough," said Dumbledore. "We will put the matter of the cloak aside for the moment. Right now, I am concerned with your punishments. Jim, you were punished very harshly last month after injuring your brother once. Now, you have done so again. Harry, I understand your impulse to defend yourself, but we have very strict rules against using magic to settle fights here at Hogwarts, rules that must be obeyed. Do you both understand?"

Jim nodded without answering.

"To be honest," said Harry, "It was less about defending myself than protecting Neville Longbottom and Theodore Nott. Jim apparently knows ... kung fu or whatever he's been learning."

"Taekwondo," Jim quietly corrected.

"Don't care," Harry snapped at him. "Anyway, he was fighting back against their efforts to hold him back, and I was worried that they would be hurt. That said, I realize now that the Incarcerous Spell would have been a far better and safer choice. I apologize for acting rashly and letting my anger get the better of me, and I will, of course, accept whatever punishment you think appropriate."

"Ahem," Lockhart spoke up. "As I was the professor on the scene who broke up the fight, Headmaster, might I request that both the boys be assigned detention with me? Clearly, polishing trophies and paintings for a month did not make a deep enough impression on the younger Potter. I have some thoughts on how I might help these two fine lads to overcome their differences."

Dumbledore looked towards McGonagall and Snape, neither of whom objected. "Very well, Gilderoy. I am assigning both the Potter Twins five hours of detention per week each for the next four weeks. _Afterwards,_ Jim, since you were the instigator and this is the second time we've had to punish you over an attack against your brother, you will have additional detention for the remainder of the term. Boys, I sincerely hope that you will take this opportunity to seriously work through your differences. Brothers, and especially twins, should not suffer this degree of acrimony." From Dumbledore's tone, it sounded as if he had some experience with sibling rivalry. Jim continued to look down at the floor. Harry returned Dumbldore's gaze impassively, as if to make it clear that he no longer had any interest whatsoever in "working through his differences" with Jim.

"Jim," said Dumbledore without his customary twinkle, "violence against a fellow student is _not acceptable_ at Hogwarts. While Harry is receiving punishment for using a potentially dangerous jinx, it was nevertheless an act of self-defense that _you_ provoked. Your association with this school will continue for now partly because after almost fifty years as Headmaster I have never expelled a student and partly because as the son of an Ancient and Noble House you benefit from certain privileges that most students lack. If there is another such incident, however, I will take this matter before the Board of Governors and seek suspension, if not outright expulsion. Do you understand?"

Jim nodded again. His eyes blinked repeatedly as if he were fighting back tears.

"Now then," the Headmaster continued, "as for the missing cloak. There will not be a Hogsmeade weekend before December, so no student will be able to leave campus without being detected by the wards. Thus, the cloak must still be on the premises. I will announce its disappearance at lunch and give the thief one week to return it. After that, there will be a search of the entire castle by both professors and the Hogwarts house elves. Anyone discovered with it then will have detention with Mr. Filch for the remainder of the school year plus a loss of fifty House points. Is that satisfactory, Lord Potter?"

From the look on James's face, it didn't seem very satisfactory, but he nevertheless nodded. With that, the disciplinary meeting ended.

Five minutes after that, Jim was in a boy's lavatory, vomiting into a toilet from stress.

* * *

_**2 November 1992**_

The next night, Harry and Jim arrived for their first detention with the DADA instructor. To Harry's surprise, there was a ping pong table in the center of the room. He knew about Lockhart's odd obsession with the Muggle game (which he was aware of but had never played himself) and that the professor had made it the focal point of "Team Counterstrike," but he was surprised to see it a part of his detention.

"Ah, gentlemen, right on time. Now, Gryffindor Potter, you're familiar with this game, so I'll ask you to wait patiently for a few minutes while I explain the basics to Slytherin Potter." And with that, Lockhart spent a few minutes explaining the rules to a bemused Harry before playing a few practice rounds with him until he got a feel for the game.

"Do you think you've got the hang of it now, Slytherin Potter?" The boy nodded. "_Excellent!_ Now there's just one final thing." With that, he pulled out his wand, touched it to the ping pong ball, and uttered a brief incantation. Then, he picked up his ping pong bat and made a fast serve to Harry before the boy could react. The ball slipped past Harry's defense, and instantly, he felt a quick jab of pain in his left buttock, as if someone had stabbed him with a pin.

"You'll both find that the ball now carries a minor curse on it. If your opponent scores a point on you, you'll experience a very mild Stinging Hex on a random point on your body. Not enough to harm or to even leave any lasting pain. Just enough to be ..._ annoying._" With that, he handed the bat off to Jim who gave Harry a predatory sneer.

"Sir," said Harry in a betrayed voice. "May I remind you that we're here because Jim physically assaulted me? And now you're giving him the opportunity to torture me as part of my detention?! He's been practicing this game since September! This is totally unfair!"

Jim sniggered at that, but Lockhart simply stared up at the ceiling while tapping his chin thoughtfully with his wand, as if he were considering the matter. "Hmm. I suppose you do have a point about that, Slytherin Potter." Then, Lockhart flicked out his wand and tapped it against Jim's bat. The bat transfigured in Jim's hand until, to his own surprise, he was holding a narrow ten-inch rod with a much smaller paddle at the end, one that was no more than three or four inches in diameter. Now, it was Jim's turn to look betrayed and Harry's to look like a predator.

"Begin!" the professor said. The boys commenced an hour-long session of ping pong, punctuated by grunts, hisses and whispered expletives whenever a point was scored against either of them. Initially, Harry held the upper hand, and he took cruel delight every time Jim flinched in response to the Stinging Hex. After thirty minutes, Harry's own grunts of pain were growing more frequent, and he finally figured out why: his bat was shrinking.

"Um, Professor Lockhart? Is there something I should know about my bat?"

"Ah, you've finally noticed! Yes, Slytherin Potter. Your bat is enchanted so that at certain intervals, it will shrink slightly until eventually it matches the dimensions of your brother's bat. The level of shrinkage is determined by how many unanswered points you score on your brother, but points don't count against you unless Gryffindor Potter is actively trying his best to return each serve. That way, he can't just let you win in order to shrink your bat down to his size." Both brothers glared at Lockhart who simply smiled back at them. "I've always found that sibling rivalry can be a powerful motivational tool, don't you agree? _ha-Ha!_"

The twins continued playing for another twenty minutes until their detention was over for the evening, but both were quite perturbed to realize that this would be a nightly occurrence for them over the rest of the month. Harry and Jim left without speaking to one another.

As soon as the door closed, Lockhart waited for a few seconds and then cast a Finite at the back corner of the room, dispelling the Disillusionment Charm that had shielded his guest from the Potter Twins' view.

"Well, Miss Lovegood? What are your observations?"

Luna Lovegood looked up from the notes she'd been quietly taking for the last hour. "There's something wrong with Jim. Actually, I think there's something wrong with both of them, but something's _really_ wrong with Jim. It's like there's one giant wrackspurt in the pit of his stomach that's growing fatter and fatter on the fury-flies that he's been dropping down his own gullet to feed it."

Lockhart stared at the young Gryffindor, giving no sign as to whether her words troubled or merely confused him.

* * *

_**6 November 1992**_

After his first detention, Harry grabbed every chance he could to practice ping pong, shanghaiing Draco, Cedric, Justin and anyone else in Team Counterstrike with whom he had the slightest relationship to help him quickly master the game. Jim might have had an extra month of practice, but Harry had far better connections. Indeed, Jim's reputation at this point was so poor that most of Team Counterstrike refused to practice with him, and he was forced to teach Ron the game just to have someone to play against in his spare time. Harry also spent time pumping Justin for ideas on how best to practice alone. Although mildly annoyed to have one more person bugging him for ping pong tips, Justin considered Harry a good friend. More importantly, while the rest of Team Counterstrike was eager to have Justin as a tutor-slash-partner, Harry was the first person to come to him for self-teaching tips, and for that matter, the first person clever enough to ask about things like putting spin on the ball without Justin explaining the concept first. Justin was also grateful for the advance warning about "shrinking ping pong bats," so he was not overly surprised when he showed up for a practice round to find that his own bat (like those of several other of the better players) was reduced in size to match Jim's. While Draco and Cho groaned at the added difficulty, Justin was quite delighted at how magic could take his game play to the next level.

By Friday, Harry was annoying half the Slytherin dorm by walking everywhere while constantly bouncing a ping pong ball on a piece of wood transfigured into a bat shaped like Jim's. He'd also gotten Flint to transfigure the table in the Prince's Lair into a ping pong table. The runespoor was outraged, but the other snakes were oddly amused, particularly the krait once Harry explained about his detentions and the fact that he could inflict actual (if minor) pain on his brother by beating him in a competition. Nidhogg greatly approved of what it referred to as "dominance games."

Harry's study group met on Friday. Before sitting down, Harry passed a parchment to Justin. "A little something to pay you back for all your help this week," he said.

Justin opened the parchment and crooked an eyebrow. "Ablenken?"

Harry smiled. "Ablenken is an obscure German Charm from the mid-19th Century. I found the basic spell in _**Quidditch Through the Ages**_ a few days back and adapted it. The original idea was that you could enchant a Beater's bat to function on its own for pickup games in which there weren't enough people to cover both Beater's positions. Unfortunately, it didn't work well for that purpose, since the enchanted bat couldn't move as fast as a player on a broom. But it works _quite_ well on a small bat-like object that only has to move a few feet to parry something headed towards it. You can also use it for fencing and I'm pretty sure for tennis if you're interested in that. And it parries with the same level of skill as the wizard who cast it, so basically, you can play ping pong against yourself."

Justin grinned in delight. "That's _brilliant_, Harry!"

"All I ask is that you don't share it with Jim... or with anyone who _might_ share it with Jim."

Justin tapped the tip of his nose with his finger. "Right-O."

"Ahem," said Hermione. "If we can move on from ping pong follies, we have a lot to cover today."

With that, the group spent the next two hours reviewing the course material covered so far that week. At the end, Hermione asked if anyone had any questions, and naturally, the topic of the Chamber of Secrets came up.

"Well," she began, " we managed to get Professor Binns talking about the Chamber of Secrets on Wednesday. He said that the Chamber itself is a myth but there were some incidents back in 1943 in which several students were petrified in some unknown fashion. There were rumors that it was due to some creature known as Slytherin's Monster which was unleashed by the so-called Heir of Slytherin, but it was never definitively proven. One student died and the petrifications stopped after that. Does anyone have anything to add?"

Theo glanced at Harry who nodded. Then, he began to speak. "Actually, we found some additional information in the bound _Daily Prophet_ issues from that era. The names of the affected students were not provided, but four students, all Muggleborn, were petrified between January and March of 1943. A fifth Muggleborn was both petrified and killed, and she was the last victim. It was a female Ravenclaw, but her name was omitted, supposedly out of respect for the victim's family. The newspaper accounts speculate that the whole thing was just a series of pranks perpetrated against Muggleborns, most likely by a bigoted Pureblood. _The Prophet_ at that time had swung around to being relatively pro-Muggleborn and anti-Pureblood because of the Grindelwald Conflict, and the girl's death was believed to have been an accidental result of a Pureblood prank gone wrong. The papers also say that an unnamed Third Year Gryffindor was expelled not long after the girl's death. The articles do a good job of insinuating that the expelled student was the one responsible for the petrifications without coming out and saying it."

"A Gryffindor?" exclaimed Anthony Goldstein. "Who was also the Heir of Slytherin? How does that work?"

Theo shrugged. "The Sorting Hat sorts however it chooses. I don't think there's any guarantee that the descendant of a Founder will end up in that Founder's House."

"I'm not so sure of that," said Susan Bones rather archly. "Frankly, I can't imagine how Zacharias Smith got into Hufflepuff _except_ by being descended from our Founder."

"Be that as it may," said Hermione, "if we take the writing on the wall across from the 1st Floor girls' lavatory at face value, then there's an Heir of Slytherin among us who has access to the same petrification technique used in 1943, whether it's a curse or some creature. Harry, if anyone knows, I'd expect it to be you. Does Slytherin have any heirs who might be at Hogwarts?"

Harry smiled. "I'll defer to Blaise, who has been researching that question since Sunday."

Blaise took a second to organize his notes. "Well, the first thing to understand is that, _of course_, Salazar Slytherin had heirs. The man died in the 11th Century at the age of 187 having outlived three wives by whom he had sixteen legitimate children plus an undetermined number of bastards. Of the legitimate children, seven were girls who would have married into other families, but the boys would have preserved the family name which, in fact, endures to the present day."

"If that's so," asked Padma, "why haven't there been any students named Slytherin to attend Hogwarts for the last four centuries? I've looked into that and there's no record of any students with that surname at Hogwarts since late 16th century."

"Right," Blaise continued. "Specifically since 1588, the year of the Spanish Armada."

"The _what_?" asked Hermione in surprise.

"In 1588, King Philip II of Spain attempted to invade and conquer England with what was at that time the largest naval armada in history. Through a variety of factors – bad planning, unexpected weather, and magical intervention from English wizards and witches – the invasion failed."

"I know all _that!_" she said testily. "Well... not the part about _magical intervention_, but the story of the Armada, definitely! British Muggleborn, remember? But what does it have to do with the Slytherin family?"

"Well, what Muggleborns probably _don't _know is that before the imposition of the Statute of Secrecy in 1692, Muggles and wizards were a lot more closely intertwined than one might imagine today. What Muggles call the Spanish Armada was actually a joint venture between the Spanish monarchy and the Spanish wizarding government which was dominated at the time by Duke Esteban de Cortez y Slytherin. The deal was that the wizards would help the Muggles conquer England and install a Catholic monarch while the Muggles would help the Spanish wizards seize control of Hogwarts and force the entire Wizengamot into vassalage to the Spanish House of Slytherin. Fortunately for British wizardry, the Armada failed."

"Hang on a minute," interrupted a dubious Justin Finch-Fletchley. "Phillip II was _allied_ with wizards?! The man was in charge of the Spanish Inquisition during his reign!"

Blaise shrugged. "Justin, part of the reason our History teacher is a 200-year-old ghost obsessed with goblin revolts is so that wizards and witches aren't really taught just how much actual history was _rewritten_ after passage of the Statute of Secrecy. The fact that Esteban was an influential member of the Spanish nobility wouldn't have been considered the least bit controversial before the Statute of Secrecy wrote that fact out of both the Muggle and wizarding history books. The _real_ Spanish Inquisition was concerned with forcibly converting Jews and Moors to Catholicism and didn't care at all about wizards and witches so long as they were loyal to both the King and the Pope in that order."

"The _Pope_ was okay with wizards and witches?!" exclaimed Justin even more dubiously.

"He still is," said Theo. "The reason you don't see many students here from predominantly Catholic countries like Spain, Italy, Brazil or Ireland – Blaise and Seamus Finnegan aside – is that most young wizards and witches from those nations usually attend magical schools run by various magical orders consisting of Catholic priests and nuns who are also wizards and witches."

Most of the Muggleborns and Halfbloods were astonished to hear for the first time about wizards and witches officially sanctioned by the Holy Church, but Neville merely nodded sagely.

"That makes sense," said Neville. "Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor House ghost, says that he was the court wizard for Henry VII before his execution. And no one had a problem with him openly practicing magic among Muggles. He was actually executed not for being a wizard but botching a spell he cast at the request of one of the other courtiers. I guess St. Mungo's Hospital predates the Anglican-Catholic split, which is why it's called that even though British wizards generally don't recognize saints."

"We're getting a bit off track," said Harry. "If we start talking about wizarding religions, we'll be here all day. Let's get back to the Armada and its effect on Slytherin's family."

"Right," said Blaise. "Anyway, the Armada failed, and in revenge against the Spanish Slytherins, the Wizengamot passed a law – the Inheritance Act of 1588 – that, among other things, magically stripped all of Slytherin's heirs of any rights over Hogwarts. It also levied an actual curse against anyone bearing the name Slytherin who set foot on the British Isles. The descendants of Slytherin who were still living in Britain at the time were forced to change their family names and disclaim any rights over Hogwarts or else emigrate."

"So there _are_ heirs of Slytherin in Britain but only in the biological sense," said Hermione. "None of them are legal heirs. Do we know the names of any of these families?"

Harry spoke up. "For those families who officially renounced their Slytherin heritage, the records of the name changes were magically expunged. Everyone outside the Slytherin families themselves forgot that those families had ever been related to the Founder, and most wizards _within_ those families hushed up their affiliation because being related to Slytherin was at that time considered a mark of treason. Unless a particular family kept meticulous records, there's no official way to prove today that they was descended from Salazar Slytherin."

There were, of course, _unofficial_ ways. First, the magical tapestry in the Prince's Lair kept a perfect record of every wizard and witch with an unbroken line of descent from Salazar Slytherin, including the ones who changed their names. Second, any Parselmouth was presumably descended from Salazar Slytherin, though whether that could legally support a hypothetical inheritance claim was unclear. Neither matter was something that Harry wanted to share with the study group right now no matter how much he trusted his non-Slytherin friends.

Susan Bones, who was usually somewhat quiet in the study sessions, suddenly perked up. "Hang on a minute!" She rose and darted up the stairs to the second floor of the library, returning a minute later with a heavy book bearing the title _**Hogwarts Rolls: 1925-1950**_.

"The school keeps public records of student admissions, graduations, and each year's OWL and NEWT results. I found them last year," she paused, looking sad for a moment, "I wanted to look up my Mum and Dad." She coughed with slight embarrassment. "Anyway, if our mystery Gryffindor was a Third Year when he was expelled in the Spring of 1943, then he must have been Sorted in September of 1940 and would have been set to take his OWLs in June of 1945. Anyone who was on the first list but not the second must have been the student who was expelled."

"Good show, Sue!" exclaimed Justin.

Susan smiled and then flipped to the page listing the 1940 Sortings before copying that page with the Gemino Charm. Then, she did the same for the 1945 OWL results before comparing the two.

After a minute or so, her eyes widened. "Wow."

"What?" asked Harry. "Found a match?"

"Yeah," she said in obvious surprise. "The only person Sorted into Gryffindor in 1940 to not sit their OWLs was ... _Rubeus Hagrid!"_

The group sat in shocked silence before Blaise finally spoke up.

"Got to admit – _Not_ my first choice for an evil mastermind."

* * *

**The next chapter will be posted on December 18, 2015. "Quidditch and Mayhem ... Again" details the highly eventful 1992 Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match.**

**AN 1: Nobody please flip out over Catholic wizardry. I'm not going to make a big foray into wizarding religion in the immediate future, but it seems clear to me that British wizards and witches recognize Christmas and Easter at least as much as British muggles do (that is, as generally secular holidays with Christian overtones). Nothing ever indicated that Molly was sending Harry a sweater for_ Yule_ or _Saturnalia_ or the Winter Solstice, and I don't see much sign of pre-Christian pagan mysticism in the magic practiced at Hogwarts. Indeed, the fact that most spells use bastardized Latin strongly implies that pre-Christian pagan mysticism in Britain didn't survive the Roman legions (who probably had wizards of their own, which is why there are so many Latin names like Lucius, Severus, Minerva, Filius and Septima). Finally, we only ever see three European schools: Hogwarts (limited almost entirely to British magicals), Beauxbatons (apparently an all-girls school [UPDATE: No, apparently, it is NOT an all-girls school as twenty or so eagle-eyed readers have informed me within the last 8 hours.:)]), and Durmstrang (about which little is known except for the attitudes of Hogwarts students towards it - basically, it's where all the evil kids go - which may be the result of propaganda). Certainly, I can't imagine Irish Muggleborn wizards and witches going to a Scottish school under the authority of a London Ministry while the Troubles were at their height. My solution is a network of parochial wizarding schools run by a secret magical wing of the Catholic Church that for ideological reasons dating back to Henry VIII just doesn't have much to do with British wizards. After all, it is repeatedly stated that every major world leader knows about magic, and like it or not, the Pope is a world leader. If I ever deal with this in-story, it won't be until Year 5 or later. Probably Year 6, actually, since in canon almost nothing happens until the last few chapters except moody teenagers being moody teenagers. The important part here is the bit about the Duke of Slytherin trying to conquer Britain in 1588, which is about 90% of why Slytherins have such a bad reputation among the British.**

**AN 2: The bit about Sir Nicholas is canon. He held the official title of court wizard under Henry VII (apparently a position of some importance), and he was executed for bumbling a transfiguration on an important courtier. The usual trope is that the Statute of Secrecy was invented in response to witch burnings. My subversion is that "witch burnings" were fabricated after the fact to discourage wizard-Muggle interactions and that the real reason was that wizards were tired of getting drawn into Muggle political and military affairs. After all, it's not like any actual witches died during the Salem Witch Trials. In this 'verse, more witches and wizards were probably killed for being Catholic under a Protestant regime (or vice versa) than for being found out as magical.**


	60. HP&TSE 26 - Quidditch & Mayhem Again

**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY **

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

* * *

**CHAPTER 26: Quidditch and Mayhem ... Again**

_**7 November 1992**_

As the crowd roared in excitement, the Gryffindor and Slytherin Quidditch teams met in the center of the pitch to shake hands before the start of the first game of the season. Draco spent a few minutes studying Jim Potter, his rival Seeker. The boy seemed incredibly tense and yet also rather exhausted, with obvious bags under his eyes. He _also_ seemed to ignore Draco completely and instead fixed all his attention on Harry who was barely paying his brother any mind at all. After demanding (with little hope of compliance) a "good clean game," Madame Hooch blew her whistle, and the two teams took to the air. Jim flew up high above the other players before finally noticing that Draco was following him instead of Harry.

"What are you doing up here, Malfoy?" Jim said contemptuously.

"Looking for the Golden Snitch, Potter. It's what Seekers do."

Jim laughed. "So Flint decided to swap you and Harry after his fiasco last September?"

"Oh no," said Draco easily. "I've always been the Seeker, and your brother's always been a Chaser. We just thought it would be fun to switch during that pick-up game. You know – for a laugh."

And then, Draco_ smiled _at the Boy-Who-Lived.

He'd actually been put out the night before when Harry had stood him in front of a bathroom mirror for twenty minutes and made him practice a certain kind of smile, one that Harry said would communicate a message of "_I know something you don't know._" But seeing the expression of dread that slowly spread over Jim Potter's face suddenly gave Draco a new appreciation for Harry's skill at psychological warfare. For the first time, Draco actually knew what it felt like to be on Team Harry.

Down below, the well-oiled Gryffindor scoring machine – Spinnet, Johnson and Bell – was racing towards the Slytherin goal. Near the goal post, Bell took the lead, performing her specialty fake-out maneuver to get Keeper Miles Bletchley to veer left before hurling the Quaffle through the right goal. And for a second it seemed like it would work as it usually did ... until Bletchley suddenly veered in the opposite direction and slipped into blocking position just as she let go of the ball. It was _almost _as if he was anticipating the play. Even more surprising to Bell was the way Bletchley casually knocked the Quaffle straight down into the waiting arms of Adrian Pucey who had already circled around into position to catch it and take off. Pucey flew down the field like a rocket, weaving around Peregrine Derrick who expertly batted a Bludger away and into Spinnet's path forcing her to abandon pursuit. Pucey handed the Quaffle off to Flint who threw it down the field to Harry Potter, and the Second Year immediately took off towards the Gryffindor goals. Oliver Wood readied himself to block, but to his shock, Harry _threw the Quaffle back over his shoulder without even looking_ and then veered off. Pucey was already sweeping round and up in a fast arc to catch it, and he threw the ball through the opposite goal post before Wood could reposition itself.

Up in the announcer's booth, Lee Jordan was so astonished by the Slytherins' teamwork that he couldn't think of anything insulting to say. Oliver Wood was completely gobsmacked at a perfectly executed play that would have made a professional Quidditch scout sit up and take notice, while high above the stadium, Jim Potter was just as amazed.

"... the hell?" he muttered quietly to himself.

"What? Did we score or something?" said Draco amiably. "I've been concentrating too hard on spotting the Snitch to notice the regular game play. It's quite challenging, you know. Why the Snitch might as well be _invisible_!"

Jim turned to scowl at him. "What did you say?"

"I said the Snitch is hard to spot from up here. What did you think I said?" And then, Draco _smiled_ at Jim again.

Jim grunted angrily at his rival Seeker and tried to focus his attention on finding the Snitch himself. But he was increasingly distracted by the activity beneath him, and he couldn't help but watch with mounting frustration as the Slytherins methodically took apart the Gryffindor team. Bletchley seemed to read every Chaser play. Derrick and Bole seemed to break up every attempt by the Weasley Twins to set up a Bludger attack. And an increasingly frazzled Oliver Wood found himself unable to defend the goals against Slytherin Chasers who casually triple-teamed him and seemed able to fake him out at will.

Just thirty minutes into the game, the score was 90-10 in favor of Slytherin, and there was no sign of the Snitch. For an instant, Jim had thought that the game couldn't get any worse. Then, as if in response to that idea, the Slytherins in the stands stood up and began to sing in perfect unison and to the tune of "God Save the Queen."

_King of the Leprechauns  
His brains are made of bronze  
He makes us sick.  
_

_It's really obvious that  
Jim is a total prat  
Smart as a Beater's Bat  
and just as thick._

George shook his head as Fred flew by. "Can I just say once again, Brother-of-Mine," he said just loud enough for Fred to hear, "what a _bad idea_ that prank was?"

Fred grimaced. "Save the _I-told-you-so_ until after our current humiliation is over please." Inside though, Fred was cringing. He'd never anticipated that their little prank against Jim from two months before would become a weapon in the hands of the Slytherins against their prized Seeker. Of course, neither of the Weasley Twins ever imagined back then that over the course of two months, brash, overconfident Jim Potter would collapse into an emotional wreck. At this point, Fred thought it would take some kind of miracle for Gryffindor to get back into the game, not realizing that miracles, of course, sometimes come in strange packages.

As Harry recovered the Quaffle and rounded towards the Gryffindor goals with Pucey following behind, he suddenly heard Bole scream "_HARRY! LOOK OUT!_" Acting on instinct, Harry pulled up sharply and narrowly dodged one of the Bludgers. He glanced back at it and was surprised to see it arc sharply and head back towards him, ignoring three other viable targets in the process. Pouring on the speed, Harry took off towards the center Gryffindor goal. At the last second, he threw the Quaffle off to Flint and then arced up so that his feet cleared the top of the goal by less than a foot. The rogue Bludger, which was traveling in a slightly shallower arc, actually struck the top of the metal goal with a tremendous force – _BOONNNGGG! – _that startled the now somewhat shell-shocked Oliver Wood and allowed Flint to score Slytherin's tenth goal of the game.

As soon as the Quaffle went through, Flint immediately started looking for the rogue Bludger which had corrected itself almost immediately and resumed its pursuit of Harry Potter.

"_TIME OUT!" _he bellowed at the top of his lungs. Madame Hooch blew her whistle, and at Flint's direction, the rest of the team (minus Harry) quickly assembled at the center of the pitch. Flint signaled to Harry, who came in low with the rogue Bludger following close behind. As it passed through the Slytherins, the two Beaters leaped into it, but even they were surprised when the wretched thing actually drug them twenty feet across the grass before finally coming to a halt. Even then, it struggled against their combined grip, and Bletchley had to leap onto it as well in order to bring it to heel.

"WEASLEYS!" Marcus yelled towards the Gryffindor Beaters who were coming in for a landing for their own team meeting. "WAS THIS YOUR DOING?!

"Take it easy, Flint!" George yelled back. "We didn't jinx the Bludgers! Hell, I didn't think it was _possible_ to jinx a Bludger!"

"The two biggest prank-loving arseheads in the whole school are also the Gryffindor Beaters, and it's just a coincidence that one of the Bludger's goes berserk?! You really expect me to believe that you two wankers aren't behind this?!"

An angry Fred took a step towards the Slytherin, but George put a firm arm to stop him. "If we _could_ jinx a Bludger, Flint," George said, "we _might_ use it against you, and we'd _probably_ use it against that bigoted prat Bletchley. But we would _never_ use something like that against Harry!"

"Leave it, Flint," said a breathless Harry, who'd come up behind him, followed by Draco. "I know the Twins, and this wasn't them."

"Then who the hell was it?" Flint responded.

"I don't know. Probably the same person responsible for the _last two_ assassination attempts on me. Though this one seems almost lackluster compared to the doxies and the killer train." Later on, Harry would remember saying that and marvel at his lack of imagination and forethought.

* * *

Meanwhile, up in the stands, Ron Weasley carefully made his way through the Gryffindor crowd while carrying a box holding a jumbo pumpkin juice slushie, an extra-large tub of popcorn, and a half-dozen chocolate bars of varying brands. Seamus let out an annoyed "Ouch!" as Ron slid past him and accidentally stepped on his foot.

"Where have you been?" exclaimed Dean Thomas.

"Well, the line for the bathroom was long. And then, the line for the concession stand was longer. So much so that by the time I finished buying the concessions, I needed to use the bathroom again." With that, Ron took a long drag on the straw sticking out of the slushie. "Did I miss anything exciting?"

* * *

At that point, Madame Hooch came flying up. "Flint, you seem to have a rogue Bludger on your hands. The rules say you can continue the game or stop the match and count it as a tie under the Defective Bludger Rule. Your call."

While certainly suspicious under these circumstances, rogue Bludgers were not unheard of. The enchantments placed on Bludgers make them immune to all but the most powerful forms of dark magic, but despite that, every three or four years would see a match in which a Bludger becomes strangely fixated on a particular player and targets him or her to the exclusion of everyone else. Furthermore, whatever peculiarity caused the strange phenomenon, it could not be remedied just by replacing the defective Bludger with another one – the magic of the Bludgers is interwoven with each individual game, and a new Bludger put into play immediately adopts the exact same predatory conduct of the one it replaced. Thus, the only practical response was the Defective Bludger Rule, which allows the team containing the member targeted by the rogue Bludger the option of cancelling the game in favor of a tie or playing on despite the handicap... and the risk.

For a second, Flint looked agonized. Then, Harry grabbed his arm. "Keep playing. I can dodge a Bludger as long as you need me to."

"Harry..." Flint started to protest.

"Trust me. I've got this. I won't be able to make plays with you and Pucey, but maybe I can use the Bludger to disrupt the Gryff Chasers." Harry turned towards Draco. "How's the Git holding out?"

"He was starting to lose it, but it looks like Wood's giving him a pep talk now."

"Stay on him. Turn up the heat. And _catch that Snitch! _I _know _you can beat him, Draco!" Harry put his hand on Draco's shoulder and squeezed, and to Malfoy's surprise, he really did think that Harry believed in him, even when up against a prodigy like Jim. He nodded back with absolute seriousness.

Harry, Marcus, Adrian and Draco took to the skies. Seconds later, the other three Slytherins let the rogue Bludger go and then grabbed their own brooms. Madame Hooch blew her whistle and play resumed, this time with Harry focused solely on evading his relentless pursuer. Meanwhile, Draco flew up to match Jim's altitude close enough to talk.

"Is this how you Gryffindor's win, Potter? Cheating with a rigged Bludger? Or are you just trying to kill your brother again in an even more public manner than last time?"

"Sod off, Malfoy!" Jim snarled.

"_I hate you. I hate you. I wish you'd died!_" Draco said in a mocking nasally whine. "Half the school heard you yell that at Harry last week, Potter. You think there's a single student outside of Gryffindor House who doesn't think you're behind this?!"

"I SAID _SOD OFF!_"

Draco snickered at the other boy but then tensed slightly. The good news was that the Snitch had finally shown up. The bad news was that it was floating ten feet behind Jim Potter, and if the other Seeker noticed it, Draco wouldn't stand a chance. Schooling his face back into a mask of contempt, Draco decided that there was only one thing to do: keep Jim Potter shouting in a rage so that he didn't notice the sound of the Snitch's wings until Draco could distract him and then go after his prize.

Down below, Harry was having some success using the rogue Bludger to shake up the Gryffindor Chasers' screen patterns. Also, the whole situation had incensed Miles Bletchley. He might not have normally cared much for a Halfblood like Harry Potter, but this was _Quidditch!_ In response, the angry Keeper had kicked his own defense into a furious overdrive. Between the two of them, the Gryffindors were held scoreless. Unfortunately, with only two Slytherin Chasers, Oliver Wood had gotten his own act together and was able to hold the Slytherins to only two more goals. After another fifteen minutes, the was now 120-10, so the Slytherins needed 50 more points for a Seeker-proof game.

"_Still, if nothing else weird happens_," thought Harry, "_we may actually have this in the bag._" Belatedly, he realized that he was challenging Blaise's gods of irony.

Elsewhere on the field, Lucian Bole had just knocked the other Bludger towards Katie Bell when it abruptly stopped in mid-air, quivered for a few seconds, and then _rocketed_ off in the direction of Harry Potter. "Oh you are _shitting_ _me!_" exclaimed a furious Bole.

Harry was focused solely on speed and evasion when his attention was captured by the loud repeated _clanging_ sounds from behind him. Sparing a glance behind him, Harry was shocked to see that there were now _two_ Bludgers on his tail, and the clanging sound was caused by them bumping into each other, apparently in a mutual desire to drive the other off course. Harry actually laughed. "_Unbelievable! __Two__ rogue Bludgers! And they're __fighting__ over which one gets to pound me into beefsteak!_"

Unable to shake one, let alone two Bludgers, Harry poured on the speed and set a course to skirt just inside the arena's retaining wall. He hoped that with a little luck one of the Bludgers would knock the other into the wall and perhaps disable it. His thoughts were on the right track. After a few seconds, the second Bludger veered off course by a few yards and then slammed back into the first so hard that it blasted _through_ the retaining wall, leaving a five-foot diameter hole in it. From somewhere behind him, Harry heard the sounds of wood being smashed, presumably as the first Bludger tore through the support struts for the audience stands. He hoped they were strong enough to resist collapsing with over a thousand spectators on hand. Then, he heard a different sound: a loud metallic _SHITANG! _He spared another glance behind and was so horrified he nearly lost control of his broom. The second Bludger was now only five feet or so behind him.

And it was now covered in ten-inch-long stiletto spikes.

Harry cursed and poured on even more speed. Given his current velocity and the Bludger's normal weight, an impact with those spikes was almost certain to be fatal. "_Almost?_" he thought. "_Who am I kidding! The way my luck works, they're also poisoned!_" With that cheerful thought, Harry shot up, hoping that a higher elevation would give him more room to maneuver and put some distance between himself the deadly projectile closing on his tail.

Up above, Draco and Jim had been virtually ignoring the events below. Jim was now shouting almost incoherently at the Slytherin, who was playing his favorite role of _Obnoxious Pureblood Prat_ to the hilt, when the Snitch suddenly got bored and darted straight down. "_Finally!_" thought Draco.

"_IF YOU THINK I CARE WHAT A FILTHY DEATH EATER WANNABEE SCUMBAG LIKE YOU SAYS, YOU CAN GO STRAIGHT...!"_

"Bye now!" yelled Draco as he dove underneath Jim in a blast of speed. He actually gave the Git a jaunty wave as he flew.

Jim watched him go in confusion for a few precious seconds and then realized the Pureblood was after the Snitch. "_Sonovabitch_!" the Boy-Who-Lived said through gritted teeth as he reoriented his broom and took off after the other Seeker. By that point, Draco was near the grass and following the Snitch along the edge of the stands. Suddenly, about fifty feet straight ahead, the first Bludger that had gone underneath the stands finally blasted its way back out again, leaving a spray of wooden debris and a ten-foot-wide hole in the retaining wall. To Draco's dismay, the Snitch immediately darted into the opening and took off underneath the bleachers.

"I am going to die now," Draco said to himself with surprising calm. Then, he darted through the opening after the Snitch with Jim Potter hot on his tail.

Oblivious to Draco's apparent suicide attempt, Harry was high above the stadium dodging the spiked Bludger when its partner in crime reappeared and shot up towards him. In desperation, Harry performed a cork-screw turn that he hadn't thought was possible on a broom but which allowed him to dodge both Bludgers and head back towards the ground. There was another _clang_ behind him. He spared a look back and saw that the smooth Bludger had sheered off several of the spiked Bludger's blades before veering away out of control. He smiled for a second until he back ahead and saw, to his horror, that the majority of both teams were spread out across the field directly in front of him and he was too low to fly safely over them. Every flight path he could see would have him leading the spiked Bludger either through a cluster of Quidditch players or into the spectator stands. Every path but one. Gritting his teeth, he veered sharply to the left and flew through the first hole in the retaining wall that had been blasted open earlier by the smooth Bludger. Immediately, he was in an obstacle course, flying over, under and around the various wooden struts supporting the bleachers.

Absurdly, Harry was immediately reminded of the _Star Wars_ trilogy which Hermione and Blaise had both insisted that he watch the previous Summer. Each movie had a scene like this in which the protagonists had to dive into a metal trench, a forest, an asteroid field or some other obstacle course with death hot on their heels. He laughed again, giving himself fully over his Gryffindor side, that normally constrained part of his psyche that was utterly reckless and knew no fear. "_Help me Obi-Wan! You're my only hope!_" On he flew, with the spiked Bludger smashing through all obstacles as it drew ever closer.

Underneath the bleachers on the opposite side of the arena, Draco was rapidly becoming frustrated. He was good, very good on a broom, especially for a twelve-year-old. But Jim Potter was quite plainly was on the cusp of becoming a legend. Despite Malfoy's best efforts to navigate the maze of wooden struts and supports through which they were flying, Jim soon caught and then passed him. At that point, Draco realized, it would take a miracle to catch the Snitch.

And then, a miracle happened.

Coming from the _opposite _direction, Harry Potter blew past both Jim and Draco. He wasn't sure, but Draco could have sworn the other boy was laughing in delight. Right on Harry's tail was what Draco thought was some kind of _**BLUDGER FROM HELL **_that came smashing through the struts and support columns like they were paper. A huge blast of debris hit Jim full on. He cried out and was forced to slow for a few seconds. Draco seized the moment and darted past him. Ahead, the path was clear of obstructions, all of which had been blasted through by the spiked Bludger, yet the space was still confined enough for Draco to block Jim from passing him again.

Harry continued his evasive maneuvers until he could see light up ahead: the other hole leading back out onto the pitch. He tore through it and arced around between the Gryffindor goal posts riding close to the ground. The other players were up ahead still but he had time to maneuver. And he had a plan. "_Well, more of a desperate hope, really,_" he thought. "_Still, it worked last time. Maybe it will work even better on this one._" He flew straight down the field, waving his hands wildly at the other players to move them out of the way. Not knowing what his plan was but not wanting to die a horrible spiky death, all the other players cleared a path. He continued waving off the Slytherin Keeper Miles Bletchley, who finally moved off to one side once he realized that Potter was aiming straight for the central goal post. Then, at nearly the last possible second, Harry started his ascent.

"_Okay_," he thought. "_Time to find out how good I really am on this stick._"

The first time when Harry had led the smooth Bludger to a goalpost, he'd cleared the top by less than a foot and the smooth Bludger had bounced off the rim. But this Bludger was covered in spikes, and this time, Harry was aiming for the bottom rim where the ring met the support column. The spiked Bludger tore through wood easily, but the central column was five feet in diameter and magically-reinforced stone. Harry aimed for the very lip of the circle with the Bludger just a few feet behind. At the last possible second, Harry threw his upper body forward and extended his arms while lifting his legs back and up. And for the space of a single breath, Harry Potter wasn't riding his broom anymore. He was flying a few inches above it.

Like Superman.

Harry's broom passed over the edge of the goal with barely an inch to spare. Behind him, there was a satisfying _CLANG_ as the spiked Bludger impacted with the goalpost hard enough to embed its spikes almost six inches into the marble, where it remained stuck.

"Bloody hell," whispered an awestruck Miles Bletchley as he stared in wonder at the trapped Bludger which was shaking in impotent fury as it tried unsuccessfully to pull free. Meanwhile, Harry had instantly grabbed back hold of his broom and remounted. Then, he twisted up and back over the pitch while desperately searching for the other Bludger.

"_Oh,_" he thought to himself with a mixture of surprise and sadness. "_There it is._"

Five yards away from his head.

_4_

_3_

_2_

_1_

_Lights out!_

At almost the same time, the Snitch darted back out through the first hole, followed by Draco with Jim right behind him. Jim quickly pulled up beside Draco. Up ahead, they could both only watch helplessly as the first Bludger struck Harry in the head and knocked him off his broom from an altitude of well over 200 feet.

"YOUR BROTHER MAY HAVE JUST BEEN KILLED RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU, GIT! DO YOU EVEN CARE?!" Draco yelled furiously to Jim.

"SHUT YOUR MOUTH, DEATH EATER! YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT ME!"

"I KNOW ONE THING! I KNOW YOU'RE NOT GETTING THAT SNITCH!"

True Quidditch enthusiasts know that there is one Seeker maneuver above all others which is the most reckless, most dangerous and most rarely used: _The Suicide Slam_. First performed by the winning Seeker in the 1913 Quidditch World Cup, it had been used by truly desperate Seekers only eight times since. Every time it had been used, it resulted in some kind of injury to the Seeker and on one occasion a fatality. Draco, of course, was aware of the Suicide Slam's history, but he'd always believed that it was only ever used by lunatics. Now, in this exact moment, he came to a different conclusion: that it was only used by Seekers for whom the thought of losing had suddenly become intolerable.

With a furious grunt, Draco jumped up and landed on his broom with both feet. For a few impossible seconds, a Muggleborn observer would have thought he was riding the broom like a surfboard. Then, his weight distribution caused the front of the broom to suddenly tip straight down. The instantaneous change of axis while at top speed caused the broom's flight enchantments to go completely haywire. The result was a sudden shockwave of horizontal force that propelled Malfoy forward at tremendous speed, past the astounded Jim Potter. His right hand closed around the Snitch, while he raised his left arm up to guard his face.

"_I really hope I don't die from this,_" he thought. "_Mother will never let me hear the end of it._"

Draco hit the ground with terrific force and then bounced, flipped, skidded, and rolled nearly fifty feet. The first _snap_ was merely surprising. By the third, Draco was becoming slightly alarmed. Luckily, adrenaline and shock combined to make sure he didn't feel any pain ... yet. When he finally came to a rest, he thrust his right hand up in the air to show that he'd caught the Snitch. And the crowd, which had been screaming in horror at Harry's injury, now roared its approval.

Harry, of course, didn't fall to the ground. He was high enough that there was plenty of time for Dumbledore to catch him with a Levitation spell and float him down to the pitch quite near where Draco was lying still and willing himself not to cry from pain. Part of him realized that a week earlier he'd be blubbering like a four-year-old girl and calling for his mummy, but something had just changed in him that suddenly made such public weakness unacceptable. Immediately, the Slytherin team swarmed around the two players while the ecstatic Slytherin student body poured down onto the pitch in near-delirium. Then, Professor Snape's voice boomed out across the stadium thanks to an Amplification Charm.

"MR. FLINT, SEE THAT NO ONE MOVES OR EVEN TOUCHES EITHER MR. POTTER OR MR. MALFOY UNTIL THEY HAVE RECEIVED MEDICAL REVIEW!'

Moments later, Snape and Lockhart ran up to the two injured boys to perform diagnostic spells.

"Mr. Potter has a severe concussion and a hairline fracture in his skull," said Snape. "He is otherwise unharmed, which is frankly miraculous. Mr. Flint, summon a levitating stretcher for him. His spine is undamaged so he can be moved, but _be gentle_."

Meanwhile, Lockhart was examining Draco and called out the results for Snape. "Mr. Malfoy has mostly minor cuts and bruises but two complete breaks in his left humerus, one in his left ulna. Also a dislocated kneecap. Hold still, Mr. Malfoy, and I'll have you fixed up in a jiffy."

"Ahem," said a dignified voice from behind him. "I think I should prefer for my son to be examined by a _medical_ _professional_, if you don't mind."

Lockhart glanced back to see Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy standing over him with expressions that were at once imperious and concerned.

"Oh for pity's sake, Lucius," said Lockhart with some annoyance. "It's just basic first aid. I'll be teaching a unit on it for all seven years next January." With that, he touched his wand to Draco's arm. _**"BRACKIUM EMENDO!"**_ A warm light flowed out of his wand to envelop Draco's injured arm. The boy gasped at the sudden sharp pain of his arm bones shifting, but he was then surprised to feel the pain disappear almost completely. After a few seconds, the light faded and Draco's arm appeared good as new. "It should be fine, Mr. Malfoy, but please do have Madame Pomfrey double-check my work. Sometimes hairline fractures remain that the basic Charm won't catch. You probably will also have some strained muscles for which she can provide pain relief." He touched Draco's knee and cast a different healing spell which seemed just as effective as the first.

"You have me at a disadvantage, Professor Lockhart," said Lucius Malfoy coolly. "I don't believe we've been formally introduced. Certainly not to the point of being on a first name basis."

Lockhart stood and bowed respectfully. "I do apologize for my impertinence, Lord Malfoy. Please forgive me. My thoughts were solely on your son, both his injuries and his remarkable performance. I'm sure you're both very proud."

Lucius looked down at Draco who had just risen to his feet, and the boy saw something in his father's eyes that he'd had never seen there before: _pride and satisfaction_. "Quite so," he said softly. "Draco, I knew you had natural skill at this game. But what I witnessed today was so much ... _more_ than I was expecting and in so many ways. While I hope you do not make it a habit of risking your body so recklessly, I am indeed very proud of you."

"Thank you, Father. And thank you both for coming. I would like to spend time talking with you but..." He turned and focused all of his attention on Narcissa. "Harry Potter, my _friend_, is injured. With your kind permission, I would like to check on him. To make sure that he is _unharmed _and _safe."_

Narcissa smiled in a manner that approximated warmth. "Of course, Dragon. Go and check on your little friend."

He bowed respectfully to both parents and then made his way through the crowd to find Harry. As he left, Narcissa stared after him intently, while Lucius stared with equal intensity at _her._ If she felt the stress of his regard, her demeanor did not show it. As for Harry Potter, he was lying on the ground waiting for the stretcher. It seemed like the whole Slytherin House was grouped around Harry, but Snape, Flint, and (somewhat surprisingly) Ginny Weasley were the ones closest. As Draco drew near, he bumped into Ginny, and for just an instant, he felt an impulse to say something ... Malfoyesque. He pushed it down. For some reason, he wasn't in the mood for their usual sniping. The girl looked up at him and bit her lip.

"That was ... the most _amazing _thing I've ever seen in a Quidditch match," she said quietly.

"Thank you," he said with a sincerity that surprised even himself.

Harry moaned softly. "Hey ... Drake ... win?"

Draco knelt down. "Yes, Harry. We won. I caught the Snitch."

"Course ya did... Drake. Never doubted." And somehow, as absurd as it sounded, Draco thought that was true.

Then, Harry's brow furrowed. "Gin? Gin Weasel?"

She knelt down while Draco stood. He had the oddest impulse to give the two of them some privacy.

"I'm here, Harry."

"Tell Snape ... bout the smell."

She looked at him in confusion. "What smell, Harry?"

"Smell that ... Iris smelled." Then, he slipped into unconsciousness. By that time, Flint had returned with an enchanted stretcher. It would stabilize Harry medically and also render him nearly weightless so that it would be easier to transport him to the Infirmary. As they carried Harry away, Ginny's eyes narrowed and then widened in surprise as she realized what Harry meant.

"Professor Snape!" she called out before running up to the man. "Can you summon a house elf down here to the Quidditch pitch?"

"That is not necessary, Miss Weasley. The stretcher is enchanted and specifically designed to transport trauma patients. That is the safest mode of transportation for Mr. Potter."

"No sir, you don't understand." She moved closer and whispered. "Back in September, Harry and I learned that _loyal_ house elves can _smell_ the magic of _rogue_ house elves."

Snape crooked an eyebrow and nodded. "When I can do so discreetly, I will summon a house elf to examine the cursed Bludgers. Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Miss Weasley."

With that, the rest of the Slytherin students headed back to the school, their joy over winning tempered by concern over their injured Chaser. Most of the Gryffindor team members headed to the showers, dejected over their loss but also troubled at how close the game came to horrific tragedy. The spectators – students and otherwise – made their way out of the arena for whatever destinations awaited them.

Jim Potter stood alone in the middle of the Quidditch pitch. He could see his mum and dad headed over to speak with him. He wondered what they'd say. He wondered what had happened. He wondered how he could have possibly lost to Draco Malfoy. He wondered how he could watch his brother fall almost lifeless out of the sky without thinking for one second about giving up on the Snitch. He wondered _what the hell was __wrong__ with him._

Then, he jumped with a start at the sound of a loud _SLUUURRRP!_ coming from behind him. It was Ron, finishing the last of his extra large pumpkin slushie while holding out a half-empty cardboard tub with his other hand.

"Want some popcorn?"

* * *

** The next chapter will be posted on the morning of WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 23, 2015. This is a deviation from my normal schedule due to the holidays, as Christmas and New Years both fall on Friday this year, and I expect a combination of traveling and imbibing holiday cheer. The next chapter is entitled "Post-Game Developments," in which the Weasley Twins suffer a harsh payback, Harry has a few bedside visitors, Draco ponders his life choices, and Hermione and Neville take afternoon tea with Hagrid. Meanwhile, Jim suffers an unexpected personal disaster, while the Secret Enemy moves yet another piece onto the board. ****It is a very long chapter to tide everyone over until the New Year, as I don't expect to post the chapter after that until the first Friday in January, 2016.**

**AN 1: RE the "Rogue Bludger Rule." In the film, Hagrid basically says "_Blimey, Harry's got himself a rogue Bludger!_" with all the shock and surprise of me looking out the window and noticing a large feral cat eating out of my trashcans. In other words, something unusual and frightening that nobody likes but _also_ something which isn't that uncommon and certainly isn't the end of the world. At no point did anyone in authority even suggest pausing the game while the teachers investigated the Bludger, so I take the position that a rogue Bludger was a phenomenon that was dangerous but not terribly unusual which Dobby was able to fake. The alternative is to assume that all of the wizards in attendance were slack-jawed dullards, and I'm trying to get away from that interpretation of the Potterverse. As for the _other_ Bludger, well, by that point, things were happening too fast for anyone to intervene.  
**

**AN 2: I was completely flummoxed in the first movie when Harry decided to climb onto his broom and ride it like a surf board. I don't remember if he did that in the book, but just watching it, I thought it was completely bizarre. So I decided that it was absolutely as crazy as I thought it was AND ALSO a legitimate if risky Quidditch move. At least Draco didn't swallow the Snitch. **


	61. HP&TSE 27 - Post-Game Developments

**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY  
**

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.  
**

* * *

**CHAPTER 27: Post-Game Developments**

_**7 November 1992 (After the Quidditch Match)  
The Gryffindor Boy's Locker Room**_

The first clue that something was amiss was when Fred, George and Oliver made it back to the locker room to find the door standing wide open. Inside, they found that all the non-Quidditch clothing they'd brought to change into after the game had been unceremoniously dumped into the middle of the communal showers, doused with water, and then apparently frozen into a block of ice with a Freezing Charm. As pranks went, it was pretty feeble, though plenty annoying for three guys in sweaty, smelly Quidditch gear and certainly not the sort of thing the Twins would let go without retaliation if they found out who did it. The _real_ drama started when George opened his locker and found that it was empty save for a folded piece of paper.

_Dear Weasley Terror,_

_I don't know who this book bag belonged to (whether it's the stupid one or the ugly one), but at least one of you blood traitors will have a difficult time in class without your books and notes. Such a pity you're too wretchedly poor to buy replacement copies of your text books. Mess with the snakes, and you get bit._

_Signed, _

_A Slimy Slytherin_

_P.S. Slytherins Rule. Gryffindors Drool.  
P.P.S Poof_

With that, there was a flash of green flame and the paper disintegrated. George slowly sat down on a bench, completely stunned.

"It's okay, Brother-of-Mine," said Fred. "You can use my textbooks for your homework. I mean, we sit next to each other so it's not the end of the world."

George looked up at his twin, his eyes misting with emotion. "Fred, I had _the Map_ folded up in my Charms book."

"... What?" Fred said. "I mean... you ... you _WHAT?!_ How could you be so...?"

George's face hardened. "How could I be so _what_, Fred? You were _there_ when we talked about taking Ron exploring right after the Quidditch match. I hid it in my bag so it would be handy and we wouldn't have to go back for it."

Fred sighed in frustration. "Let's look around outside, George. Maybe they just threw it up on the roof or something."

"Fred," said George dejectedly. "The Slytherins _hate us._ I'm not talking about Slytherin-Gryffindor rivalry. I mean they hate _**you and me**_. I reckon the book bag _and_ the Map are either at the bottom of Black Lake or else they're burning up in the Slytherin fireplace. Not to mention they got all my notes for Lockhart's research group. And the _really_ _hilarious_ _thing_ is that they were probably just being petty by stealing my books and my notes. Whoever took the Map probably has no idea what he has and won't even after he's destroyed it."

George put his head down into his hands and then jumped a few seconds later when Fred struck the door to his locker so hard he put a dent into it. "_Oww!_" he hissed in pain as he shook his hand out.

"Oi!" said Oliver Wood as he stepped back out of the shower where he'd been trying to defrost the trio's fresh clothing. "What's all this then?"

Fred said nothing. Finally, George spoke. "Whichever Slytherin messed with our clothes also took ... something that belongs to us."

"Was it valuable?" Wood asked. Both boys nodded. "Well, go and tell McGonagall about it. I'm sure she'll turns some rocks over and get it returned to you." Then, he went back to his defrosting efforts.

Fred actually laughed harshly at the thought of telling their Head of House about the Map and asking for her to get it back to them. "Oh yeah, that's going to happen. '_Here's yuir map, wee bairn. Now go back to makin' yuir mischief!_" he said in a poor attempt at a Scottish accent. George didn't laugh.

* * *

_**The Infirmary**_

With surprising care, Flint and Pucey shifted Harry's unconscious body from the stretcher to an infirmary bed. Once the boy was situated, Madame Pomfrey unceremoniously kicked the two older Slytherins out of the infirmary along with everyone else, though Flint got Snape to promise to provide the House with an update soon. Outside in the corridor, several of Harry's friends and teammates (plus a few miscellaneous Slytherins interested mainly out of House pride) congregated waiting for news. After about fifteen minutes, Snape came out to address the group.

"Madame Pomfrey has completed her initial assessment. Mr. Potter is expected to recover without any lasting repercussions. His skull fracture has already been repaired, and he is currently sedated, having already taken several potions to address his concussion. He will be kept overnight for observation, but the mediwitch expects to release him tomorrow morning. He will not be seeing any visitors other than family, so all of you may now _leave the area_. That is all." With that, he turned and went back into the infirmary, closing the door rather firmly behind him. With that, the various prefects in attendance began herding students away from the infirmary.

"I don't see why everyone's so worried about Potter, anyway," muttered Cassius Warrington to his Pureblood associate Miles Bletchley. "If he can't handle a Bludger hit, maybe Quidditch is too much for him. Don't you agree, Bletchley?"

"Are you _mental_, Warrington?!" the other Pureblood exclaimed. "A rogue Bludger is probably _the_ most dangerous thing that can happen in Quidditch. More often than not, _professional_ Quidditch games get called off when a Bludger goes rogue. For a Second Year to insist on playing and then dodge _two_ Bludgers for most of the game is amazing." He sniffed at the other Pureblood disdainfully. "And frankly, I've seen _you_ fly, Warrington, and I don't think you'd have lasted thirty seconds."

Warrington's eyes flashed angrily. "Well, listen to you, Bletchley. Has being around that little blood traitor made you go soft? Whatever would your father say?"

"I imagine he'd say he was proud that he didn't raise me to be a _fool_, Warrington. Whatever our disagreements about politics, Potter's blood on his father's side is purer than mine and yours put together. And while his mother may be a Mudblood, she's got more NEWTs than either of us have a chance of seeing. Potter proved himself to me on the pitch today. If you can't see that he is a better Chaser than you _and_ has bigger balls than you, that's your blindness not mine."

With that, the Keeper stormed off, leaving a fuming Cassius Warrington behind. Angry at the insult, Warrington looked around to see if anyone had seen the altercation. The only person nearby was a red-headed Gryffindor who stood about ten feet away, staring at him with an unreadable expression. "What are _you_ looking at, brat?" he snarled.

Ron Weasley shrugged. "Drama?" he said before turning and walking away, softly whistling "God Save the Queen" as he went.

* * *

_**Hagrid's Hut  
Tea Time**_

Hermione and Neville approached the hut cautiously. They weren't frightened of Hagrid by any means, but they both knew that they were about to try and tap him for information about a subject that would almost certainly be painful to the gentle half-giant. And unfortunately, the two Gryffindors agreed that they weren't the best at that kind of subtle interrogation. Honestly, they needed Harry for this sort of thing, but Snape had announced that he'd be out of action until Sunday at the earliest, and they'd already arranged to have tea with the Gamekeeper on Saturday afternoon after the Quidditch match.

Summoning his Gryffindor courage, Neville rapped sharply on the door. Hagrid jerked the door open quickly as if he were expecting trouble, but then his face lit up with a smile. "Ah, Hermione and Neville! Come in! Come in! I've jus' put the kettle on."

Hermione and Neville entered the hut and sat down for tea, which was mercifully free of rock cakes. They made small talk about the game (Hagrid felt bad for "poor Jim" but was very impressed with Harry and Draco), about their classes, about rumors of Professor Kettleburn's upcoming retirement, about the weather. Finally, Neville took a deep breath and raised the topic they both really wanted to talk about.

"Hagrid, I don't know if you've been following the school news lately, but a lot of students are really worried about what happened last Saturday night – that whole business with Mrs. Norris and that writing on the wall. There's all sorts of rumors floating around. They're saying that '_the Heir_' refers to '_the Heir of Slytherin_' and his '_enemies_' are all the Muggle-born in the school. They're also worried that there might be more petrifications in the future, maybe even of students." Neville paused and swallowed. "Some of the students have been researching, and they found out that the Chamber was supposedly opened once before ... back when you were a student. We were wondering if you could tell us about what you remember from back then." Actually, Neville already knew that Hagrid had been _expelled _around that time, possibly for some reason related to the earlier petrifications, but he wanted to let Hagrid reveal that detail if it came up at all. Harry would have commended him for the clever Slytherinesque misdirection, but Neville was _very_ Gryffindorish and all this manipulation made him feel a bit queasy.

Hagrid looked pained by the question but also resigned, as if he knew it was inevitable that such questions would be coming from somebody. "_Better Frank Longbottom's boy than some auror, I reckon_," he thought. And with that, he began his tale.

Rubeus Hagrid was Sorted into Gryffindor in 1940. To say he was big for his age was an absurd understatement. Most of the other firsties were openly afraid of him, even among his Gryffinor classmates, and he couldn't even fit in a dormitory bed, so he ended up in a room by himself outside of Gryffindor Tower. It was lonely at first, but gradually, he made a few friends, though sadly few of them were human. Indeed, his best friend that year had eight legs: an acromantula that Hagrid found while exploring in the Forbidden Forest. Aragog was small for an acromantula, only about three feet across, and once he realized he couldn't bite through Hagrid's skin, he became quite companionable and surprisingly well-spoken for a killer spider. By the end of First Year, Hagrid had taught him to read.

Of course, Hagrid had always had a way with animals. His size and strength allowed him to easily manhandle large beasts, his skin was too tough to be clawed or bit easily, and he had a natural resistance to most forms of poison. Consequently, he was allowed to help Professor Wilbur Grubbly-Plank as a teaching aide in Care of Magical Creatures starting in his First Year. Grubbly-Plank (whose daughter Wilhelmina was two years behind Hagrid) and Deputy Headmaster Dumbledore were Hagrid's two favorite teachers and his two biggest boosters among the Hogwarts faculty. Unfortunately, quite a few teachers didn't care for the idea of a half-giant at Hogwarts. Even more unfortunately, one of those was Armando Dippet, the Headmaster, who seemed _disgusted_ by his presence in the school. Hagrid tried his best and got decent grades, but he was still isolated and alone.

In Second Year, however, Hagrid finally made some human friends. One was a slightly abrasive Ravenclaw named Myrtle Warren who spent her time alone in the Library avoiding the teasing of her cruel year-mates. Another was Eugene "Nobby" Leach, a boisterous lad whose easy laugh concealed the sadness he felt from knowing first hand how poorly even the "_we'll take the rest_" Hufflepuffs treated their Muggle-borns. But Nobby and Myrtle didn't have it near as bad as poor Tom Riddle, a Muggle-raised orphan Sorted into Slytherin who didn't know anything about either of his parents and so was presumed to be a Muggle-born as well. Two years ahead of Hagrid, Myrtle and Nobby, everybody in the school liked Tom. Or at least, everybody but his fellow Slytherins. Still, he never seemed to let it get him down, and he embraced his "_presumed Muggle-born_" status with gusto, making it his business to see that all the other Muggle-born and Muggle-raised stuck together. By the end of Hagrid's Second Year, Tom was running study groups for all the Muggle-borns in the school, and all of them were doing remarkably well, much to the chagrin of the Slytherin Purebloods. But that year was marred by tragedy as well, when Hagrid's father passed away of Dragon Pox. With no other family to look after him, Dumbledore pulled every string he could find to get Hagrid appointed to a job as junior-assistant gamekeeper just so he could stay at the castle during the Summer.

In Hagrid's Third Year, he was finally allowed to take Care of Magical Creatures as a student rather than a teacher's aide, and Professor Grubbly-Plank was delighted by his studiousness and his encyclopedic knowledge of obscure and dangerous creatures. Even though he was just a Third Year, by Christmas, the professor was suggesting that he pursue a Mastery in the subject after graduation. The only problem that year – well, during first term, at least – was that Tom no longer had time to watch over his Muggle-born proteges. He'd been made the Fifth Year Slytherin prefect (to the outrage of Purebloods like Abraxas Malfoy and his stooges) and he was in his OWLs year, so he didn't have any spare time to help with his friends studying, though he did pop in from time to time to give advice and encouragement.

It was right after Christmas Break ended that the real trouble started. Nobby Leach was the first to be petrified. His body was found just outside the Greenhouse, with the words "MUDBLOODS! BEWARE THE HEIR OF SLYTHERIN!" burnt into the nearby grass. Over the next two months, three other Muggleborns were petrified, and all were found near graffiti that warned the rest of the Muggleborns to leave Hogwarts and never return. The graffiti _also_ gave credit to the Heir of Slytherin, which had the dual effect of damaging the reputation of Slytherin House while rallying the Purebloods of the other three Houses around their own Muggle-born members.

Then, in March, Myrtle was found, not just petrified but _dead_. One day later, Tom Riddle confronted Hagrid in his room. The prefect had somehow discovered that Hagrid was raising a highly dangerous and highly illegal creature within the castle, and he'd assumed that whatever creature he'd been hiding in his room was the cause of the petrification. Hagrid helped Aragog get away, and then Tom turned him over to Headmaster Dippet, who was only too happy to summarily expel him and tell him he was lucky that at the age of thirteen even an "_abomination_" like him was too young for Azkaban.

Hermione and Neville gasped. "You mean to say that Tom Riddle, who'd been your friend for two years, ratted you out to that awful Dippet?" Hermione said angrily.

"Ah, don' go blamin' poor Tom, 'Ermione. Tweren't 'is fault."

"Hagrid, how was it not his fault?" asked Neville just as outraged.

"Well, it wuz like this. Tom knew I was raising a dangerous creature – which were true – but he didn't know _what_ it was. And I wouldn't tell him, because wee Aragog was still a tiny thing ... no more than three or four feet across by then, I reckon. Tho' he's much bigger now." Hagrid perked up and smiled. "I should take you two to meet 'im sometime. You'd like 'im. He's got a luvly singin' voice."

Hermione and Neville just stared at him. He coughed in embarrassment.

"Anyways, once Tom found out it were an acromantula, he was powerful sorry, as 'e knew at once I were innocent. Acromantulas can't petrify nothin'. They just bites ya and poisons ya to death. Tom kept apologizin' and tryin' to tell Ole _Dippet,_" Hagrid practically spat the name out, "but it was too late. Dippet had never wanted me at Hogwarts. Lots a people didn't. And even if I weren't the _Heir o' Slytherin_ – and what a load a codswallop that woulda been – I'd still been raisin' an acromantula inside the castle under me very own bed. They're Class AAAAA dark creatures, ya know, an that woulda sent me to Azkaban if I'd been older. As it twere, I jes got me wand snapped and got expelled from Hogwarts. They never did find out who the Heir was or even if he or the Chamber of Secrets were real, The other four petrified students got de-petrified a few months later, and no one else got petrified at all. To some people that proved it were me, but _I_ think it was one of them Slytherin Seventh Years and the reason it never happened 'gain was because he graduated. Personally, I'd always bet on old Abraxas Malfoy. Now _there _was a bad'un." Hagrid whistled. "Merlin, the way Tom used to rant about what a bigoted Pureblood ponce he were."

"So how did you end up back here if Headmaster Dippet was so against you?" Hermione asked.

"Why, Albus Dumbledore, a'course! Fine man, that Dumbledore. After he came back from fightin' Grindelwald, he coulda asked for the world. Turned down bein' Minister _flat_, he did! But he _did_ ask that my criminal record be expunged and that I be given this job 'ere. The head gamekeeper had retired by then. I'd spent a few years at that point knockin' about Scandinavia tryin' to find me Mum, but I never did. I finally heard she'd died years before. So, I came back fer Dumbledore and have been here ever since. Ha! You should a seen Dippet's face when I moved inta this hut. The old prune! Ha!"

Some time later, Hermione and Neville were walking back to the castle discussing what they'd learned.

"So, someone opened the Chamber in 1943 and set the mysterious monster against Muggle-borns," said Hermione thoughtfully. "He – or she, I suppose – petrified four Muggle-borns and then killed one, before stopping completely." She considered what Hagrid had said. "Maybe it _was_ a Seventh Year who stopped with the petrifications when the girl's death threatened to get the school closed down. Then, the Heir graduated and had no further access to the Monster."

"So what kind of Monster was it?" asked Neville. "What creatures can petrify people?"

"No idea," she answered. "I haven't started reading ahead for Care of Magical Creatures yet. In Greek mythology, a Gorgon could." She looked at her friend curiously. "Are Gorgon's real?"

"I think so, but they're very rare and I'm pretty sure you can only find them in Greece. I can't imagine how a student could have smuggled one into the school and kept it hidden for three months." Neville was thoughtful for a moment. "Next question. What was different about Myrtle that she was killed when the others were just petrified?"

"A very insightful question," said Hermione appreciatively. "Maybe we should ask her?"

"Huh?" he asked in confusion.

"Moaning Myrtle is the name of one of the Hogwarts Ghosts and one of the few who was a student here at the time of death. She was a Ravenclaw who died as a young teenager, sometime in the last century from the look of her. And she _haunts_ the girls' lavatory right next to where Mrs. Norris was found."

Neville was silent for a few seconds. "I wish Harry or Blaise was here. They'd have something witty or clever to say right now about your startling revelation, but I'm just drawing a blank."

* * *

_**The Infirmary**_

"So, Poppy, how is he really?" asked Lily Potter. She, James and Jim had joined Snape and Madame Pomfrey to check on the status of the oldest twin.

"As far as I can tell, he'll be fine," the mediwitch said. "I'm keeping him tonight for observation because he had a concussion, and sometimes they cause symptoms that aren't immediately apparent. What damage there is appears to be limited to the temporal lobe, so tomorrow, I'll give him a neuromagical exam and see if he needs follow-up treatment at St. Mungo's. If not, I'll release him first thing in the morning."

Lily and James seemed to relax at the news, while Jim's expression was unchanged.

"Can we talk to him?" Lily asked.

"Not today. I've given him a sedative, and the potions to cure the concussion will keep him semi-conscious at best and slightly delirious. You'll have to come back tomorrow."

"Come on, Lily," said James softly. "There's nothing more to be done here." With one last glance back at Harry, Lily allowed James to escort her and Jim out of the infirmary. Snape watched the three Potters leave through narrowed eyes, while Pomfrey cast some monitoring spells on Harry and then returned to her office. Out in the hall, the Potters passed by Draco who was walking with a slight limp. The two male Potters each looked down their noses at him as they passed with a disdain that he happily returned. Then, he stepped into the infirmary just in time to see Snape addressing a house elf.

"Kusco, please go down to the Quidditch pitch and examine the two Bludgers used in today's match. Specifically, examine them for indications that a rogue house elf was responsible for their malfunction."

The elf actually hissed at the mention of _rogue house elves_ with an anger that Draco hadn't thought possible for such creatures. And what in Merlin's name was a _rogue _house elf, anyway? Kusco popped away, and then Snape turned and noticed Draco's presence.

"Mr. Malfoy, what is your business here?"

"Professor Lockhart told me to get checked out by Madame Pomfrey in case he missed any small fractures. Sir, do you think a _house elf_ was responsible for what happened with those Bludgers?"

With the practiced ease of a long-time double agent, Snape chose to bluster his way through the boy's question. "I do not make a habit of answering questions about conversations overheard by eavesdroppers, Mr. Malfoy," he sneered. "It is but one of many avenues we are investigating, albeit a highly unlikely one. Think no more of it." He turned back towards the office. "Madame Pomfrey, you have another injured student, though thankfully one who can walk under his own power."

The mediwitch came out and hustled Draco into a bed while Snape exited the infirmary with the boy's eyes following behind. Then, he relayed Lockhart's instructions, and she began casting diagnostic spells.

"Hmm. Professor Lockhart's spellwork was quite good, but he was wise to send you for a check-up. The spell he used was for aurors who need quick patches during field combat. As he said, though, it doesn't work for minor fractures or pulled muscles. Lie still for a moment and I'll be right back." She left and returned a moment later with a few foul-smelling potions for the boy. "This one will ensure that all your bones will heal completely. This one will repair muscles and eliminate any pain. Finally, this one will put you to sleep for a few hours so you're not awake for the effects of the first potion. It shouldn't be painful, but it might be extremely ... itchy."

Draco frowned but drank the potions as instructed. As he drifted off to sleep, his last conscious thoughts were about the disturbing implications of house elves trying to murder Harry Potter. Because he thought he knew one house elf in particular who might have been ordered to try.

* * *

_**Snape's Classroom**_

Half an hour after leaving the infirmary, Snape was back in his potions lab when Kuzco popped in to deliver his report.

"Kuzco has done as Perfesser Snapey asked. Examined both Bludgies."

"And did you detect the magic of a rogue house elf upon them?"

"No, Perfesser Snapey, sir."

Snape nodded. It had seemed like a promising avenue for investigation in light of past events, but it hadn't panned out. At least, not until Kuzco spoke again.

"Kuzco smelled the magic of _two_ wicked elveses!"

_Two?_

* * *

_**The Infirmary**_

After a few hours of sleep, Draco was awoken by a loud crack. He jerked up in his hospital bed and looked around. The infirmary was dim – from the faint light flowing through the windows, it must be right at sunset. There was no sign of Madam Pomfrey, who had probably popped down to the Great Hall for a quick dinner since there were no life-threatening injuries in the ward. Then, Draco noticed a soft blubbering voice coming from the far side of the ward. Specifically, from behind the curtains surrounding Harry Potter's bed. Draco's concern for his teammate and rival turned to surprise when he recognized the voice.

"Harry Potter came back to school! Dobby warned and warned Harry Potter! Why didn't Harry Potter go home whom when he missed train?!"

"Thought that was you..." Draco heard Harry say in a groggy, barely-conscious voice. "Ostentatious 'n ineffectual. Lucky 'm doped up or be trying wring yer scrawny neck."

"Dobby is used to death threats, sir. Dobby gets them five times a day at home."

Draco winced. When he'd been little, he'd made a sport of tormenting Dobby by threatening the poor creature with outrageous punishments until his father had found out and been furious. Lucius and Narcissa had argued thunderously about that, with Narcissa laughing at Lucius's belief that house elves were anything more than slaves and playthings. For his part, Lucius angrily replied that no matter what "_rights_" Narcissa was guaranteed by their marriage contract, his son would not be raised "_like the worst remnants of the degenerate House of Black!_" That comment actually led to a rather violent duel between the two that ended inconclusively. Since then, Draco hadn't dared to threaten Dobby or any of the other house elves with violence. So who had been?

"Harry Potter must go home. Dobby thought his Bludger would be enough..."

"Ah, _of course_ was you behind the crazy Bludger. Thas totally a thing Dobby would do." Then Harry giggled. "Were ya jes tryin' to kill me with ... smooth Bludger, or was the spiky doom one yer idea as well."

Draco carefully slid out of bed and crept towards the curtain in sock feet, grateful that Madam Pomfrey had made him take his Quidditch boots off before getting into bed.

"Not kill you sir! Never kill you! Dobby wants to save Harry Potter's life! Better sent home grievously injured than stay here, sir. Dobby only wanted Harry Potter hurt enough to be sent home. And now, Harry Potter must see the danger. For the spiky doom ball was not Dobby's. That was ... _his _idea_._"

"_His_ who? I mean, who _him?_" asked Harry groggily. "Whatever. Most of the people who want to kill me are male, I think." The male pronoun was surprising to Draco as well. He _thought_ he now knew who had been behind the various attacks on Harry's life, but his suspect was female.

"Dobby cannot speak his name. Dobby was forbidden." The elf sniffled and then wailed piteously. "Oh, if Harry Potter only _knew_. If he knew what he means to us. To the lowly, the enslaved, us dregs of the magical world. Dobby remembers how it was when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was at the height of his powers."

"If yer worried bout Moldy Shorts, you want m'brother Git. I mean Jim. No, Git works too. He's z'one ... who beat ... Moldy /snore/ Shorts."

"Jim Potter may be Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter. But you must understand and believe! Boy-Who-Lived might be the one to save us from bad wizardses. But ... _it is __**Harry Potter**__ who will __**decide the fate of all**__!_"

Draco froze at that surprising announcement. Dobby froze as well and then slapped his hands over his mouth as if he'd betrayed a terrible secret. Then, there was a soft snore from the bed, and Dobby relaxed as he realized that Harry had fallen asleep before the house elf had finished speaking. Dobby exhaled in relief and was just about to disappear when Draco yanked the curtain aside. Dobby's face assumed a look of utter terror at his young master's appearance, and he raised his hands to snap his fingers.

"_Stop,_" hissed Draco as softly as he could and still give the command. "I _order you_ not to leave until I am done talking to you. Do you understand?"

Fearfully, Dobby nodded his head.

"Come with me," Draco said quietly but intently. He turned and headed towards the far side of the room, away from the sleeping Harry. Dobby obediently followed. When he'd gotten as far away from Harry's bed as the room would allow, Draco turned and addressed the elf.

"Do not speak until I tell you to. Just shake your head yes or no. You learned that Harry was in danger and have been trying to protect him?" Dobby nervously and reluctantly nodded yes.

"The first Bludger that attacked Harry today. Was that you?" Another affirmative nod.

"And the second? The one that was actually trying to _kill _him rather than just hurt him? Was that ... Mogli?" Dobby quivered and nodded yes. Then, he darted over to a nearby bed, grabbed a metal chamber pot, and hit himself squarely in the face with it. Draco closed his eyes and counted to ten. He used to consider self-punishment like this to be amusing ... when he was five. Now, it was slightly nauseating, in part because he knew the role his own childishness had played in instilling such behavior into the creature.

Draco took a deep breath. "Dobby, I _order you_, without leaving anything out or evading any question – and _without punishing yourself _– to tell me everything you know about my Mother's plans for Harry Potter."

* * *

_**The Hogwarts' Library**_

Cassius Warrington sat at a table by himself in the Library working on some rune sequences for Team Backdoor. He had a difficult assignment due in a few weeks, and he was starting to feel over his head in the class. It didn't help that he was still angry from his argument with Bletchley earlier that day. To be fair, he was annoyed in general by the mere existence of Halfblood Harry Potter, as well as by all those blood traitors in his house and especially on the Quidditch team who had embraced Potter despite his defiled heritage.

For just a second, Cassius felt a draft. Then, he was startled by a loud thump as his book bag fell off the table and onto the floor. Warrington looked around. He couldn't see how the bag might have fallen – he hadn't thought he'd left it so near the edge of the table. The Slytherin looked around the Library but saw no one nearby, so he rose, walked around the table and picked up his bag. Underneath, there was a sealed envelope lying on the floor which the bag had landed on. After looking around once more to see if anyone was watching, he picked the envelope up and turned it over.

_**TO: CASSIUS WARRINGTON**_

_**FROM: A FRIEND WHO'S ALSO SICK OF BLOOD TRAITORS**_

_**DON'T**__** OPEN THIS WHERE YOU CAN BE SEEN**_

Intrigued but cautious, Warrington carried the envelope deep into the stacks before breaking the seal. Inside were several pages of notes about runes and portkeys. Warrington was surprised to realize that they were George Weasley's notes. He was even more surprised (and annoyed) to realize that the blood traitor was much farther along than he in their project. In fact, Weasley had nearly completed his part of the assignment almost two weeks ahead of schedule. For just a second, he wondered if this was a Weasley prank, but nothing bad had happened so far. The last piece of parchment was a letter written in a different hand and signed "_A Friend_." The first sentence warned him that the letter would self-destruct once read completely, so he should read everything carefully and attentively before he got to the last line.

Warrington read the note slowly and cautiously. And as the letter finally disappeared in a gout of green fire, he began to smile.

* * *

_**The Infirmary**_

Draco spent about twenty minutes interrogating Dobby about what the house elf knew. It was an exasperating conversation because the house elf was addled, incoherent, and had to be repeatedly ordered not to cry. Dobby had always been ... eccentric for as long as Draco had known him, but he seemed to have gotten much worse in recent months. Slowly but surely, Draco coaxed from him the revelation that Narcissa had sent Mogli to kill Harry Potter on at least three occasions. Mogli had led the doxy swarm to the home of Potter's Muggle guardians. Mogli had replaced Peter Pettigrew's birthday gift with Erasmus Wilkes's toy train. While the train had been directed to kill as many people as possible as misdirection, its true target was always Harry, who'd only survived by a stroke of luck. Finally, Mogli had sent the more dangerous of the two Bludgers after Harry at the Quidditch match earlier that day, the one that was meant to kill rather than injure. And Draco knew why.

It was because Draco himself had suggested to his mother that he would be more popular and successful at Hogwarts if a particular classmate were _murdered_.

The epiphany shocked Draco to his core. Eight months earlier, Harry had mocked him in the Prince's Lair as being a ridiculous child-tyrant who thought it would be funny to get Theo in trouble with his father for being friends with "undesirables." Truthfully, Draco had thought that the elder Nott might have taken away Theo's spending money and toys and grounded him for the Summer. Perhaps even some minor physical punishment. Instead, according to Harry, Tiberius Nott would most likely have tortured and killed his own son. And in response to that threat to one of his friends, Harry came at Draco with a crushing and overwhelming response, one that put the possibility of Draco's own murder at Harry's hands on the table until Harry – out of _pity_ – accepted an Unbreakable Vow instead.

And then, like a spoiled child-tyrant he'd been accused of being, Draco ran crying to his mummy for help. Only now did Draco see how ridiculously, embarrassingly _petty_ he'd been. How unworthy of both the House of Slytherin and the House of Malfoy. Harry Potter radiated power to any Slytherin with the perception to see it, perception that Draco evidently lacked completely. He should have been trying to build an alliance with Harry Potter from their first week at school. Instead, he repeatedly tried to bully his rival into submission with each effort blowing up in his face more disastrously than the last.

"_It's no wonder why Father never mentioned the Prince of Slytherin to me_," Draco thought, "_let alone prepared me to seek the position for myself. I wonder how old I was when he realized I was so far under Mother's sway that I could never follow in his footsteps._"

Draco shook of those thoughts. Time was growing short. "Dobby, you kept referring to _'him_._'_ Do you mean Mogli?"

Dobby shivered violently. "Please be forgiving Dobby, young master. Dobby has been expressly forbidden to speak of ... _him_. Dobby would have to die before revealing _his_ true name."

Draco frowned. "Okay, forget about ... _him_. What did you mean when you said Harry Potter would decide the fate of us all?"

The small creature made a face of anguish and began twisting his ears painfully. "Dobby knows but cannot explain how he knows. When Dobby first heard that Mistress sought to kill Potter child, Dobby did not know if she meant Harry Potter or Jim Potter. But Dobby knew it was wrong to kill either child. Dobby _tried_ to stay a good elf, an _obedient_ elf, young master, but the wrongness of what Mistress wanted tore at Dobby's heart. Finally, Dobby _defied_ Mistress by trying to protect both Potters. Dobby stole their mail so they would feel like friends didn't care and maybe they not want to return to Hoggywarts and latter blocked the portal at the train station. But when Dobby did ..."

Dobby squeezed his eyes shut in pain. When he opened them again, Draco leaned back despite himself. There was a fierce and frightening intensity in the house elf's eyes that Draco had never seen there before. And when Dobby spoke, his voice slipped into a lower register much more unsettling than the plaintive timid voice he normally used. It reminded Draco of Mogli's voice.

"When Dobby defied Mistress, Dobby heard _the Wild_ calling to him. Dobby did not want to listen, but Dobby cannot _not_ listen now. Through the Wild, Dobby _knew_ that Harry Potter was the one who _must _be protected. Fate and Magic have marked him. Destiny stalks him. He must survive until the moment he ... _decides_."

"Decides what?" asked Draco timidly.

"... _Everything_." At that, Dobby stiffened and looked around, his eerie mood replaced by his normal frightened demeanor. "Dobby has spoken too much of the Wild. Others have heard and draw near. Dobby _must_ go now, young master. _Please_ give Dobby permission!"

Draco grimaced and then spoke quickly. "Dobby, if you learn anything more of Mother's plans, I order you to come to me secretly and tell me. Do the same if Mogli disappears from the Manor for any length of time. Above all, take no further action to _protect_ Harry Potter." Then, Draco bit his lip as he made what he feared might be a life-changing decision. "_I_ will protect Harry Potter from Mother. I promise. Now go."

Dobby nodded and then disappeared with a crack. Draco barely had a second to get his thoughts together before there was another, much louder crack, and _three_ house elves in Hogwarts livery were standing before him. They all looked around intently, and to Draco's surprise, they all looked as disturbingly angry as Kuzco had been earlier when Snape had talked to him about rogue elves. In fact, Draco thought they looked ready to _pounce_. Then, after a few seconds, all three turned towards him and smiled, their angry vigilance vanishing from their faces as if it had never been there.

"Begging young master's pardon, but by any chance has young master seen another house elf just now? One not of Hogwarts? Perhaps one who seemed ... odd?" From the pitch of the elf's voice, Draco assumed it was female, although there was little sign of gender.

"No," said Draco shakily. "No, I haven't."

The elf who spoke narrowed her eyes at Draco in a more calculating manner than the boy had ever seen on a house elf's face. Then, she smiled once more.

"We's is sorry to have disturbed the young master. We's be going now." And just like that, the three elves vanished with a loud crack.

Draco barely had time for his breathing to slow when he heard yet another voice.

"Hello?" called out a still-weakened Harry Potter from across the infirmary. "Is somebody there?"

Draco sighed and made his way over to the other boy's bed. "It's just me, Potter."

"Oh, hey. Sorry. Still a bit woozy. Who were you talking to?"

Draco looked around. "No one. How are you feeling?"

"Like I got hit in the head by a Bludger and then given enough potions to drug a hippo."

"Well, what's the last thing you remember?" Draco said lightly, concealing his fear that Potter remembered Dobby's rantings. The other boy already seemed to know who Dobby was, but Draco thought it best if Harry didn't know any weird house elf prophecies about himself.

"Um. I think I remember you saying you caught the Snitch. Good job... unless I just dreamed that part, in which case better luck next time." He smiled, but Draco noticed that Harry's eyes were still a bit unfocused.

"Not a dream, Potter. While you were napping, I was out winning the game for us."

"Heh. Just so long as one of us was on the case. Tell me what happened. I was kinda distracted."

Draco gave a brief summary of the Seeker's duel between himself and Jim Potter. He acknowledged that all of Harry's observations about how to get inside of his brother's head paid off. At the end, he revealed with a certain degree of embarrassment that he'd won by using the Suicide Slam maneuver.

Harry laughed and then winced in pain. "Wow. A Suicide Slam. That's a Gryffindor move, isn't it?"

Draco snorted disdainfully. "Gryffindors don't have a monopoly on boldness if that's what's needed to win. Besides, with that spectacle you were making, I doubt anyone even noticed me until I actually caught the Snitch." Draco glanced at the clock on the wall. "Anyway, I need to hurry if I'm not going to miss dinner completely. And you need rest if you're going to stop your inane babbling. You kept calling me _Drake_ out on the pitch, presumably because you couldn't handle words of more than one syllable. I'll be lucky if Pucey and Bletchley don't make that my _official team nickname_ now or some such rubbish."

"They should," mumbled Harry, his eyes already closing again. "It's a cool name."

"My name," the boy sniffed, "is Draco." Harry appeared to have fallen asleep again, so Draco turned and left. He'd gotten about three feet when Harry spoke once more, his words clear despite his sleepy mumble.

"Draco Malfoy's a pompous Pureblood mama's boy whose mouth outstrips his talent." Draco stiffened and whirled back towards Harry with a furious expression, but the other boy continued before he could respond.

"_Drake_ Malfoy is a man of action who lets nothing stand in his way and who'll risk life and limb if that's what it takes to win. You get to choose who you become just like the rest of us."

Draco simply stood there for a few seconds, trying to come up with a meaningful response. Before he could, he noticed that Harry was snoring again. Draco sighed and left the Infirmary, his thoughts churning and conflicted.

* * *

_**Gryffindor Tower  
8 November 1992 (Sunday Morning at 7:00 a.m.)**_

The sun had not yet poked its head over the horizon when Jim, Ron and the other Second Year boys of Gryffindor Tower were rousted from bed by the male prefects. The boys were all instructed to pull the drawers to their night stands open and to unlock and open up their trunks for inspection before heading downstairs to wait in the Common Room. The Headmaster had given the school a week to return Jim Potter's invisibility cloak, and today marked the eighth day. The younger Muggle-born students were quite shocked at the casual invasion of their privacy, and while the rest were taking it more in stride, quite a few Lions were casting evil looks towards Jim Potter on whose behalf the search was being performed. _All_ of the Gryffindors were annoyed that the Great Dungeon Bat, Severus Snape himself, was overseeing the search of the male dorms. They were somewhat mollified by the fact that he was to be accompanied by Professor Flitwick and by James Lord Potter, who was personally on-hand to make sure that Snape didn't abuse this opportunity to search for contraband other than Jim's missing cloak ... or perhaps even _plant_ contraband. Gryffindor paranoia ran high when Snape was involved.

The plan was to start at the top of the tower with the Seventh Year dorms and work down. The theory, which even McGonagall admitted was plausible, was that it was more likely for another Gryffindor to have taken the cloak than for an outsider to have acquired the Gryffindors' password. Likewise, an older Gryffindor might have had a non-larcenous reason for taking the cloak, such as to keep Jim Potter from using it to ruin Gryffindor's chances for the House Cup through reckless point loss as had seemed to be his goal since his first day at Hogwarts. While Snape, Lord Potter, and Flitwick were searching the boys' rooms, the Gryffindor girls' dorms would be searched by McGongall, Lily Potter, and Professor Vector. If the cloak wasn't found here, they would move on to the other dorms.

While the search was taking place, nearly all of the Lions were waiting irritably in the Common Room, many of them falling back to sleep in overstuffed chairs or on couches. The Weasley Twins had actually each brought a pillow and blanket down with them and were lying comfortably on the floor in front of the fireplace, near where Ron was quietly working on a Charms essay. Percy sidled up to them with his usual disapproving look.

"Just to reassure myself – you two aren't dense enough to have left any of your usual nonsense lying around for Professor Snape to find, are you?"

"Nah, Perfect Prefect Percy," said Fred sleepily. "Nothing illegal in the dorms. We have a _secret_ stash for all the stuff that might get us expelled." Percy gave a long-suffering sigh.

"Hang on a minute!" interjected Lee Jordan. "They're just looking for Potter's cloak, aren't they? I figured they'd just walk into a room, say '_Accio Potter's Cloak_' and be done with it."

"The Potter Cloak," said Percy, "among its other illicit benefits, is apparently immune to the standard Summoning Charm. Which means the professors will have to physically search each room." Then, he noticed Lee's suddenly nervous expression. "Why? What sort of contraband do _you_ have if the Twins are, to my amazement, clean for once?"

"... nothing," Lee said in a guilty voice.

George chuckled. "Relax, Lee. They're on the hunt for a priceless magical artifact that, for some reason, they let a Second Year run around with. Snape doesn't care about those skin mags you keep hidden under your mattress."

"Guys, shut up!" hissed Lee, while Percy clucked his tongue disdainfully.

A few feet away, Jim, who had been eavesdropping, stiffened slightly in his chair as Percy explained how the searches were to be performed. He knew the school-wide search was set for today, but he hadn't realized it would be so ... thorough. Across the room, Luna's posture stiffened as well, and then she reached over and tugged on the sleeve of Hermione's robe.

"The big fat wrackspurt in Jim's tummy has started quivering and rubbing its hind legs together," she whispered. "And his nargles just turned purple and got all flittery."

"Right," said Hermione softly. "We've talked about this, dear. Skip past the physical descriptions and just tell me your conclusions."

Luna nodded. "I think he just overheard something that made him very nervous and quite a bit frightened. And it has something to do with whatever's been making him act so ... not-Jim for the past few months."

Before Hermione could ask anything more, the assembled Gryffindors were distracted by loud shouting from up the stairs leading to the boys' dorms.

"Ah, here we go," said George amiably. "Lord Potter and Professor Snape have finally started arguing and are probably about to hex one another. I wish we'd had time to set up a betting pool."

All the jokes ceased, however, when Snape stormed down the stairs in a fury and headed towards Jim Potter, with the boy's father close behind. Somewhat surprisingly, the younger Potter wasn't even looking at Snape's angry face. Instead, all of his attention was focused on the small red book in Shape's hand, a detail noticed only by Luna Lovegood who suddenly grasped Hermione's arm very tightly.

"Where did you get this book, Potter?!" Snape practically growled.

"That's ... I ... that's none of your concern! It's got nothing to do with my cloak!" he blustered.

Around the room, several of the Gryffindors were stunned at how disrespectful Jim was. Despite himself, the boy looked defiantly up into the Potions Master's eyes. Suddenly, Jim flashed back to a memory of studying from the book just the previous night. Surprised and pleased to realize that he could now sense Snape's Legilimency intrusion, Jim reflexively focused on his hatred for the man and imagined that memory _on fire_. Instantly, Snape broke contact and stepped back in shock. However, Jim's satisfaction at repelling the intruder was quickly overtaken by the realization that he'd effectively just confessed to having studied from the forbidden book.

By that point, Lily Potter had come down the stairs from the girls dorms. "What's going on? What's with all the shouting?"

James ignored her to focus on Snape. "Did ... did you just _legilimize_ _my son_?!" he asked with disbelief and outrage.

Snape turned back to face the Potters. "We will continue this discussion in the Headmaster's Office. Now." With that, he turned and strode towards the Common Room door. But James Potter wasn't finished yet.

"The _hell_ we will, _Snivellus_! You just used Leglimency on the son of an Ancient and Noble House! I'll have your job for this!"

A few students gasped at James's use of that name, and McGonagall's wand hand twitched due to her anger. Across the room, Hermione simply furrowed her brow as certain connections came together in her head. Otherwise, the room became deathly silent as Snape suddenly halted, froze for a few seconds, and then slowly turned back to face his old rival. When he did, James suddenly became uneasy. He'd expected Snape's face to show either sneering contempt or spitting anger. But instead, Snape actually _smiled_ at him, and his eyes practically danced as if he felt ... _victorious_?

"Very well, Lord Potter. I had hoped to spare your _illustrious House_ further public embarrassment, but _if you insist_." He threw the book to the former Quidditch star who caught it easily. "_**Occlumency: A Beginner's Guide**_, whose author identifies himself only as _Mr. Nemo."_

James, who had started flipping through the small book, looked up suddenly and then over at his abashed son.

"Jim!" exclaimed Lily. "You know we said you weren't ready for Occlumency training!"

"Son," said James, "going behind our back is no way to prove that you're mature enough for something like this. I'm very disappointed in you."

Snape barked out a laugh, startling everyone in the room, most of whom thought the man incapable of such expression. "As usual, Potter, you make everything about your own puerile feelings and _miss what's important_! '_Nemo_' is the Latin word for '_nobody_!' An appropriate pseudonym, don't you agree, for the man _you_ probably know better as _Augustus Rookwood_!"

James's face went ashen, while several of the older students suddenly looked over at Jim in shock.

"Yes," Snape continued relentlessly. "_That_ Augustus Rookwood! The former _Unspeakable_ who now rots in Azkbaban having betrayed his most sacred oaths in exchange for a place as _one of the Dark Lord's most trusted lieutenants!_" Snape actually laughed again at the look on James's horrified expression which matched that of his son. "Your precious offspring, the world-renowned _Boy-Who-Lived_, has been teaching himself Occlumency _out of a Death Eater training manual!_"

James was speechless for several seconds before he was finally able to address his son. "Jim... is ... is this ... true?!"

Jim Potter blinked several times and licked his lips. "I want to talk to my lawyer."

* * *

**HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO ALL MY LOYAL READERS!  
**

**The next chapter will be posted on Friday, _January 8_, 2016. "Meet Peter Pettigrew," in which Jim's lovable uncle comes to Hogwarts to counsel his wayward godson, annoy Severus Snape, and make Harry Potter an offer he may not be able to refuse.  
**

**AN 1: This is not the start of Drarry. This is not even the start of Draco and Harry being friends. This is, perhaps, the start of Draco and Harry being ... frenemies.**

**AN 2: Before people flip out about "oh God, _another_ prophecy about Harry," what Dobby said wasn't a _new_ prophecy. Rather, it reflects Dobby's skewed comprehension of Harry's possible role in the Cassandra Trelawney prophecy from the 18th century, the one that hasn't been revealed in its entirety yet. It's something Dobby is only peripherally aware of and can't fully understand because, well, he's not quite _wild_ enough, and hopefully never will be because you don't come back from that. The important bit here is that Draco knows something weirdly prophetic about Harry and is trying to figure out how to leverage it without running afoul of house elves (about which he is now likely quite paranoid - and with good reason:)).**


	62. HP&TSE 28 - Meet Peter Pettigrew

**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY  
**

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

**UPDATED on January 14, 2016. See AN below.**

* * *

**CHAPTER 28: Meet Peter Pettigrew  
**

_**8 November 1992  
9:00 a.m.**_

Harry sat patiently while Poppy Pomfrey waved her wand over his head to perform a final diagnosis before his discharge.

"Well, Mr. Potter. Everything seems to be perfectly alright. That said, the brain is a tricky thing. I am 99.99% certain you are completely well, _but _it is still possible that you have suffered some sort of brain injury too subtle to show up in my diagnostic scans. If there is any damage at all, it will be to your temporal lobe, in that portion of your brain that handles speech and communication. Damage to that area sometimes results in communicative disorders, so if you find at any point that you are unable to understand something that someone else says, if you notice you are unable to remember words that you understood before yesterday, if you unintentionally substitute words in a random manner, or if you notice any other problems with communication, come see me immediately and we'll get you sent off to St. Mungo's for a more thorough examination and treatment regimen. However, that looks to be very, very unlikely based on what I've seen, so I see no reason not to release you at this time."

"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey," Harry said. "Um, do I have any school clothes here?" His Quidditch uniform was gone, replaced by plain pajamas.

"Ah, yes. Your friends Mr. Zabini and Mr. Nott brought some of your school clothes last night. They're on the chair next to your bed. Oh, I almost forgot. Your glasses didn't survive the Bludger, I'm afraid. Too damaged even for a Reparo spell. So, I took the liberty of contacting Healer Tonks in Hogsmeade, and he sent you a new pair. They're on the night stand."

Harry turned and picked up the glasses. They were of the same style he'd been wearing since his first day in Diagon Alley – circular lenses with wire frames, just like his father and brother wore. James had bought him a new pair to replace the awful ones Petunia Dursley had gotten for him out of a bin for donated glasses. Harry suddenly considered how acquiring glasses like these represented a part of his initiation into the House of Potter."_I wonder if Ted could send me a catalog so I can look for some different frames. It's high time I stop following their lead._"

The boy had just finished getting dressed when he heard a familiar voice call his name. It was Hermione, and as he peered around the curtain, he was pleased to see Neville with her.

"Hermione! Neville! What brings my two favorite Gryffindors here? I was just about to leave for breakfast. I haven't eaten solid food since yesterday morning." Then, he noticed their serious expressions. "Uh-oh. I know that look. What's happened?"

"We thought we'd best come in and walk you to breakfast," said Neville. "And on the way, we'd fill you in on the insanity that hit Gryffindor Tower this morning."

"Oh, good grief. What now?" asked Harry.

"You may have forgotten," Hermione said, "but no one has turned in Jim's missing invisibility cloak, so today was the day the castle was to be searched." He hadn't forgotten – the only questionable materials he owned were two slightly controversial Occlumency books and a pensieve of mysterious provenance, all of which he'd sealed away in the Lair. "And for reasons which defy all _sanity and sense_, the Gryffindor male dorms were searched by Professor Snape and your father."

Harry stared at Hermione as if she'd just said the moon was on fire. "Whose stupid idea was that?" he exclaimed.

Neville responded. "Apparently, Snape insisted on being the one to search Gryffindor Tower because he's convinced that Jim still has the cloak but hid it in order to get you into trouble. When your father heard that, he pitched a fit and insisted on following Snape around to make sure he didn't plant contraband among Jim's things. He needn't have bothered. Jim was apparently capable of leaving his own contraband around to find."

"What was it? More dungbombs?" Harry said with a chuckle.

"I'm afraid it was a bit more serious than that, Harry," said Hermione. "Somehow, Jim got hold of a book that he was using to teach himself Occlumency. Unfortunately for him, Professor Snape recognized it. It was the book that was used to teach Occlumency _to You-Know-Who's Death Eaters_!_" _

Harry stared at his friends in astonishment for several seconds while he waited on the punchline to their joke before finally realizing that there wasn't one.

"Did ... did I get _all_ the common sense when Jim and I were born?! Where did he even _find_ this book?"

"We don't know," she continued. "Once Jim was informed of the book's true nature, he shut up and said he wouldn't say anything until he talked to someone named Peter Pettigrew. His lawyer, apparently."

"The Potter Family solicitor, actually," replied Harry. "He's also Jim's godfather. I've never liked him. He seems ... sketchy."

"Gram said the same thing after your birthday party," said Neville. "Well, she didn't actually say '_sketchy_.' As I recall, she said she didn't think he was _'bona fide_' and that something about him made her want to keep her wand at the ready. Anyway, when Jim said that he'd only talk to this Pettigrew bloke, your parents both hit the roof. We just wanted you to know what happened before you got some garbled account from the rumor mill later. I'm sure the Hufflepuffs will be certain Jim's a budding Dark Lord by suppertime."

Harry laughed at that, but Hermione chided him.

"This is serious, Harry. From what little we overheard from Professor Snape – who, I must say, seemed _delighted_ to reveal all of this in front of the _entire_ _Gryffindor House!_ – it's likely that this book is responsible for a lot of Jim's behavior. It teaches you Occlumency, and rather quickly, it seems, but in the process, it reorders your thinking processes to make you more violent and less able to feel positive emotions like compassion or empathy. It's a big part of why You-Know-Who seemed to have an endless supply of deranged cannon fodder troops who would massacre a whole family of Muggles just for sport! Thank goodness Jim was found out before he went completely mental!"

Harry nodded. Privately, he suspected that the mysterious book's impact on Jim probably wasn't as great as Hermione had feared. Most likely, it had just taught him new and innovative ways to be a Git.

"Alright. That's enough about Jim. I'm sure the teachers here will get to the bottom of it and Dumbledore will get him whatever help he needs. In the meantime, I'm _starving_. So let's go grab some breakfast. Then, we'll catch up to Theo and Blaise, and you can fill me in on how things went with Hagrid."

The two Gryffindors nodded. After all, they did have a lot to discuss beyond Jim's current woes.

* * *

_**Meanwhile in the Headmaster's Office**_

The Headmaster's fireplace erupted into a brilliant green bonfire before an oddly dressed Peter Pettigrew stepped through into the office. Straightening up, the solicitor brushed Floo ash off his tweed jacket and the rather loud argyle sweater vest worn beneath it. His trousers (in a different tweed pattern) were buckled just below the knee to reveal knee-high argyle socks that matched his sweater vest. His shoes made a clattering sound on the stone floor due to metallic cleats on the soles, and a riding cap in a third tweed pattern rested on his head.

"I do apologize for my attire, Headmaster," Peter said, "but I was just about to apparate up to Edinburgh for my weekly back nine at Muirfield when I got James's message."

The other witches and wizards present stared at the man in total confusion before Lily finally spoke up. "Golf. It's a Muggle sport. The course at Muirfield is rather prestigious, as I recall."

"Ah, of course. Golf!" exclaimed Dumbledore almost merrily. "Alastor Moody once mentioned it to me as the only leisure activity he actually found relaxing." There was an audible grumble from Snape in the background.

"You should try it, Albus," said Pettigrew amiably. "It's the easiest game in the world to play. You just hit a tiny ball with a long thin cudgel, and then you shout profanity as loudly as you can whenever it doesn't go exactly where you intended. '_A good walk spoiled_' as the Muggle Gladstone once described it. But enough chit-chat. James rather excitedly said that you all needed me to give Jim some sort of talking to. So, I'd appreciate it if someone were to tell me what's going on with my godson."

And so James did with much swearing. Peter interrupted him with only a few questions, and his face never deviated from a state of placid calm. Snape studied the man carefully and cautiously but said nothing. Inwardly, he was intrigued. He'd barely interacted with Pettigrew at all in the fifteen years or so since graduation. The fact that the least prominent and capable of the Marauders had obtained a Law Mastery was surprising but not outrageous. The fact that Pettigrew had also become an Occlumens and a rather good one was, Snape thought, far more astonishing.

"Right, first things first," Pettigrew said. "Albus, might I trouble you for a quill, some ink and a piece of parchment." The Headmaster provided the requested items, and Peter quickly began drafting a short legal document, idly humming a tune as he went. Lily was pretty sure it was an old Rolling Stones tune, but she didn't remember which one. Unlike James, Peter had apparently _not_ forgotten that summer in 1976 when Sirius convinced the other Marauders to "_go Muggle_" for a month. After a minute or so, Peter set the quill aside and blew on the document to dry it before handing it to James.

"This is a release for you and Lily to sign acknowledging that in this specific matter I am acting as Jim's legal representative exclusively, that my primary duty while representing Jim is to protect his interests, and that anything he says to me will be privileged and not something I can reveal to anyone else save by Jim's consent. Not even to you and Lily."

James suddenly looked angry, but Peter merely smiled. "You may recall, James, that I am also Jim's godfather, a role I take _very_ _seriously_."

"I know that, Peter," Lord Potter said through gritted teeth, "but as your friend _and_ your employer, I think I'm entitled to know what my son's been up to _especially_ when he's accused of possible crimes relating to _You-Know-Who_!"

"I understand your position perfectly well, James," said Peter sagely. "If you are unhappy with signing this release, I will be more than happy to proceed without it. Just let me pop back to the office for a few hours so I can draft papers withdrawing as your solicitor, your Steward, and your Wizengamot Proxy, and then I can come back here and represent Jim on a pro bono basis."

"Dammit, Peter!"

"_As I said_, James," Pettigrew interrupted firmly, "I take my role as godfather _very seriously_."

James's face twisted into an angry mask for a few seconds before he surrendered. "_Fine_, Peter. Just give me the damned parchment to sign and then go talk some sense into my son."

Peter smiled happily as both Potters signed the release. Then, he turned to Dumbledore. "And now that that's settled, Albus, I should be very grateful if you could provide a room in which to meet with my client. Specifically, a room without any portraits in it. A broom cupboard or disused lavatory will suffice if there aren't any other rooms that meet that requirement."

McGonagall stiffened angrily at Pettigrew's insinuation, but Dumbledore merely chuckled. "As I recall, Peter, we _do_ have a few private meeting rooms near the entrance to the dungeon set aside for just such privacy. The Slytherin alumni have been rather insistent about there being no portraits in those rooms since, well, since approximately the War of the Roses, I should think."

Pettigrew laughed cheerfully. "Why am I not surprised? Here's to our Slytherin friends and their endless but occasionally useful paranoia." He actually had the temerity to wink at Snape when he said that, which only made the Potions Master growl even louder.

* * *

_**The "Meeting Room"  
9:30 a.m.**_

Jim was already waiting nervously in the room Dumbledore had set aside for his meeting with Pettigrew when the solicitor finally arrived.

"Na-ah!" Pettigrew exclaimed, holding up a hand to silence his godson before Jim could say a word. Then, he spent nearly a minute casting privacy and detection charms before putting his wand away and holding out his arms for the impatient boy. Jim practically ran into his godfather's embrace and immediately began sobbing.

"I'm ... s-so sorry, Uncle Pete. S'all my fault!" Then, the distraught boy began to weep into Peter's chest.

"Shh, stop that, Sport. You stop that this instant. It was _my _fool mistake, giving you that book without working harder to ensure its safety. You're not to blame when the people meant to protect you let you down." Peter stepped back. "Now, let me take a good look at you. How are you feeling? Has that blasted book harmed you at all?"

Jim took a deep breath and wiped his nose with his sleeve. "I don't think so. At least, not much. I've..." He looked away for a second in shame. "I've been taking lots of potions for headaches and upset stomachs, so there's that." Then, he looked back up at Pettigrew timidly. "And a lot of Calming Draughts. The book said that I should suppress my anger until I was ready to let it out. But that just made me feel angry all the time. Maybe I read it wrong."

"Hmph. Or maybe that's what the book was _supposed_ to do." Peter said tiredly. "Keep you angry so that you couldn't think straight and then ... corrupt you." He blinked his eyes repeatedly and then made a show of wiping them with a handkerchief. "And I tell you once again," he said, choking back a sob, "how sorry I am that I ever laid eyes on it. Whatever it takes, I'll make it up to you." The two hugged once more before Peter got hold of his emotions. "But right now, we need to put that aside. Forget what's in the past, Sport. We need to start looking forward now and find you a way out of this mess."

Jim was silent for a few seconds. "What's going to happen to me, Uncle Pete?" he said quietly. "Will ... will I be ... expelled?"

Peter sighed. "I won't lie to you, Sport. Snape's pushing for it. He say's you're '_a danger to yourself and others_.'" Jim made a face at the mention of Snape's name. "Of course, his personal biases are grounds for ignoring his input, but a bigger problem is McGonagall. She's been unhappy with you for a while. I think she regrets letting your Dad and the rest of us Marauders get away with too much back in our school days, and she's overcompensating now." Peter hesitated. "I _think_ I've got Dumbledore talked out of expulsion or suspension, but I'm pretty sure it will be conditional on you getting regular counseling of some sort."

"Honestly, I don't have any problems with seeing a counselor or a mind healer or something like that. I _want_ to. I've ... I've been kinda worried for the last week or so. Ever since ... that thing with Harry." Jim ran his fingers through his messy Potter hair as he thought back to his assault on his twin brother. "I know it was wrong. Not just wrong. It was ... horrible. But at the time, it just felt so..." He paused and looked away, unwilling to face his godfather.

"It felt so ... what?" Peter said kindly.

"Good. It felt ... good to let out all that anger." Jim turned back around, his face a mask of anguish. "But ... when it was over and I ... came back down ... I felt just sick. And then, I got so scared because ..." There was a sudden shudder in his voice. "Because I think if somebody hadn't pulled me off of Harry in time, I might have killed him." He shook his head. "Maybe I should just let them expel me. Maybe I am a danger to others."

"That is _nonsense_! Now you listen to me, Jim Potter! I have known you your entire life, and I will never accept the idea of you being a danger to yourself or anyone else. Well, at least not anyone who doesn't deserve it like You-Know-Who! You are idolized by the wizarding world for _a reason_. Now that doesn't mean that you won't face adversity or make mistakes. We all do. But I _know_ you can overcome them. Just as I _know_ you are meant for _greatness_." Pettigrew clapped his hand on the boy's shoulder and squeezed as Jim relaxed and smiled at the praise, even though his eyes were still wet.

"Thanks, Uncle Pete," he said.

"Good. So, now that you're out of your _funk_," Peter said with a smile, "we need to start brainstorming for what to do next. As your godfather and solicitor, my immediate recommendation is total honesty. Let's just go back to Dumbledore, tell him that I foolishly gave you the book as a birthday present, and you've only been using it since then. I'll take full responsibility for your possession of it, and after that, I'm sure he'll be amenable to letting you off with a warning and some counseling."

"_What_!?" Jim exclaimed. "No, no, wait just _a second!_ What happens to _you_ if we do that?"

"That's not important, Jim."

"IT IS TO ME!" the boy shouted suddenly, his eyes flashing. "You're ... you're the only grown-up who's _really_ been there for me the way I needed them to. Hell, aside from _Ron_, you're the only person in the world I trust completely. So tell me what's going to happen to _you _if we tell anyone that you gave me the book!"

Pettigrew sighed and looked down at the floor before speaking. "Best case scenario: Your parents are completely furious with me and cut me off from you, at least for a while. _Worst_ case scenario: They have me prosecuted for giving a dark artifact to a minor. Disbarment plus three to five in Azkaban." Jim's face went white. "But I'm sure it won't come to that. James will forgive me ... in time."

"We can't take that chance. No, I'm not telling Dumbledore _anything_ if there's a chance that I could lose you, and certainly not if you might get sent to Azkaban just for trying to help me!"

"Jim, I'm a Gryffindor like you. We do what's right, not what's easy, remember?"

"Yeah, but sometimes, what's _right_ isn't obvious! _I_ was the one who begged _you_ for Occlumency training. And it was the _right thing to do!_ It still is, even if we weren't smart in how we went about it. You shouldn't get punished because of that!"

"Jim, why is it so important that you learn Occlumency? And so especially important that you conceal it from Lily and James?"

Jim hesitated. "How good is _your_ Occlumency? If I tell you a secret can you keep it no matter what?"

"I'm bound by Solicitor's Oath now, Sport, and I even got your mum and dad to sign a waiver acknowledging you as my primary client. Whatever we say in this room, there's no power in the wizarding world that can force it out of me without your consent." Which was not _completely_ true, but close enough to not be a lie. "Now, what's so important that you need such secrecy?"

Jim sat down in a chair and stared into the nearby fireplace, as if drawing strength from the flames to unburden himself. "What do you know about prophecies? Specifically, prophecies about _me_?"

"What do you mean?" Peter said very softly.

Jim continued to stare into the fire. There was a tremor in his voice when he spoke. "Voldemort's not dead. And before long, he'll be coming after me."

Pettigrew was silent for a moment. Then, he moved over and took a seat opposite his godson. "Jim, Sport ... tell me everything," he said in his most serious voice.

And the boy did. He talked about his encounter with Voldemort the previous May, when the Dark Lord freely admitted that Severus Snape had brought him the first few lines of the Prophecy. And then, about how he overheard his parents arguing about the rest of the Prophecy which they knew but had concealed from him. That he didn't know the exact words, but that he supposedly had some "power the Dark Lord knew not" and that the two of them were destined to have a final confrontation from which only one would survive.

Pettigrew was silent until a nervous Jim finally looked up into his and was shocked to see that his godfather was almost crying. And yet, he wore a smile on his face, one showing pride in his young godson.

"Oh, Jim. My poor, brave soldier. To think you've had to shoulder this burden by yourself all these months. No wonder you've struggled with all these issues, feeling alone as you must have. And you were _right_. You _must _have Occlumency training! I understand that now. I understand, Jim, and I _promise_ that I will never leave your side. Not until your conflict with You-Know-Who is _ended._"

Jim smiled back at his godfather and ducked his head bashfully at Pettigrew's words. After the last few weeks, it felt good to be reminded that there was someone reliable in his corner. "So what do we do? Can we get away with just, I dunno, _lying_ about where I found the book?"

"Not easily, Sport. Even if Dumbledore doesn't insist on viewing your memories of where the book came from, there's every chance that Snape might try to legilimize you illegally. To be certain of concealing my involvement, we'd need to ..." Pettigrew stopped in mid-sentence and then closed his mouth.

"What?"

"Nothing. It's too risky. Forget I said anything."

"Uncle Pete!" said Jim urgently. "We're way past _risky_. Now _tell me._"

Pettigrew sighed and rubbed the back of his head. "Jim, how familiar are you with ... Memory Charms?"

* * *

_**The Hogwarts Library  
10:30 a.m**_

"Twelve OWLs. _Eight _NEWTs, all Outstanding. Head Boy. An award for '_Special Services to the School._' This Tom Riddle character seems to have had it all." Harry had been reading from the Hogwarts Rolls for 1945 while Hermione, Neville, Blaise and Theo sat around their usual table.

"_Not to mention," _he thought to himself_, "Prince of Slytherin during his last two years despite the handicap of falling somewhere between Muggle-born and Half-Blood __and__ growing up without parents in a Depression-era Muggle orphanage."_

"So why have we never heard of him before now," asked Neville. "With grades like that, you'd expect him to be a Minister of Magic or something."

"Oh hardly," said Blaise with a wave of his hand. "The Ministers of Magic have pretty much been a string of mediocrities for the last century at least. The Wizengamot has generally managed to keep all the actually clever and competent people out of that position rather than risk the Ancient and Noble Houses losing power. Ironically, the most competent one might well have been Hagrid's friend Nobby Leach, the first and so far only Muggle-born Minister for Magic ... well, until his tragic and not-at-all-mysterious death from an '_undisclosed illness._' All that aside, I agree that someone with this kind of academic record should have made a splash somewhere, but I couldn't find _anything _out about Tom Riddle after his graduation."

Harry nodded and privately resolved to ask the Hydra later that evening. "Let's set that aside for now. What have we learned from the ghost of Myrtle Warren?"

"Surprisingly little," said Hermione. "Susan, Padma and I went to see her last night after supper. All we could get out of her was that on the night she died she'd been hiding in the girls' lavatory because someone named Olive Hornsby had been teasing her. She remembered hearing a boy's voice and a grinding sound, followed by some kind of hissing noise. Then, she came out of the stall... and died. Also something about '_big yellow eyes.'_ On the whole, it was not a helpful interview."

Harry thought for a moment and scratched his head. Then, annoyed with himself, he carefully patted his hair back into place. "What about the other petrification victims? They were all eventually de-petrified. What did they remember about how they got that way?" Everyone looked thoughtful, as it was not a question any of them had considered.

"Can we get into touch with them?" asked Neville. "I know Nobby Leach died back in the 50's. What about the rest?"

Unfortunately, a review of the names Hagrid provided for the other petrified Muggle-born students revealed that all of them had died under tragic circumstances prior to 1960, a fact that Harry found _highly_ suspicious. But before he could comment on the fact, Harry noticed an unexpected visitor to the Library: James Potter, who was looking over at him expectantly. Excusing himself from his friends, Harry walked over to where his father waited by the door.

"Can I help you with something?" he asked amiably.

James sighed. "Harry, I know I'm not supposed to be around you unless Snape is here, but ... well, I wanted to know how you were and ... frankly, now is not a good time for Snape and I to be in the same room together. Can we just ... talk for two minutes without getting lawyers involved?

"I suppose so," said Harry guardedly. "Depending on the topics, of course."

"So ... how are you? No lingering effects from that Bludger? I took a few in my day. I remember what they feel like."

Harry stared for just a few minutes as if searching for some hidden meaning behind the question. "I'm fine. No lasting effects. Madame Pomfrey does good work."

"That she does. That she does. And I want you to know that we're still investigating who was responsible for this attack and the earlier ones. We'll get whoever is responsible."

"Glad to hear it," Harry replied tersely.

James swallowed. "Your flying was incredible. Reminds me of ... me from back during my school days."

"Well, I'm sure that's where I get it from," Harry said as he tried and failed to keep any frostiness out of his voice. _"I mean it has to be genetic because you certainly never __taught__ me to fly a broom,"_ he thought briefly before clamping down with his Occlumency. There was nothing to be gained from being openly bitter to the man's face. At least, not at the moment.

"I'm ... sorry Lily and I didn't get to see you while you were in the Infirmary," the boy's father continued. "Madame Pomfrey had already put you under before we could make it up there."

"That's alright. I quite understand," said Harry who knew that the Potters had nearly forty minutes to reach the Infirmary before the mediwitch gave him the Sleeping Potion that put him under. "Any luck finding the cloak? I, uh, heard about what happened with Jim. Bad business, that."

"Yes," James said after an embarrassed cough. "Very bad. Anyway, the other professors completed a search while your mother and I went to the Headmaster's Office to talk about ... all that. Apparently, there's no sign of the cloak anywhere in the castle."

"I wasn't there when the Slytherin dungeons were searched. I hope nothing ... inappropriate was found."

"No, no," James answered quickly as if to reassure Harry. "As far as I've been told, you and your House were perfectly clean."

"That's good to know," Harry replied blandly, while trying to figure out how to get out of this deeply uncomfortable situation. It was bizarre to Harry that he found his conversation with _Voldemort_ from the previous May to be less awkward than the current one with his own father. Mercifully, the Head Girl entered the Library just then to inform James that he was wanted back in the Headmaster's Office. He turned back to Harry.

"Well, I need to head off. Apparently, Peter's finally gotten some answers about what Jim's been up to."

"I quite understand," Harry said once again. "Priorities and all that."

James paused, unsure of whether Harry was being sarcastic or not. Then, he nodded his head and left the Library. Harry returned to his friends.

"You alright?" asked Neville.

"Of course," Harry replied calmly. "Why wouldn't I be? Now, back to business. Were there any teachers here in 1943 who are still on staff today?"

* * *

_**The Headmaster's Office  
11:15 a.m.**_

"Borgin &amp; Burkes?! That's where he got the book?!" James exclaimed angrily. After almost two hours spent with Jim in the meeting room, Peter had returned to the Headmaster's office to inform the Potters and Dumbledore of what he'd learned.

"Yes," Peter said easily. "As you know, James, there was a Floo mishap on the day that Jim went to Diagon Alley to pick up his school supplies, and by happenstance, he was kicked out of the fireplace at Borgin &amp; Burkes. Almost immediately, Lucius Malfoy and his precocious little tyke showed up, and Jim was forced to hide to avoid discovery."

"I know all that," Potter said irritably.

"Naturally, but I wanted to be sure the Headmaster and the professors were up to speed. Anyway, what you obviously _did not_ know was that before Jim managed to escape Borgin &amp; Burkes, he noticed a small book on a shelf with a tag identifying it as a rare Occlumency text book. As he has had a very strong interest in learning that art, he succumbed to temptation and pinched it."

Snape snorted. "Shoplifting from Knockturn Alley. Such a fine example the boy's setting for his peers."

"That will do, Severus," said Dumbledore. "Peter, has Jim explained to you what's behind his sudden and intense interest in Occlumency?"

"Oh yes." The solicitor replied easily. "Originally, it was because he'd learned that there was a True Prophecy about him and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and you said you wouldn't reveal its contents to him in its entirety until he was able to defend his memories."

"Originally?"

"Yes..." Pettigrew hesitated. "No offense to the esteemed professors, but are Minerva and Severus aware of the full Prophecy? If not, it might be advisable for them to step outside for a while."

"Peter, surely you don't expect us to reveal the Prophecy to you just because you're Jim's legal adviser?"

"Oh that ship's already sailed, Albus. I know what Jim has already told me, and he learned most of the Prophecy last summer."

"WHAT?!" James bellowed.

"Really, James, if you and Lily were so bent on keeping the information from the boy, it would have behooved you to have not gotten into a shouting match about the topic over the kitchen table on his first night back."

Snape rolled his eyes contemptuously but refrained from commenting. Lily pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. "He's known ... since _May!_ No wonder he's acted the way he has. The physical training. The extra tutoring with an emphasis on defense. And, of course, a strong interest in Occlumency. But why didn't he tell us?"

Peter took a deep breath as if he didn't want to upset the Potters. "Because ... he was afraid that you might have him Obliviated." James and Lily both gasped at the insinuation. "He believed that you might have at least considered that option rather than allow him to retain such dangerous knowledge. After what happened between him and You-Know-Who last year, he is utterly terrified of endangering his friends by acting out of ignorance again, but at the same time, he's equally terrified of someone reading what he knows of the Prophecy in his thoughts and delivering that information to You-Know-Who. Hence, Occlumency. And when he basically tripped over what appeared at first glance to simply be a standard Occlumency primer, it must have seemed like Providence."

By that point, Snape was beginning to feel nauseous. "Do you require my presence any further, Headmaster? I imagine Lord Potter won't want me here for any detailed discussion of the Prophecy. And since I can see how this is all going to play out, I have no desire to waste any more time waiting on the denouement."

"And what is that supposed to mean, Snape?" said James in annoyance.

"It means that you've finally constructed a plausible interpretation of events which allows the Golden Child to pretend he's been a hero, albeit a _'misguided one,' _this whole time. And moreover, an interpretation which also conveniently omits the fact that he's a thief and a violent thug who was on his way to becoming a psychopath when _'the Greasy Dungeon Bat'_ intervened to save him from himself."

"Spare me your sanctimony, Sni... Snape. Your hatred for my son has been obvious since his first day at school."

"No more obvious, Potter, than your own hatred for your _other _son. Or did you think your feeble efforts at rapprochement were fooling _anyone_?"

"Enough!" said Dumbledore forcefully. "We are not here to talk about Harry."

"Of course not," spat Snape. "Preserving both the reputation and tender feelings of the Boy-Who-Lived is paramount. Harry's just the one _someone is trying to kill!_"

A silence fell on the room. Jim and Lily looked abashed, while Peter studied his fingernails as if debating whether it was time for a manicure.

"Severus," Dumbledore said tiredly. "We _know_ Harry's life is in danger, although we have no way of determining who is responsible or why he is being targeted or indeed anything other than the fact that a rogue house elf is somehow being used as an assassin. As soon as we've resolved this issue with Jim, James and I will move on to the question of what protections can be afforded Harry and how the investigation into the attacks against him should be pursued."

"And will anyone _else_ from the Auror Corps be privy to that conversation? Since, after all, Lord Potter has a rather obvious conflict of interest?"

"You think it's _me?_" said James in amazement. "You think _I'm_ trying to kill Harry?"

"Of course not, that would be silly of me," Snape replied silkily. "It's not as though you've treated the boy appallingly since he was a year old and more recently have publicly stated a desire to replace him as Heir with your other son, the Death Eater trainee. I can't _imagine_ what I was thinking."

James shot up out of his chair, but before he could act, Dumbledore actually fired off a firecracker from his wand to get everyone's attention. "Enough, both of you. For now, I think Peter might have the right idea. We will need to discuss the Prophecy and what young Jim knows about it before we can attend to anything else. Severus, Minerva, perhaps it would be a good idea if you stepped out. I'll send for you if I need you."

With a sneer, Snape departed, followed by McGonagall. Once outside, she called out to the Potions Master.

"Severus, would you perhaps be interested in coming by my office. I could use a cup of tea. And some conversation."

"I doubt I would be a good conversationalist at the moment, Deputy Headmistress."

"I think that might depend on the topic. I think you might have much to say about ... the propriety of James Potter leading the investigation into these attacks on Harry. Perhaps you and I could explore ... some alternative approaches."

Snape stopped and considered his fellow professor. "You would ... explore such _alternative approaches_ behind the Headmaster's back?"

"I believe the Headmaster is genuinely concerned for young Harry. But I also believe that Jim Potter's status as the Boy-Who-Lived and the role he will inevitably play in the fight against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named sometimes blind him to his duties as Headmaster for _all_ of Hogwarts' students. Much as the fight against Voldemort blinded him ... and _me_ to the need for fairness to all our students when you were a student here."

Snape sighed. "I forgave you for that years ago, Minerva." Then, he smirked. "Mind you, I did notice your failure to carry out your threat to turn James into a mouse and feed him to Mrs. Norris after he called me _Snivellus_ this morning."

She scoffed. "Well, _obviously_, I wouldn't have done it _in front of everybody!_ Besides, Mrs. Norris is indisposed at the moment."

He chuckled darkly as the two made their way to her office.

* * *

_**The "Meeting Room"  
4:00 p.m.**_

_Harry Potter,_

_I would be extremely grateful if you would do me the courtesy of meeting with me for a brief exchange of ideas in the Small Conference Room on the 1__st__ Floor just to the left of the entrance to the Slytherin dungeons. I give you my Solicitor's Oath that I will work no ill upon you nor perform any magic against you without your express consent during our meeting. I await you at four o'clock._

_Sincerely,_

_Peter Pettigrew, Esq._

Harry stopped to reread the note that one of the Gryffindors had delivered to him in the Library. He was reasonably confident that Pettigrew's oath (even if casually given in a note like this) would prevent him from any harmful action, but he was still cautious. And so he'd informed both Neville and Blaise of his meeting and told them to send the cavalry if he didn't contact them by 4:30 and to check him thoroughly for "weird behavior" even after. Thus prepared, Harry opened the door and stepped into the room where Pettigrew was sitting on the opposite side of a small table still in his golf tweeds. There was a empty chair across from the solicitor waiting for him.

"Ah, Harry. Thank you so much for coming. And for being so punctual as well! A rare and valuable character trait that will serve you well as you grow older."

"You wished to see me, Mr. Pettigrew."

"Oh please, call me Peter. We're practically family even if you've been regrettably estranged for far too long."

Harry nodded guardedly and walked to the table. Immediately, he noticed that Pettigrew's wand was sitting on the table at a 45-degree angle with the tip pointed away from him.

"I asked you here, Harry," the man said, "to present to you what we in the Magical Lawyering trade refer to as a _Confidential Offer_. If you agree to hear what I have to say, then you will be not be able to repeat it to anyone save your own oathbound solicitors, who themselves will be bound not to reveal it to anyone else. This is a common practice in wizarding legal services. In fact, as a concept, it is quite common in _Muggle_ legal affairs though, of course, their confidential offers aren't protected by magic. It's a useful technique when two opposing sides realize that they both have much to lose from continued disagreement and so both seek out what's called a _negotiated settlement._"

"Why aren't James and Lily here?" Harry said.

"Because frankly, there's no need for them to be here or even to know about this meeting. I'm not just the Potters' solicitor, Harry. I'm also their Steward and Proxy. That gives me both the power and the obligation to handle affairs that are best left outside the standard purview of a Wizengamot Lord and his Lady. I'm sure you understand."

Harry nodded. "You make sure James's hands stay clean."

Peter nodded. "Crudely put, but essentially accurate. With that in mind, if you'd like to hear what I have to say – with no obligations on your part save discretion, I assure you – simply place your wand across mine."

Harry studied Pettigrew for several seconds trying to appraise the other man. Then, with a casual flick of his wrist, he popped his wand and laid it perpendicular across Pettigrew's before taking the seat opposite from him. Pettigrew smiled with what most people would have described as warmth and charm. The word Harry would have used was _predatory_. For his own part, Harry immediately felt a faint trace of magic very similar to a secrecy oath the second his wand touched the other wizard's but otherwise nothing unexpected happened.

"Thank you for indulging me, Harry. Now before I get to the actual offer, I want to make one thing perfectly clear: Your father _loves _you. I know you think that's impossible in light of the awful life his choices have forced upon you, but I promise you that it's true. If things had played out differently, I truly believe James would be thrilled to have you as his Heir, even in place of Jim. Indeed, it might be to the benefit of the Boy-Who-Lived to have an older brother who could look after family affairs and free him up to pursue his destiny."

"You know," said Harry, "I said nearly the _exact same thing_ on the first day I met Jim. Before I got Sorted and the whole family turned against me."

"Yes, well, as we both know, things _did not_ play out differently. You were Sorted into Slytherin. And James is very, _very_ against the idea of a Slytherin becoming Lord Potter. To the point of it being non-negotiable, I'm afraid."

"Well, I don't presume to know as much about the law as you, Mr. Pettigrew..."

"_Peter_, please."

Harry paused for a second. "Honestly, I think I prefer '_Mr. Pettigrew_.' Keeps things at arm's length. Anyway, from what meager studies I've made ... I don't see that there's very much James _can_ do about my eventually becoming Lord Potter."

Peter smiled indulgently. "Well, _Harry_, there is one thing he can do: _live_. After all, James was only twenty when you were born. Barring illness, accident and the odd Death Eater attack, James can conceivably live for well over a century or more before you might even have a chance to inherit his estate. And in the meantime, well, he's obligated to see to your education, but not necessarily here at Hogwarts. You know, a Half-Blood like yourself might find things a bit more _challenging _at Durmstrang."

Harry was silent, and so Pettigrew continued.

"Not to mention the authority he's allowed to exercise over your marital choices. For example, James is completely within his rights to sign you up to a marriage contract that's beneficial to the family ... even if your partner is, say, twenty years older than you and of a decidedly disagreeable disposition. Now to be honest, neither of those options are on the table ... yet. But you'll be fifteen before we know it, and as your transition to Heir Apparent draws near, I suspect he'll be a good bit more desperate. Not to mention, a good bit more ... amenable to advice from me that he wouldn't be ready for today."

"Undoubtedly," said Harry with only a little tightness in his voice. "But I believe you described this as a Confidential Settlement Offer, not a Confidential Threaten Harry Session. I haven't heard any offers yet."

"Straight and to the point. I like that. If you become Heir Apparent, the Potter Family Trust is obligated to pay you a bare minimum monthly stipend roughly equivalent in today's money to the salary of a junior Ministry clerk in a mid-level department. You won't starve, and if you also have gainful employment, you'll live quite comfortably, if not in luxury. But you won't be able to touch the bulk of the estate while James is alive, which in light of your respective ages, will likely be most of _your_ life. As an alternative to a lifetime of middle class drudgery and strife followed by a decade or two of wealth when you're too old to enjoy it, I offer you the following: a lump sum payment of 2 million galleons, plus the deed to any one Potter estate of your choice other than Potter Manor, plus an ironclad guarantee that James will pay for whatever education you choose and that he will not interfere in your marital choices. In exchange, all you have to do is decline the status of Heir Apparent and disclaim the Potter Wizengamot Seat."

Harry was silent for several seconds. "It's an ... interesting offer, Mr. Pettigrew. But I'm curious. If I disclaim the Potter Seat, what happens to it if my dear brother Jim _isn't _around to claim it. I mean, being the Boy-Who-Lived is a pretty stressful and fairly dangerous job from what I've seen. _Anything_ could happen to him before he graduates. Well, _if_ he graduates. I mean, my little brother isn't even halfway through his Second Year, and there's already talk of _expulsion_. Maybe _he's _the one you should be looking at transferring to Durmstrang. _In fact_, once the Hogwarts parents find out about his experiences with the Death Eater training regimen, he may be forced to leave even before he's expelled."

Pettigrew scowled for barely a second before relaxing back into his usual amiable smile. "Oh, I'm not worried about that, Harry. I'm sure this misunderstanding about the Occlumency book will be cleared up in the press without any injury to Jim's reputation."

Harry sniffed. "Oh, of course. I'd forgotten about that. I suppose your _press secretary_ is rewriting history as we speak."

"Press ... secretary?" Peter asked as if unfamiliar with the term.

"No? I guess that means _Rita Skeeter_ doesn't have any _official_ title within your organization."

Peter's eyebrows rose, and then he smiled even more broadly. It was surprisingly much more genuine than the smiles he'd been gifting Harry since this meeting started. _"Harry knows I've got something on Rita,"_ he thought to himself with quiet amusement, _"and he's confident enough that he __doesn't care__ if I know that he knows. This is actually kind of fun."_

"Now, Harry, whatever makes you think I have even the slightest influence over someone like Rita Skeeter?" he said aloud in an amused voice.

"Well, for starters, there's the fact that she all but accused me of attacking Jim's Birthday fete with that cursed train when we now know that _I_ was the intended target the whole time. One of three attempts on my life since July, in fact. Since we're _just talking_, do you know anything about _that_, Mr. Pettigrew?"

The older man didn't respond. He simply reached over and slid his own wand out from under Harry's and put it into his pocket. Immediately, the boy retrieved his own wand. "I think we've reached the limits of negotiation today, Harry, so it's best we stop before someone says something too ... provocative." With that Pettigrew rose and stepped around the table before looking down at Harry.

"I've made my offer, Harry. I do hope you will give it serious consideration."

"I'll consider it. And the spirit in which it was offered."

Peter nodded and then headed towards the door before stopping halfway and turning back.

"You know, I must say – I really do regret that circumstances have forced us into an antagonistic posture. I haven't danced like this in years. Most wizards aren't clever enough to keep up with the rhythm." And with that, Peter Pettigrew walked out of the room, idly whistling an old Muggle tune as he left.

* * *

_**The Prince's Lair  
5:30 p.m.**_

Harry stalked into the Lair wearing an unusually cold expression with a concerned Blaise and Theo close behind. Marcus was already there studying.

"Come on, Harry," said Blaise. "Spill it. Something happened during your meeting with Pettigrew that has you upset."

"I'm fine," said Harry tersely.

Blaise and Theo looked at each other uneasily. "Okay, see, that's _bad_," said Theo.

Harry did a double-take. "How is it _bad_ to say that I'm _fine_?"

Blaise spoke up. "It's bad because you're near the transition point from a Second Level Occlumens to a Third Level. That's a dangerous point in any wizard's psychic development because the natural instinct will be to block out all unpleasant emotions and suppress bad feelings, and you don't have enough experience as an Occlumens to know when your shields are in danger of buckling."

Harry rolled his eyes. "And exactly what distress should I be worried about when I just told you _I'm fine_?"

Theo held up a hand and started counting off fingers. "A near death experience yesterday. An overnight hospital stay while you were recovering from a concussion _and_ under the influence of mind-altering potions. An encounter with your estranged father that left you visibly upset _despite_ your best efforts to hide it. _And_ a 30-minute meeting with your father's creepy lawyer that _you won't tell us about_. Have I left anything out?"

He sighed in frustration. "Guys. I _can't_ tell you about my meeting with Pettigrew, okay? Draw whatever conclusions from that you want."

"Translation: You met with Peter Pettigrew under _a secrecy vow_," Blaise said sourly. "This just keeps getting better all the time."

"What do you guys _want _from me?"

"We want you to go someplace quiet for _at least _an hour_, _clear your mind and _center _yourself," said Theo. "That's not too much to ask for. _Right now _before something else happens to stress you out further."

Harry raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. If it will make you two happy. Just give me five minutes to talk to the Hydra about Tom Riddle. I've been trying to get to this all day, alright?"

The other two boys acquiesced. At the far end of the table, Marcus Flint watched the whole exchange with a bemused expression. Harry turned towards the Hydra Throne and hissed at it in Parseltongue (an act which never failed to send shivers down Flint's back), presumably inquiring about the elusive Tom Marvolo Riddle.

The Hydra didn't respond.

After a few seconds, Harry hissed at it again. And then a third time with more urgency. At that point, Theo and Blaise started to become alarmed, and even Flint was concerned. Now visibly panicked, Harry started hissing angrily at the other chairs in the Lair, but the brass adder finials on the chair backs ignored him just as resolutely as the Hydra. Theo grabbed Harry by the shoulder, and the boy turned to him and started hissing incoherently.

"English, Harry! I don't speak Parseltongue! English!"

Harry was now shaking all over and breathing quickly. "The snakes ... won't answer me ... they won't..." Then, his eyes widened in horror as Madame Pomfrey's words from that morning came rushing back to him.

_If there is any damage at all, it will be to your temporal lobe, in that portion of your brain that handles speech and communication... if you're unable to understand something that someone else says ... to remember words that you understood before yesterday ... any other problems with communication..._

"P-Parseltongue!" he gasped. "The concussion! Brain damage. My Parseltongue's _gone!_"

And with that last unpleasant shock, Harry Potter went into a seizure.

With a yelp, Flint jumped out of his chair to catch Harry before he could fall to the ground.

"Shit! He's buckling! Hold him, Flint!" yelled Blaise.

"We need a Calming Draught! Who in the dorm has one?!" Theo exclaimed.

"In my room!" Flint said while gently lowering the convulsing Harry to the ground and trying to hold him steady. "Under the bed in a wooden box there are some Calming Draughts. Password to get in is _ouroboros._" As Theo darted out of the Lair, he turned his attention to Blaise. "What the hell's wrong with him?!"

"His Occlumency shields are buckling. Too many stressful events all happening at once and he hasn't been keeping up with his meditation exercises like he should. His emotional shields are collapsing, and all of the sudden, he's feeling ... _everything!_ Harry! HARRY!" Blaise yelled directly into Harry's face and then slapped him hard across the cheek. "Listen to my voice! Remember your training! Get into the White Crystal Room! Forget everything but my voice and the White Crystal Room!"

Harry didn't respond to anything Blaise said. The boy grimaced in frustration. "Dammit, Harry! Hold his head steady, Flint." Then, Blaise put a hand on each side of Harry's head and pried the boy's eyelids open with his fingers, staring deep into Harry's green eyes. "_**LEGILIMENS**_," he whispered. At that, Harry went rigid, and Blaise leaned forward, unblinking, until their foreheads touched. Then, Blaise let out a hiss of sudden intense pain as their minds joined and he started shouldering the burden of Harry's raging emotions until his friend could gain control of himself.

Finally, Harry's seizure subsided just as Theo ran back into the room carrying Flint's stash of mildly illegal potions. Immediately, he pulled out one, yanked off the stopper and poured the contents down Harry's throat as Blaise slowly released his grip and stood up.

"Give him another," Zabini ordered. "He needs to rest and recover before he can meditate usefully." Theo hesitated for just a second before pulling out another vial as instructed and pouring it down Harry's throat. Harry's eyes fluttered as he struggled to stay awake. Then, for just a second, his brow furrowed, and he looked up at Blaise in bleary confusion.

"What's a Deathly Hallow?" he asked with a thick voice before lapsing into unconsciousness. Marcus and Theo turned to look at Blaise.

"I have absolutely _no idea_ why he asked me that," Blaise said firmly. "No idea whatsoever."

* * *

_**Peter Pettigrew's Flat  
7:00 p.m.**_

When Peter stepped out of the fireplace into his flat, he was still humming idly. Overall, it had been a productive day. He knew he'd have to dance a merry jig indeed to get his godson out of trouble while also concealing his role in getting the boy _into_ trouble in the first place, but that part had gone off without a hitch. He'd also made his first volley towards removing Harry Potter as an obstacle to his plans. Well, his first volley not involving an assassination attempt, anyway, but that had really been more of a feint than a volley. He also didn't seriously expect Harry to accept a mere two million galleons, either. He was sure the boy had some knowledge of the Potter family's net worth, but two million was a good opening bid. More importantly, he'd taken the boy's measure and felt better prepared about moving against him going forward. Harry Potter would be a challenge, but of a sort that Pettigrew rarely had the chance to enjoy.

But the true source of the solicitor's good humor came from one thing: the Prophecy. Amazing that when he woke up this morning, Peter Pettigrew had no clue that the Prophecy which had led to his Lord's defeat would simply fall into his lap. Granted, he'd had to swear an Unbreakable Vow to Dumbledore over the matter before the old man would reveal the exact wording, but there were ways around that. The Headmaster was a brilliant man and a powerful wizard, but he'd have been hopeless as a solicitor if today's demonstration of his oath-drafting skills was any indication.

After pouring himself a glass of Firewhiskey and shedding the jacket and golf cleats he'd been wearing all day, Peter made his way to his study. From a shelf, he pulled out a vintage gramophone LP and gingerly placed the vinyl disc onto an antique Victrola player which had been spelled to play Muggle records with a higher audio quality than the best modern Muggle stereo systems. As the unearthly sound of primal drums and animal-like cries began to fill the study, Peter sat down in his easy chair and propped his feet up on a leather ottoman, wriggling his toes inside his argyle golfing socks and thinking back to a conversation from so many years before.

"_Explain yourssself, Mr. Norvegicusss," the Dark Lord said in his sibilant voice. "You have brought me the meansss to penetrate the Fideliusss that protectsss the Potter family, yet you now urge me to ssstay my hand. Why?"_

"_Because I sense an opportunity, my lord. The Prophecy, what we know of it, foretells of a child with the power to vanquish you but not necessarily of one who is fated to do so. Absent a guaranteed destiny that he is meant to oppose you, it is possible that the child can be __turned__ to your service. A dark apprentice to serve as your right hand. If nothing else, it might be wise to take the child for study rather than risk triggering Fate's instrument."_

_The Dark Lord hesitated, and for a moment, Peter wondered whether he was about to be rewarded for his insight or tortured for his temerity. Voldemort did neither. _

"_Your wordsss have wisssdom, but when confronted with a True Prophecy, I choossse to leave nothing to chance. I will go thisss night to Godric'sss Hollow and end thisss threat to my new regime. And you, Mr. Norvegicusss, will accompany me."_

_Peter "Mr. Norvegicus" Pettigrew bowed his head obediently. Time would tell whether he was right or not. _

And he had been right. He knew that now. By trying to slay Jim Potter in his crib, Voldemort had both destroyed his own physical form and marked Jim as his equal, instilling in the boy a power beyond even Voldemort's comprehension.

"_And either must die at the hand of the other_ ... _for neither can live while the other survives_."

Pettigrew snickered. Jim Potter was _his _to shape as he wanted. When the Dark Lord returned, he would gift the boy to his master in exchange for an even higher place in Voldemort's council. Unless, of course, Peter could both identify and help his godson to master the mysterious power that the Dark Lord knew not, in which case Jim would the instrument of Voldemort's destruction and the means by which Pettigrew _supplanted_ his old master.

In the background, the record played on, the singer's gruff voice intruding over the drums. It was in 1976 that Sirius Black introduced a shy and sheltered Peter Pettigrew to Muggle rock 'n' roll, but even then, this particular song spoke to him in a way he couldn't fully comprehend. Not until years later, when events led him to realize his destiny and to finally understand why an old Rolling Stones tune felt like his own personal anthem. Peter began to sing along happily if somewhat tunelessly.

"_Please allow me to introduce myself. I'm a man of wealth and taste."_

* * *

**_And we're back with a vengeance. The next chapter will be posted on January 15, 2016. "Escalation of Hostilities," in which Harry struggles with the fallout from his Parseltongue-Occlumency breakdown, Hermione makes a surprising admission, and the Secret Enemy strikes with chilling efficiency. Also, nargles!  
_**

**_1\. Special Thanks to follower "Dame-Amaryllis" for setting up a TV Tropes page for HP&amp;POS. It's under the "Want of a Nail" section of the HP recommendations if there are any Tropers reading this who want to leave a review.  
_**

**_2\. This is an absurdly long update (over 10k words) because there wasn't a good place to cut it and still end on a dramatically tense moment. Also, I'm aware of concerns about the pacing of The Secret Enemy and didn't want spend a fourth chapter on the events of a single weekend in November._**

**_3\. Speaking of which, I finally figured out why the pacing seems so slow. I consulted the calendar for Chamber of Secrets at the Harry Potter Lexicon and was startled to realize that everything important prior to the final confrontation with Tom Riddle and the Basilisk happens during first term. Except for Polyjuice shenanigans, Hermione spending a month as a cat-girl, dwarves on Valentines Day, and various seemingly pointless petrifications by a villain with no apparent plan at all (most of which won't happen in this story), NOTHING of any consequence happens between Christmas day and May 8th! I will be adding a few events not in the books, but it now seems possible that I may be done with Secret Enemy within 10 or so chapters (i.e by the end of February)._**

**_4\. This chapter was updated on January 14, 2016 to correct two mistakes pointed out by alert reader "badgerlady," who noted one typo and one interesting detail about British parliamentary procedure. Apparently, to "table" something means the exact opposite to Brits as it does to American. Learn something new every day. Also, I changed the description for the next chapter which, for various reasons will not cover the Dueling Club meeting. That has been pushed back to Chapter 31 because (a) I wasn't done with it and (b) I am not getting into the habit of 13,000+ word updates. _  
**


	63. HP&TSE 29 - Escalation of Hostilities

**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY **

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

**Updated 1/15/2016 to add two Author Notes and correct a typo.**

* * *

**CHAPTER 29: Escalation of Hostilities**

_**9 November 1992**_

By the next morning, Harry had substantially recovered from the previous night's Occlumency-induced seizure. He awoke before dawn and spent an hour meditating in the Lair with Theo and Blaise watching over him to make sure he did it, followed by stern lectures from both friends about what he should and should not allow himself to feel for the next few days. After that, he was able to approach the prior night's shocking developments with a clearer head, and he quickly realized that his Parseltongue problems weren't _quite_ as dire as he'd feared. He was still a Parselmouth, and he could still talk to snakes. To prove it, he conjured one with the Serpensortia Charm, and he could carry on a conversation with the snake he'd made, albeit it a boring, mostly one-sided conversation since conjured snakes lacked any real world experience. Harry had never actually gotten round to talking with a snake summoned via Serpensortia before, and he was disappointed to find that they were completely lacking in character compared to the rich and vibrant personalities of the Hogwarts serpents he'd come to know. Basically, all they cared about was doing whatever Harry summoned them to do and then going back to non-existence, which seemed to be their preferred state. He could still give such snakes fairly complex instructions, but on the whole, they were ... dull.

Based on his Serpensortia experiments, Harry assumed that he'd also be able to talk to living snakes, both mundane and magical, though it would be some time before he could confirm that officially, since most living snakes (even magical ones) hibernated during the cold Scottish winters. It was only the snake depictions, whether painted or sculpted, with whom he could no longer communicate, a terrible tragedy as far as Harry was concerned. Esme, Egbert, Arturo (the puff adder in the painting from the Slytherin Common Room), Siobhan (the grass snake that had warned him of the Weasley Terrors' prank the year before), and, of course, the ancient snakes who comprised the Hydra Throne. All of these had become his friends in the last year, even surly Nidhogg and the pompous runespoor triplets. And now, they were all silenced, perhaps forever. At a stroke, Harry had been stripped of his advisors, his spy network, and nearly half the people – and to a Parselmouth, snakes _are_ people – with whom he talked on a regular basis. Even the Sentinel was silent, and while Harry could still command the door to the Prince's Lair to open with Parseltongue, it seemed the official password would continue to be _"Moldy Shorts"_ for some time to come, a prospect that did not amuse Harry nearly as much as it did before.

* * *

_**ARE DEATH EATERS STALKING THE BOY-WHO-LIVED?**_

_**by Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent to the Daily Prophet (November 9, 1992)**_

_Faithful readers will no doubt recall the shocking incident from last summer when unidentified Death Eater sympathizers attempted to assassinate Jim Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, with a cursed train similar in nature to the diabolical toys once associated with the now-deceased Erasmus "The Toymaker" Wilkes (See summary of "Bloodbath at Potter Manor" on page 11.) Now comes further evidence of subtle and pernicious assaults against our beloved national icon, for this reporter has learned that persons unknown delivered a dark and possibly cursed book into the possession of an unwitting Jim Potter, one that had the potential of driving our young Jim __mad__! Luckily, the eagle eye of his father, Senior Auror James Lord Potter (with the assistance of unnamed Hogwarts staff members) recognized the danger and removed the foul remnant of You-Know-Who's reign of terror before Jim suffered any serious harm. _

_The Daily Prophet is informed that Jim Potter is receiving treatment to ensure that there are no lasting effects. However, this second attack against the Boy-Who-Lived should be of great concern to all right-thinking wizards and witches. Without casting any aspersions, your humble reporter is troubled by the timing of these incidents, for not only is Jim's older brother Harry a prominent figure within Slytherin House (see "Harry Potter: A Dark Wizard Rising?" The Daily Prophet, September 5, 1991) but he is now joined by the mysterious Amaryllis Wilkes, daughter of the Toymaker himself who was only recently Sorted into Slytherin! While this reporter is loathe to blame a child for the sins of the parent, one must also consider the wise old saying "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree." The Daily Prophet will continue to monitor these developments and hopes that the faculty and staff of Hogwarts will be on the lookout for any further deviltry._

* * *

By breakfast on Monday, the whole school had read Rita Skitter's account of what had happened to the Boy-Who-Lived. The short version was that he'd come into possession of a Dark Magic book that had been affecting his mind in some way and that's why he'd been a bigger prat this year than the one before. He wasn't being punished for it, so most students assumed that it wasn't his fault, though those students already inclined to think poorly of the Git-Who-Lived were sure it was just a cover-up. More interesting was the internal debate about how Jim got the offending book, with a significant number of students believing Skeeter's insinuations that somehow _Harry_ had engineered the whole thing as a way to embarrass or even injure his younger brother, a story merrily spread by Ron Weasley to anyone who would listen.

Harry finally read the offending article after threatening bodily harm to Blaise and Theo, both of whom initially refused to let him see it. As far as they were concerned, he was still recuperating from his breakdown and was not to use Occlumency to suppress his emotions for the next few days unless absolutely necessary. Consequently, if Harry read Skeeter's piece of yellow journalism, he would have to allow himself to _feel_ it without any filters. His response was that (a) he was expecting it to be an attack on himself, (b) he would eventually piece everything together from the Hogwarts rumor mill anyway, and (c) better that he feel the emotion pain wrought by Skeeter's attacks than Blaise and Theo feel the physical pain of him clocking them on the ears, at which point Blaise muttered an expletive and handed over the paper. Harry thought the article was about what he'd expected after his conversation with Peter Pettigrew, but the brazenness with which Skeeter puffed up Jim was still breathtaking. "_Our beloved national icon?!_" And while most observers (or at least most non-Slytherin observers) would not have noticed any particular reactions from him as he read the article, Harry himself felt as though his displeasure was blazing brighter than the sun. Across the room, Jim and Ron were laughing at something, and though they weren't looking at him, Harry could not suppress the wholly baseless suspicion that it was over Skeeter's article. He resolved to spend some time practicing ping-pong that afternoon before this evening's detention – he suddenly had a powerful desire to inflict some punishment on his twin, since apparently Jim was immune to it from any other source.

In other Occluency-related news, Harry also received a note from the Headmaster himself, advising him that Jim had apparently learned most of the Prophecy the previous summer. Accordingly, Dumbledore would begin tutoring Jim in Occlumency himself, as the need to preserve the Prophecy's secrecy was paramount. He also encouraged Harry to continue his own studies and said that he would like to test Harry's defenses in January to see if he'd broken through to Level Three by then. If so, Dumbledore would reveal the Prophecy to him as well. Somewhat surprised that the old man seemed bent on keeping his word – and despite James's obvious opposition – Harry jotted down a polite response saying that he appreciated the notice and that he would be ready by January.

* * *

_**That afternoon**_

Just after lunch, the Weasley Twins cornered Harry and asked rather urgently to speak with him in private. The three found an empty classroom, and Harry studied the Twins who seemed uncharacteristically upset.

"What's up, guys?"

"We, um, were wondering if you'd heard anything about one of the Slytherins ... pranking us?" said Mole aka George.

Harry laughed for just a second before he caught Non-Mole/Fred's angry glare and realized it was no laughing matter. "Okay, this is serious then. Tell me what happened."

With visible reluctance, George filled Harry in on what happened in the locker room after the Quidditch match, while Fred stood behind him fuming. Harry nodded.

"I see. Someone stole your stuff, including the Map. Incidentally, if you don't mind, could you tell me what the Map actually does?"

George looked at him in surprise, while Fred narrowed his eyes rather angrily. "You mean you don't know?" he asked in clipped tones.

"Honestly, no. All I knew was that you had an enchanted map of some kind that was activated by saying '_I solemnly swear I'm up to no good._' I was bluffing on everything else." At that, both Twins looked at him crossly. "Guys, you were pranking me _every other day_. I had to do _something_. Anyway, what does the Map look like when it's deactivated?"

"Just an ordinary blank piece of parchment," said George. "If you try to write on it or use magic to force the password, it will insult you."

"Okay, I'll see what I can do. But I have to warn you. First of all, like you said, it's possible whoever took it already destroyed it without knowing what it was. And second, well, the sort of Slytherin who would write about you two being blood traitors isn't really the circle of Slytherins I run in. I mean, I have influence among the Quidditch team and the Second and First Years, but most of the upperclassmen still call _me _a blood traitor too. They'll just put up with a blood traitor who's rich, wins lots of House points, and is handy on a broom. All that aside, I promise I'll do my best to find your Map if it still exists."

"Thanks, Harry," said George.

"Don't mention it, George."

Fred stiffened. "Hang on a minute," he said suspiciously. "We didn't tell you which of us was who. So how'd you know he was George."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Not from reading the Map, if that's what you're implying, _Fred_" he said archly. "More like pain-staking observation and investigation for over a year."

"Fred, drop it," said George firmly. "Harry, we'll be in touch."

Harry nodded as the Twins left. He had learned from Ginny that George was the Twin with a tiny mole next to his left eye. But once he could match names to faces, he'd found it surprisingly easy to tell them apart just by observing them for any length of time. For two people who could complete each other's sentences, there were very noticeable personality differences between the Weasley Terrors. In particular, Harry noted that Fred was invariably the first one to show anger or aggression in any interaction when sufficiently provoke or when under stress. Harry filed the conversation away and left the room, his thoughts turning to who could have stolen the Twins' beloved Map.

* * *

_**Still later, after Second-Year Potions**_

Hermione waited somewhat nervously as the other students in the class filed out. She'd thought briefly about asking Harry or Neville to stay behind with her as Snape was her most intimidating professor, but she was nearly thirteen and so decided there was no reason she couldn't face the man on her own. "_Gryffindor!_" as Harry would probably shout sarcastically. After a moment, Snape realized the girl had stayed behind.

"May I help you, Miss Granger?" he said in a tone suggesting that he had absolutely no particular desire to help her whatsoever.

She coughed lightly. "Um, yes sir. I, um, I was wondering if you could tell me if, er, you were familiar with any of these spells." With that, she handed a parchment upon which she had written the names of four spells: Muffliato, Levicorpus, Liberacorpus, and Sectumsempra. Snape studied the list and then glared at the girl in mounting fury.

"Where did you learn about these spells?" he asked angrily.

"From ... the Gryffindor Library, sir," she said nervously.

"From..." Snape said before pausing as Hermione's words sank in. His anger was quickly replaced with complete astonishment. "From the Gryffindor ... _Library_?" His expression indicated that he'd have thought it more probable for the girl to have found the spells while exploring Mars.

She coughed again. "Well, that's what the Gryffindors call it. It's actually a single bookcase with only six shelves, half of which are given over to old Quidditch magazines and back issues of Teen Witch Weekly. However, there are a few magic-related books there, one of which appeared to be an introductory text on Arithmancy."

"_Appeared_, Miss Granger?"

She coughed again and then blushed deeply. "Yes sir. I found it in October of last year. Upon closer inspection, it actually turned out to be a bound collection of ... well, pornographic materials with a fake cover." Snape raised an eyebrow, and Hermione blushed even harder. "Anyway, some old parchments fell out of the book. They consisted of a few pages of Charms descriptions and a note from someone calling himself Padfoot and writing to someone named Prongs. Apparently, Padfoot had stolen the Charms from someone called..." She took a deep breath. "Someone who they called ... Snivellus, sir."

Snape hissed at that, but she persevered. "I didn't make the connection until Lord Potter called you that the other day. I should have remembered from our very first Potions class when Jim called you by that name. Anyway, once I realized these spells were stolen from _you_, I wanted to turn them back in and apologize for making use of what I'm sure you consider to be proprietary magic."

Snape studied Hermione as he considered her words. "Do I understand you to mean that you have successfully _used _some of these spells, Miss Granger?"

"Only Muffliato," she said nervously. "And I've taught it to Harry Potter and a few others, but I didn't tell them where I found it. I've been studying Levicorpus, but I've also been busy with other projects and haven't gotten very far with it."

Snape shook his head in a mixture of annoyance and admiration. He'd perfected Muffliato as a Fourth Year student, and apparently the Granger girl had mastered it just from cribbed notes after just a few weeks as a First Year. How she'd avoided a Ravenclaw Sorting was an absolute mystery.

"Do you have the notes with you?" he asked. She nodded and handed them over. He studied them for a moment. After nearly twenty years, he knew enough about the Marauders to identify Sirius Black as the author and James Potter as the recipient, though he never had figured out the origins of their odd pet names for one another. Then, he turned back to the Granger girl.

"Five points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger. While your honesty is appreciated, it was incredibly foolhardy for you to have been researching spells from partial and illicitly obtained notes without knowing what the spells do. In particular, it appears the notes for Sectumsempra contained here are incomplete. Had you attempted that spell based on what you have here, you might well have killed someone."

At that, Hermione paled and her eyes widened.

"You will also have detention with me this Saturday." She nodded sadly, before he continued. "During which we will review both Levicorpus and Liberacorpus, two very useful Defense spells not widely known. Naturally, you will _not_ share your knowledge of these spells with anyone else without my express consent. Understood?"

Her frown turned into a smile. "Yes sir. Thank you, sir."

In good spirits despite the point loss, Hermione practically skipped out of the classroom. Snape shook his head and sighed. "The Gryffindor _Library,_" he snorted.

* * *

_**12 November 1992**_

Harry was sitting in the Great Hall at lunchtime with his usual circle of friends when he noticed Hedwig fly in majestically and head in his direction. The snowy owl landed gracefully next to him and held out a claw to which a small leather pouch was attached. There was a small tag that said the pouch was from the Tonks Clinic. Eagerly, Harry opened the pouch and extracted the contents: a pair of rectangular glasses with jet black frames. Hermione or Justin would have said they looked like Wayfarer frames, which were popular at the moment among Muggles, though Wayfarers typically were not ornamented with a tiny silver snake logo on each temple. Harry smiled and swapped his old circular "Potter" frames for the new pair.

"Ooo," said Daphne. "Very stylish."

"Stylish _and_ functional," he replied. "These glasses are Charmed to be impervious to water and fog. They can resist most Summoning Charms and will never come off accidentally. And also..." He reached up and tapped the snake on his left temple twice. Instantly, the lenses tinted themselves black, as the glasses converted into sunshades.

"Neat," said Tracey appreciatively. "Do they do anything else?"

"Eh, a few minor odds and ends," said Harry evasively. Truth be told, he'd spent nearly 300 galleons on his new glasses which had every enchantment and magical mod that was legal for enchanted eye wear, but it was against his nature to reveal too many of his tricks to even his closest friends. After deactivating the "shades" function, Harry happened to glance up at the Head Table, where Lily was looking at him somewhat sadly. Between the hair products and his new glasses, Harry know looked quite different from his twin brother, a fact that obviously made Lily unhappy. He felt for her ... until he thought back over Skeeter's article and other recent "family affairs." And then, he discovered that he didn't feel much for her at all.

* * *

_**25 November 1992**_

Today, Lily's sadness was replaced with anger as she stormed into the faculty lounge on a mission. Snape, McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout were all having tea in the center of the room. Gilderoy Lockhart sat off to one side with a book while nursing a mug of hot chocolate with whipped cream and sprinkles on top. Lily walked right over to the DADA instructor and put her arms on her hips as if prepared for a stern lecture.

"Professor _Lockhart_, I have just learned that the detentions you have held for both my sons for the last _three weeks_ have involved liberal use of _Stinging Hexes_. Is this _true_?" With that accusation, the other teachers turned towards Lockhart, who sighed loudly and put his book away.

"I admit that my disciplinary technique does make use of the Stinging Hex at its absolute minimum setting, as an object lesson that I would think you as the Muggle Studies professor might appreciate."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" she asked angrily. She'd only found out that morning from a distraught Ron Weasley who was upset that Jim wouldn't go to either of his parents over Lockhart's "_abuse_." Ron had made the professor's use of the Stinging Hex out to sound much worse than what Lockhart was now describing, though he himself probably had gotten a garbled account from Jim.

"Simply that it was a Muggle expression that gave me the idea. '_Me against my brother; me and my brother against everyone else._' My hope was that the two boys would become angry at _me_ for inflicting such an annoying and unpleasant punishment on them, and consequently, they would join forces against me. After all, they've both gotten quite good at ping-pong, and if they'd simply cooperated and agreed to play a slow, leisurely game and not actively try to score points on one another, neither of them would be subjected to the hex. Unfortunately, I'm afraid my strategy has failed so far, as they've only gotten more aggressive in their game play over past several weeks. On the bright side, they're game play _is _quite good. I'd put both Jim and Harry above everyone else on Team Counterstrike except young Finch-Fletchley who's had years more practice. In any case, your sons only have a few more days of detention, so you can set your mind at ease."

With that, Lockhart returned to his book, ignoring the still fuming parent.

"To be quite honest, Gilderoy," said Pomona Sprout, "I can't for the life of me see what this ... ping-pong has to do with Defense Against the Dark Arts. My Hufflepuffs who are involved are certainly enjoying the game, and young Finch-Fletchley has blossomed now that he has an activity where he can be a leader, but I still don't see the point of it all. Your other research teams are involved with warding, advanced potions, and NEWT-level Defense spells. Are you quite sure these ... ping-ponging students aren't being shortchanged in comparison?"

Lockhart patiently closed his book once more, turned to Pomona with a smile, and said one word. "Averto." Then, he went back to his reading.

"A... verto?" Sprout said the unfamiliar word slowly. "I don't understand ..." But before she could continue, Professor Flitwick practically jumped out of his chair, startling the others.

"AH! AVERTO!" he shouted excitedly. "Of course! Severus! Do you see it?! AVERTO!" Then, the diminutive Professor began to laugh merrily. Snape narrowed his eyes slightly, but then, after a few seconds, his eyebrows rose fractionally, just enough to let the professors who truly knew him realize that he was genuinely surprised and impressed.

"Ah, yes," he said while nodding. "_Averto_. Pomona, I can assure you that Professor Lockhart's ping-pong exercises do in fact have a legitimate, if unconventional, pedagogical value. I would explain more clearly, but the good Professor has shown himself to be a bit of a showman. I wouldn't _dream _of spoiling whatever surprise he has for us."

Lockhart laughed. "Now that you mention it, Severus, the young men and women of Team Counterstrike have been working very hard. I suppose I should find some appropriate venue for them to demonstrate what they've learned." He paused and looked towards Snape and Flitwick speculatively. "Say, didn't Hogwarts used to have a dueling club?"

Flitwick's face broke out into a broad grin, while Severus's eyebrows rose just a fraction higher.

* * *

_**26 November 1992**_

_From a notice posted on the bulletin boards in each House:_

_**TO ALL HOGWARTS STUDENTS!**_

_**PROFESSOR GILDEROY LOCKHART **_

_**is pleased to announce that on December 17**__**th**__** at 8:00 p.m. there will be a **_

_**DUELING EXHIBITION **_

_**By the members of Team Counterstrike **_

_**followed by an organizational meeting for **_

_**THE HOGWARTS DUELING ASSOCIATION!**_

_**Punch and Light Appetizers to be served.**_

* * *

_**28 November 1992**_

The last joint detention for Harry and Jim was also the most brutal, and if Justin Finch-Fletchley could have seen it, he'd have been amazed, and perhaps a bit intimidated, by how aggressively and proficiently the Potter Twins approached the game. For a solid hour, the ping-pong ball flew back and forth at incredible speed. Relatively few points were scored, but it wasn't for lack of effort. Finally, the detention came to an end, and Lockhart called for a break. Harry took advantage and slammed the ball past the distracted Jim's defense. The Boy-Who-Lived let out a gasp of pain, and then fixed Harry with an angry glare.

"Well, gentlemen," said Lockhart. "This concludes your four weeks of joint detention. Slytherin Potter, although you are not an official member of Team Counterstrike, your progress at this game has been quite remarkable. If you are interested, I would like to formally invite you to the first meeting of the Hogwarts Dueling Club which is scheduled for December 18th. That is when I will reveal to Team Counterstrike the reason I've had them practicing this game since September. What say you?"

Harry nodded speculatively. "Assuming my schedule permits, sir, I'd be delighted."

"Good, good. Now, before you go, since this is our last session together, I do have one question. Was there ever a moment when it occurred to either of you that if the two of you got together, you could agree to play a nice, slow game and not try to score any points, thereby avoiding the Stinging Hexes completely?"

Jim eyes widened as the idea had never occurred to him. "Honestly, sir ..."

"Ten minutes into the first session, sir," Harry interrupted in clipped tones. "That's when I realized that the point of this exercise was to help me and Jim to get over our ... differences." Jim looked over at him in surprise. Harry sniffed. "It would have been obvious to any Slytherin, I think."

"Hmm," said Lockhart slowly. "And yet, you did not actually _try_ to work with your brother to avoid getting stung."

Harry shrugged. "I made the mental calculation that avoiding a few minor stings wasn't worth whatever other aches and pains I'd suffer from trying to get along with Jim, even for just one hour a day. Is there anything else, sir?"

Lockhart shook his head no with a slightly saddened expression, and the two boys left. Outside Jim called out to Harry.

"So you actually knew the first night that Lockhart wanted us to work together, and you actively chose not to?" he asked. "Do you really think it's that impossible for you and me to work together?"

Harry turned and stared at Jim for a few seconds before speaking. "_I hate you. I hate you. I wish you'd stayed with the Dursleys and died_," he quoted in a flat monotone voice.

Jim blushed and looked away, unable to meet his brother's gaze. "That was the Occlumency book talking. I ... I would never ..." He trailed off helplessly.

"Was it the Occlumency book last Christmas when the Mirror of Erised told you your fondest wish was that I'd never been born?"

"Harry..."

"No, stop it. It should be obvious even to a lunkhead Gryffindor like you that we're never going to be brothers. We're never even going to be friends. If we try very, very hard, it _may_ be possible for us to _not be enemies_. To that end, I propose the following. You go your way, and I'll go mine. We don't talk to one another except when required by class work. We don't even exchange Christmas cards. Does that work for you? Good."

And with that, Harry turned and walked away without even giving Jim a chance to respond. The other boy stood there for several seconds before wiping his thumb and forefinger across his eyes and then heading the other way towards Gryffindor Tower.

* * *

_**Thirty Minutes Later...**_

_"Ten minutes into the first session, sir," Harry interrupted in clipped tones. "That's when I realized that the point of this exercise was to help me and Jim to get over our ... differences." Jim looked over at him in surprise. Harry sniffed. "It would have been obvious to any Slytherin, I think."_

_"Hmm," said Lockhart slowly. "And yet, you did not actually try to work with your brother to avoid getting stung."_

_Harry shrugged. "I made the mental calculation that avoiding a few minor stings wasn't worth whatever other aches and pains I'd suffer from trying to get along with Jim, even for just one hour a day. Is there anything else, sir?"_

"FREEZE!" said Lockhart firmly. At that, Harry and Jim both froze as solid as statues. Carefully, Hermione, Ginny, and Penelope Clearwater walked over to study the Potter Twins while Luna remained next to Professor Lockhart. The first three had clearly never been inside a pensieve before, as they were still amazed at the idea of walking around in one of someone else's personal memories. Hermione, in fact, felt oddly uncomfortable, as if she was in some way invading her best friend's privacy by viewing him in this manner. Luna seemed blase, though whether because she was familiar with pensieves or simply immune to their wonder was her secret alone.

"Well, Miss Lovegood, what are your immediate thoughts?" inquired the Professor.

"Well, Jim's _big_ wrackspurt is smaller, but it's still there. And each of their nargles still _hate_ the other's. Harry was right. They would _never_ have worked together in the way you suggested. I think it would take a matter of life or death for them to ever willingly cooperate."

"Excuse me, Professor," Hermione interrupted. "Why exactly did you want us to watch your memory of Harry and Jim playing ping-pong?_"_

"Oh, it's not my memory, Miss Granger. It's Miss Lovegood's. I had her sitting in the back watching under an invisibility spell. I wanted to see what you could detect when looking through her eyes."

All three girls looked around the room. "I don't see anything out of the ordinary," said Ginny. "Sorry, Luna," she added apologetically.

"Don't apologize just yet, Miss Weasley. Come over here." Ginny moved to where Lockhart directed. She was now facing the wall and standing roughly even with Jim Potter. "Now, keep facing the wall but slowly shift your eyes to the left. Look at Jim Potter but _just_ _out of the corner of your eye_."

Ginny did as directed. Then, she gasped and shook her head. "Whoa!" she exclaimed.

"What?" asked Penelope. "Please don't tell me you saw a nargle."

"I ... don't know _what_ I saw, but just for a second, there were these ... _things_ both around Jim and ... I think _inside him_ too!"

One by one, the other girls took turns looking at Jim from the same vantage point, and both had the same reaction. Hermione actually looked slightly ill after her first visual encounter with what Luna insisted were nargles and wrackspurts. She couldn't see anything well enough to give a description, but something was definitely there. Something ... disturbing.

"And you see these things all the time?" she asked Luna with a hint of urgency. The girl nodded pensively as if she knew the things she'd taken for granted her whole life were unsettling to her friends.

"And what are your impressions of those things that you can only see out of the corner of your eye?" Lockhart asked of the three girls.

None of them spoke at first. Finally, Ginny did. "It felt ... unnatural. I'm sorry, Luna, but it was like we were seeing something ... something that _wasn't_ _meant to be seen._"

"Quite possibly an accurate impression," Lockhart said. "I have felt the same. And if that impression is correct, then future study may be curtailed. _But_ until then, we shall persevere in the manner of the best Muggle scientists and investigators. Between now and our next session, I want all four of you to meet up a few times and brainstorm. How is it possible for Miss Lovegood to see these things but not the rest of us? What phenomena might allow us to see them in her memories but only indirectly? What is the source for this feeling of _dread_ that we all feel when viewing these things merely out of the corner of our eyes? Science and magic! Both _MARCH ON_!"

Lockhart finished dramatically with his fist up in the air in a dramatic pose. The four members of Team Mysterioso simply stared at him until he sheepishly brought his arm back down.

"Ahem. Anyway, before we break for this week, there's one other matter. Miss Lovegood, you indicated previously that there was something wrong with Harry Potter as well as his brother. Can you give us any more impressions of the elder Potter to evaluate over the next week?"

Slowly and guardedly, Luna walked over to the frozen memory of Harry Potter and studied his face carefully. "No," she finally said. "I can't see it."

"So there's nothing wrong now..." Lockhart spoke but Luna interrupted him.

"No, I mean... it's _there_ but ..." She turned and looked at the others in frustration. "It's not _letting_ me see it! I can only see the big gaping hole left by its absence!"

The others all stared at the girl who had a deeply troubled look on her face.

"Well, _that's_ not creepy _at all_, is it?" said Ginny, surprising Hermione who had not expected the younger girl to have mastered Harry's brand of sarcasm so quickly.

* * *

_**16 December 1992**_

_**4:00 a.m.  
**_

Cassius Warrington awoke with a start. Sitting up in his bed in the Fourth Year Slytherin dorm, he looked around for a few seconds and then noticed the envelope lying on his pillow next to where he'd been sleeping. On it were only two words: "A Friend." Warrington shuddered. He knew none of his dorm mates was his mysterious "Friend," and it was supremely unnerving that someone could sneak into his dorm room and leave a message so easily. Summoning a small Lumos to read by, Warrington opened the envelope. The letter from inside was succinct.

**TOMORROW AFTERNOON**

Warrington grinned in anticipation.

* * *

_**17 December 1992**_

_**4:30 p.m.**_

Harry was not enjoying the afternoon's Quidditch practice at all, and neither were his fellow Slytherins. The temperatures had fallen quite a bit below freezing, and there were light snow flurries, harbingers of the blizzard that was scheduled to hit the school later that night. But Flint was insistent that the team get in at least one cold weather practice before the end of term. They were playing Ravenclaw in February, and from experience, Flint knew that game would be bitterly cold. Even he agreed, however, that the practice should be cut short when the snowfall picked up enough to hinder visibility. The seven Slytherin players flew to the ground and jogged to the locker rooms for a hot shower and a change of clothes before dinner.

As invigorating as the hot shower was, Harry rushed to get through with it as quickly as possible. Despite all the confidence he'd developed since coming to Hogwarts, he was still well aware of how small and underdeveloped he was compared to the Sixth and Seventh Year students who made up the bulk of the team. And while his teammates were generally diplomatic enough not to comment on his various scars, he still knew that they could see them. Besides, with his glasses off and in a steam-filled shower, Harry was half-blind, a state which always left him edgy and paranoid. And so it was that Harry was, as usual, the first out of the shower. He quickly took a towel from the table next to the shower entrance and dried himself off before wrapping it around his waist.

For once, his timing was impeccable, as a loud _crack_ made him jump. Simultaneously, all of his teammates in the showers yelped in shock as the hot water suddenly turned ice cold, and the stove heater in the corner went out. Confused and unable to see through his own blurry vision, Harry made his way over to the lockers. But his eyesight wasn't so bad that he was unable to see what had happened. The lockers containing all the boys' clothes (both Quidditch gear and regular clothing), their wands, and even Harry's expensive new glasses _were now gone_. And in place of the lockers were letters written on the wall in glittering gold and fiery red.

**ENJOY YOUR RUN BACK TO THE CASTLE**  
**HOPE YOU DON'T GET FROSTBITE**  
**GRYFFINDORS RULE**  
**SLYTHERINS DROOL**

As Harry rubbed his eyes trying to bring the blurry world around him into focus, the rest of the Slytherins gathered around him, each pulling towels around them more tightly as the temperature in the room began to drop noticeably. Draco, wearing one towel around his waist and another over his head and shoulders, moved next to Harry to better read the words inscribed on the wall. Harry turned to him with a sardonic expression.

"Well, Malfoy, you're going to look _awfully silly_ running all the way back to the castle to get all our clothes."

Draco was not amused.

Fifteen minutes later, having exhausted all other options and fairly certain that no one at the school would notice their absence before they froze to death, the seven Slytherins wrapped themselves up in towels as best they could and then took off for the quarter-mile hike back up to the castle through six inches of snow and freezing conditions. Harry fell twice and had to be helped back up by the two Beaters. By the time they made it to the front doors of the castle (the side entrances judged too far given the weather), all seven were shivering violently from the cold. The good news was that the doors to the Great Hall were closed for the evening meal and the hallway was almost deserted. The bad news was that "_almost_" included Caretaker Filch, who was on them almost immediately and shouting incoherently.

"WHAT IS THIS?! HOW DARE YOU _DEFILE_ THE CASTLE THIS WAY!" he bellowed at the group.

"We're n-not de-defiling _anything_, you old fool! Th-th-this is us nearly fr-fr-freezing to death!" stammered Flint through chattering teeth as he tried to push his way past Filch before the Caretaker's shouting summoned a crowd. Unfortunately, he wasn't fast enough. The doors to the Great Hall opened and several Gryffindors came through, including Jim, Ron, and Colin Creevey. Ron was apparently trying to sell Jim on the idea of letting Creevey take his pictures for some sort of _fan club_ to improve the tarnished reputation of the Boy-Who-Lived when he noticed the Slytherin Quidditch team standing in the foyer wearing nothing but towels and practically blue with cold.

"HEY EVERYBODY!" the red-headed Gryffindor yelled at the top of his lungs. "THE SLYTHERIN TEAM'S GONE STREAKING!" From inside the Great Hall, there was the sound of students getting up to see what the commotion was about. Despite himself, Jim laughed at the sight. Meanwhile, Ron nudged Colin, and the boy raised the camera he seemed to carry everywhere and began snapping photos of the embarrassed Slytherins.

Deciding that discretion was the better part of valor, Flint yelled for his team to head to the dungeon while he stayed behind to divert Filch ... and make a few threats against Creevey if those pictures ever saw the light of day. Following his commands, the six Slytherins ran off, the sounds of laughter, whistles and cat-calls from their fellow students echoing behind them. Miles Bletchley actually slipped on some wet floor and lost his towel for a few seconds, leading to even more laughter. Minutes later, the team entered the Slytherin Common Room, where they were all surprised to find the missing locker waiting for them in the middle of the room. A few Housemates were present and wondering what a gym locker was doing there ... until the half-naked Quidditch team entered, a sight which heartily amused some of the Snakes until threats of violence from the Beaters wiped the smiles from their faces. Harry quickly opened his own locker and was relieved to find his wand and his new glasses on the top shelf where he'd left them. Among the other students present were Missy Bulstrode (who didn't even try to resist ogling the team members) and Cassius Warrington.

"I suppose there's a logical explanation for this bit of ... exhibitionism," he asked, suppressing a smirk.

"Aye," said Peregrine Derrick angrily. "Some Gryffindor tossers stole our clothes and wands and left us to _bloody freeze to death!_"

Warrington snickered and began walking around the locker while the Quidditch players were pulling their clothes out and heading up to their dorms.

"Say, Bulstrode," he said from behind the locker. "Come have a look at this."

The prefect followed Warrington behind the lockers. Out of curiosity, Harry followed as well, his interest in finding out who was responsible for his predicament overriding his embarrassment about his attire (or lack thereof). On the back of the freestanding metal lockers, someone had drawn a fairly impressive set of interlocking runes. Harry had no idea what they meant as he wouldn't start Ancient Runes for another year, but he knew Missy was in the Seventh Year Runes class and also Lockhart's rune-intensive study group, Team Backdoor. He looked at her expectantly and was not disappointed. After studying the runes for a few seconds, she smiled maliciously.

"We've got'em," she said with a grin. "Warrington, go find Snape."

"Why me?" he asked petulantly.

"Because you've got pants on, idiot. Now go!" Warrington made a face and then headed towards the door.

"What is it, Missy?" asked Harry.

"This rune-scheme is from Team Backdoor. There's only seven of us on that team ... and only one Gryffindor. And since we're all working on different but interconnected projects, I can recognize who had this sequence. I knew it was only a matter of time before _the Weasley Terrors _would take advantage of what we were learning for some stupid prank."

Harry started to say that George and Fred wouldn't have done anything like this, but then he remembered about their lost map which they'd blamed on Slytherin House, not to mention the way Slytherin pummeled them in their last Quidditch match, and he figured that, yes, they very possibly might have done something _exactly_ like this. "_So much for the safe list,_" he thought ruefully. Harry ran to get dressed so he could return before Snape arrived. Over the next half-hour, everyone on the Quiddith team had gotten another hot shower, changed into dry clothes, and been force-fed Pepper-Up Potions and cups of hot herbal tea to prevent them getting sick. Missy had reviewed her own notes with Professor Snape and made a copy of the runes on the back of the locker prior to Snape vanishing it back to the locker room.

Finally, he was ready to hear what the team members had to say. Almost to a man, they blamed the prank on the Wesley Twins. The only dissenter was Harry told the group what George and Fred had told him about someone stealing George's project notes from the Gryffindor locker room during the November 7th match.

"After what the Terrors did to you, you actually _defend them_?" Warrington said incredulously.

"I'm not _defending_ anyone, Warrington. I'm merely relaying what they told me. If it was the Terrors, they undoubtedly think it's payback. After all, both pranks involved Quidditch locker rooms and theft of personal property. It would have been ... poetic for them to have done this. But if it _wasn't_ them, it wouldn't surprise me a bit for someone in another House to prank us and frame them, and vice versa. Probably a Ravenclaw. They're only twenty House points behind us, so they've got a motive to put us and the Gryffs at each other's throats. I mean, if _I_ were ever inclined to get into a prank war, I'm pretty sure part of any prank I played would be to frame someone else for it. Anyway, I assume you can compare the runework on the locker with George Weasley's work and that of the rest of the Backdoor members so we'll soon know for sure."

"Such investigations will be attended to first thing in the morning," said Snape firmly. "For now, hold off on any retaliation. And _certainly_ do nothing to embarrass the House such as descending to the level of ... _a prank._ If you wish to avenge yourselves on Gryffindor House, you will have your chance to do so later this evening during the Dueling Club session. _However_, you will do so the proper way – by demonstrating your dominance of the dueling floor and not through childish hooliganism. Am I understood?"

The Slytherins grumbled their acquiescence and then headed to the kitchens for a quick, late supper before the dueling club meeting started. Harry, in particular, had someone he was planning on dominating on the duel floor. In fact, as he thought back to the Git laughing at his earlier embarrassment, Harry wasn't really planning on dominating ... so much as crushing.

* * *

**The next chapter will be posted on Friday, January 22, 2016. "The Dueling Club," which would have been a part of _this_ chapter except that real life intruded and anyway, I didn't want a 14k chapter.**

**AN1: A few minor corrections were made to the last chapter thanks to kind reviewer "badgerlady." Mainly to do with British parliamentary procedure.**

**AN2: As was noted previously, this chapter was supposed to be called "Pranks and Duels" and carry us through the first Dueling Club meeting. That part of the chapter, however, I couldn't get finished enough to edit, and I don't want to start putting out 14k chapters or people will get mad when I go back to my usual 6-8k output. So I put the Dueling Club material off to next week and added a few additional bits to fill out this chapter (specifically, the Skeeter article which I only added today and the Hermione/Snape scene which was going to come later but I bumped it up just to balance wordcount). **

**AN3: The usual Luna tropes are either that Luna is crazy and there's no such thing as nargles OR that Luna is a seer of some description who interprets her visions in the form of invisible creatures. My subversion is that the things she sees are real (for some definitions of "real") but that only she can see them ... and that being able to see them is quite possibly a _bad thing_. A clearer explanation of what's going on with Luna is forthcoming.**

**AN4: Thanks to reader "Dan" whose review of last chapter yielded one of my favorite comments since I started writing this: "I see very little in this growing tale of yours which I outright hate." I want that on a T-shirt.:)  
**

**AN5: This post goes up on a sad day, as I'm sure you all know. When I write for Voldemort, I hear Ian (Emperor Palpatine's) McDiarmid's voice rather than Ralph Fiennes. When I write for Dumbledore, for some reason I hear Ian McKellan's voice rather than either of the two fine actors who played him on screen. But I've never heard anyone's voice other than Alan Rickman's for Snape, and I never will. Reading over his lines in this chapter and hearing Rickman's voice in my head made his passing strike home for me in a way that it didn't just from reading the news reports. Rest in peace, Severus Snape. Rest in peace, Alexander Dane. Rest in peace, Marvin the Paranoid Android. And so many others.**


	64. HP&TSE 30 - The Dueling Club

**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY **

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

* * *

_**CHAPTER 30: The Dueling Club**_

_**17 December 1992  
8:00 p.m.**_

The first meeting of the Dueling Association was open to all Hogwarts students, though if interest were high enough, future sessions would most likely be broken up by class year. Most of Slytherin House came in a show of mutual support for Harry and Draco after the prank played on the Quidditch team earlier that evening. Of course, "support" among Slytherins was conditional, and Harry felt strongly that he needed to make some sort of power play during the meeting to maintain any influence over the House's response to what had happened.

The Great Hall had been cleared of all furniture except one long table in the center of the room which would serve as the dueling platform and a few smaller tables set up in the corners for refreshments. As the Slytherins entered, a group of Gryffindors centered around Jim laughed openly and pointed at the Quidditch Team members. Harry's own Gryffindor friends were not among them. Neville was in the Library trying to catch up on a Transfiguration essay, while Hermione and Luna were off doing something or other for _Team Mysterioso_. Harry paused and then walked over to the Gryffindors.

"Jim, a word please?" he said firmly before walking away from the group towards an empty area. With some reluctance, Jim followed him.

"Yes, Harry?" Jim asked guardedly.

"I've been thinking about what I said after our last detention with Lockhart. I was wrong. I see that now."

Jim blinked in surprise at the unexpected comment. "So you _do_ think it's possible for us to be more like brothers?"

Harry laughed bitterly. "Of course not! No, I mean I no longer think it's possible for us to avoid being _enemies_."

"What?! Harry, is this because of what happened earlier in the foyer...?"

"In part. I don't think you were personally responsible for the prank played on us – you certainly don't have the skill for it, though you might have been involved. No, mainly, I've just been thinking about you and me for some time now – ever since the day after our Quidditch match, in fact – and I've honestly just come to the conclusion that I will never have any lasting happiness of any kind so long as you're on hand to _ruin it for me!"_

Jim was silent for several seconds as he absorbed his brother's declaration of war. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because our last conversation probably left you with a live-and-let-live impression from me. Whatever happens now, I don't want you running around claiming that I tricked you into dropping your guard. I don't want you to pretend that you didn't know I was coming for you. Not very Slytherin of me, I know, but my Gryffindor side insists that I beat you fairly as well as decisively."

Jim's face darkened. "Fair enough. Game on." Both brothers scowled at each other before returning to their respective groups.

At about that time, several faculty members entered the room. Lily Potter and Pomona Sprout entered first. Lily noticed her two sons as they separated with each bearing angry expressions. Jim acknowledged his mother with a nod, while Harry ignored her completely. Before she could speak to either boy, Gilderoy Lockhart strode into the room with a flourish wearing a stylish dueling outfight with a half-cape flung over his shoulder. On his left arm was a white satin gauntlet that doubled as a wand holster. Profs. Snape and Flitwick entered behind him.

"Good evening, students and faculty! And welcome to the first of what I hope will be many meetings for the _Hogwarts Dueling Association!_" Behind him, Snape's lip curled slightly. The DADA instructor continued his opening remarks for another five minutes, including a brief history of professional dueling, an introduction of the members of Team Counterstrike (all of whom he asked to come forward and stand next to the dueling platform as they were introduced), and an explanation of the rules of ping-pong punctuated by five bad jokes and three "ha-Has," each of which made Harry visibly wince.

"But, I'm sure that it's been the talk of the school that I've spent months teaching these fine young students to play a Muggle leisure activity. Tonight, you will all find out why. Raise your hands, students, if you have ever heard of ... the Averto Shield." Not a single student raised a hand. "Unsurprising, for it is a very rare Charm, and only the most dexterous of wizards and witches can use it with any effectiveness."

With that, Lockhart waved his wand, and the word "_Averto_" appeared in the air in flaming letters. Then, he whirled around to face Team Counterstrike. "Cedric Diggory. Kindly step forward and demonstrate the Protego Shield for everyone." Cedric did as instructed, and there was a flash of gold around him which quickly faded into the soft, barely visible heat-haze that astute observers recognized as the Protego.

"Well done as always, Mr. Diggory. Now, using the _exact same wand movements_, cast the spell again only saying _Averto_ instead of _Protego_. The accent is on the second syllable which is pronounced to rhyme with 'air' with a slight trill on the '_r_.'"

Cedric studied the word for a few seconds, muttering it under his breath to make sure his pronunciation was correct. Then, he cast the spell as instructed. However, there was no apparent effect. Confused, Cedric started to try again when Lockhart interrupted him.

"Please examine the tip of your wand, Mr. Diggory. The results might surprise you."

Cedric pulled his wand up even with his eyes, and he was indeed surprised. There was a tiny, barely visible bubble, no more than three or so inches across, centered on the tip of his wand. Confused, Cedric felt out for his magic and was further surprised to realize that it was fueling this tiny shield, but at a level so small that he barely felt a drain at all. Then, he touched it lightly with his fingertip before jerking it back with a soft "Ouch!"

"What you see there, Mr. Diggory, is the Averto Shield, a shield spell that is every bit as strong as a Protego but which has only a tiny fraction of Protego's size and power demand. With practice, you can maintain that shield for _hours_ without draining yourself. Now, you may ask '_But Professor Lockhart, what good is a shield that's only three inches across?_' Allow me to demonstrate. _Mr. Harry Potter_. Would you be so kind as to target me with a Stinging Hex?"

Harry crooked an eyebrow. Then, as fast as he could, Harry flicked out his wand and cast. "_**ACULEUS!**__"_ The Stinging Hex flew towards Lockhart, who casually batted it away to impact harmlessly into a wall. Harry and the rest of the students were suitably impressed.

"Thank you, Mr. Potter. But while the defensive benefits of Averto are obvious, there is more. If you are quick enough, dexterous enough, and knowledgeable enough about offensive and defensive magic, you can _combine_ the stroke that parries an incoming attack with one of the wand strokes of an attack spell, hence my naming this group _Team Counterstrike_. Mr. Potter, target me again with a Stinging Hex, please."

Harry nodded and fired off another hex even faster than before. This time, Lockhart lunged slightly and cried out "_**EXPELLIARMUS,**_" timing his wand movements so that the second slash of the spell also deflected Harry's hex. Lockhart's spell then hit Harry before he could react, and Harry's wand flew across the room where the DADA professor caught it easily. The whole thing happened with astonishing speed.

"The defense is not perfect," said Lockhart to the group as he walked over to return Harry's wand. "Far from it, in fact, if you lack the skill to use it flawlessly. Fail to parry the incoming spell, and you will bear the full brunt of it. Also, it cannot block spells which target an entire area, such as Bombarda, nor spells which cannot normally be blocked by a Protego. And it goes without saying that it cannot block any of the Unforgivables. Still, within the structured environment of a duel, it is a formidable defense, but only if you're clever enough to combine it with appropriate attack spells."

With that, he nodded to Professor Flitwick who used the Pyrologos Charm to cover one of the side walls in flaming words, about thirty or so in all. Harry realized that they were all offensive Charms, Third Year and below, most of which he already knew. Notably, all of the cutting spells, explosive spells, and burning spells that he'd studied were conspicuously absent. However, one spell on the list made Harry smile.

"These spells," said Flitwick in his squeaky voice, "are the only offensive spells permitted for competitive dueling at the Beginner Level under the rules set forth by the Western European Dueling Association. Members of Team Counterstrike, take a few moments to review the list with an eye towards how to incorporate the wand patterns into an Averto parry. Everyone else – Refreshment Time!" The students _not_ on Team Counterstrike swarmed the refreshments tables while the team members, all of whom had developed strong competitive streaks over the last several weeks, pored over the list of allowed spells.

Fifteen minutes later, Lockhart summoned everyone back to the dueling platform. "Now then, as you've no doubt realized, the purpose of nearly four months of ping-pong practice is to see whether the game serves as a viable practice tool for developing skill at parrying incoming spells. So let's start off with Mr. Diggory and Mr. Finch-Fletchley. Diggory is a Fourth Year and has been first in his class in DADA for the last two years running, but his duties as prefect and Quidditch captain have cut into his ping-pong practice time. Finch-Fletchley is a Second Year with respectable but not dominating DADA scores, _but _he is an accomplished ping-pong player who has taught most of Team Counterstrike literally everything they know about the game, _ha-Ha!_ So let us see who has the advantage."

Somewhat nervously, Justin headed to one end of the platform while Cedric went to the other. Flitwick explained the dueling protocol, and then the two boys met in the middle of the platform, raised their wands in salute, and then bowed before heading back to the opposite ends where each of them activated their Averto parrying shields. The diminutive professor said that the two would be playing a "best of five" match, which meant that a duelist would receive a point for each time he successful disarmed the other, and the first duelist to get three points would win. Then, Flitwick tapped the platform three times with his own wand and cried out "_**CERTAMEN!**_" and a glimmering shield wrapped itself around the perimeter of the platform before fading into transparency. Designed specifically for competition dueling, the Certamen shield would prevent any missed or deflected spells from hitting anyone in the audience. Flitwick raised his wand high and then slashed down quickly to signify that the duel had begun.

Immediately, Diggory fired off a volley of charms and hexes towards the younger Hufflepuff. Justin was able to parry them fairly easily, but troubles came when he tried to return fire, as he simply wasn't fast enough to get a spell off before Cedric sent one his way. Despite his superior skill at ping-pong, Justin was soon down 2-0, one point away from losing the duel. Then, he heard a voice behind him say "Call for a time out." It was Draco. Somewhat surprised, Justin gave the signal for a sixty-second time out to Flitwick before turning towards Draco who was at the end of the platform.

"You can parry Diggory all day if you need to," he said sagely. "Your problem is that you abandon your defense in favor of an attack before you have a good opening. Be patient and play to your strengths." Justin's forehead creased as he considered Draco's words. Meanwhile, Malfoy's two bodyguards stood behind him looking at each other nervously, completely baffled by the sight of their "boss" helping out a Mudblood. Then, Flitwick called time-in, and the duel resumed.

Justin took his sort-of-friend's advice to heart and focused solely on parrying everything Cedric threw at him. By the tenth parried spell, Cedric was becoming annoyed. By the twentieth, he was visibly frustrated and a little bit tired. It was on the twenty-third spell that Cedric got a little sloppy and finally gave Justin an opening. He parried Cedric's spell and led that directly into a Tarantallegra. Caught off guard, Cedric tried to parry but missed. Then, he spent several precious seconds trying to cast the counter-curse while dancing furiously and was completely unprepared when Justin's Expelliarmus slammed into him. The score was 2-1. The next round went just as badly for Diggory, and Justin took him down the same way. Tied at 2-2.

Then, it was Cedric's turn to call for a time-out, which he spent calming himself down and trying to think critically about how to get around Justin's seemingly impenetrable defense. Just as Flitwick called time-in, an idea came to the older boy, and he smiled to himself. The final round began with Cedric firing off several rapid fire spells aimed first at Justin's stomach, then his chest, and finally his head. Justin parried each progressively higher spell in turn, but as he reached up to deflect the last spell, Cedric suddenly dropped to one knee and fired off a Leg-Locker Curse towards Justin's shins, no more than a foot above the floor. For one critical second, Justin was paralyzed trying to decide between parrying or simply trying to dodge the spell. That was one second too long, as the curse hit him before he could move, and he fell over on his side. Cedric quickly disarmed him and claimed victory to the general applause of the student body. He came over to return Justin's wand and help him up, and he congratulated Justin on a hard-fought match.

"Well done to both of you!" exclaimed Lockhart. "In this instance, it's safe to say that greater experience narrowly trumped the use of that particular defense. While Mr. Finch-Fletchley's skill with Averto is most impressive, you don't have to parry_ every_ attack. Mr. Diggory's Leg-Locker Curse was low enough to the ground that Mr. Finch-Fletchley _could_ have simply hopped over it, in which case, he might have gained a tactical advantage over Mr. Diggory who was down on one knee limiting his mobility. Still, definitely well done to you both. Now, let's see what happens with two students who are very comparable in skill, both in ping-pong and in spellwork. Mr. Harry Potter and Mr. Jim Potter, please take to the dueling platform!"

Harry strode confidently to the end of the platform where the two Hufflepuffs were exiting, stopping to congratulate Diggory for his win and Justin for his strong effort. Then, he walked up the steps and down the platform to meet Jim in the center. In the back of the room, Lily Potter tensed, visibly unhappy that Lockhart had set her two sons against one another.

"You sure you want this, Harry? Total war?" asked Jim in a calm voice.

"I don't think either of us ever had much choice, Jim," Harry replied.

"Alright then. Prepare to have your happiness ruined again."

Harry snorted at that, and the two boys raised their wands to salute one another before returning to their respective ends to activate their shields. Then, Flitwick raised his wand and slashed down, and the duel began. As Lockhart had suggested, Harry and Jim were very close in both physical and magical skill. For two solid minutes, spells flew back and forth, as the Potter Twins attacked and parried and attacked again, apparently too evenly matched for either to disarm the other. Unfortunately, Harry gradually came to realize that _very close_ in skill did not mean equal. To his unexpected surprise, Harry was forced to acknowledge that for all his effort and study, Jim really was just a tiny bit faster and more experienced than him. Just past the two minute mark, Jim finally disarmed his older brother.

"One point to Jim Potter!" exclaimed Flitwick. "Score: one to zero." The Gryffindors cheered loudly, led by Ron who stood nearest to Jim at the end of the platform, ever ready to give encouragement. The Slytherins booed, though some of them cast disparaging looks at Harry for his failure, and Harry suddenly realized that he might have miscalculated. He'd hoped to get inside Jim's head and make him arrogant and overconfident. It had not occurred to Harry that Jim's arrogance and confidence at dueling would be justified by his actual skill. To his embarrassment, Harry realized that for the very first time since he came to Hogwarts, one of his power plays was in danger of blowing up in his face.

The second round preceded much like the first except that both boys were even more intense. The two were evenly matched for almost three minutes this time, a remarkable duration for first time duelists – typical Beginner competition rounds rarely lasted for more than five minutes, and a couple of novices normally wouldn't last more than one. Unable to get any spells past Jim, Harry finally stole a play from Cedric Diggory, ducking under an attack and aiming a Stunner at Jim's lower legs. But the Gryffindor was ready even for that. He leaped_ over_ the incoming spell, and as he fell towards the floor, he let loose with another Disarming Jinx, also aimed at his opponent's legs. Harry tried to dodge, but he mistimed it slightly, and the Expelliarmus barely grazed his leg. That, unfortunately, was enough to disarm Harry a second time.

"One point to Jim Potter!" exclaimed Flitwick again. "Score: two to zero."

"Time out!" Harry whirled around in surprise. It was Professor Snape who called for a time-out, and Harry's Head of House was now giving him a stern look. Meanwhile, Jim got up and returned to his end of the platform to the cheers of his Housemates. By now, the Slytherins in attendance were noticeably subdued.

"As impressive as your skills are, Mr. Potter, they seem ... inadequate to overcome those of the Other Potter. Explain yourself."

"Jim's been getting lessons over the Summer, apparently with a heavy emphasis on combat training," Harry said in a tight voice. He had not yet suppressed his emotions with Occlumency as doing so would also deprive him of the benefits of any adrenaline rush. It was a balancing act to know when to suppress emotions and when to rely upon them, one with which he was still grappling.

"It was my understanding that you were _also_ taking lessons in defensive magic over the summer, Potter."

Harry's eyes flashed. "I took lessons so that I could take my OWLs early, sir," he said. "_Jim_ took lessons so he could learn to fight Death Eaters."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Be that as it may, while your brother may be your superior, if only in this narrow area, he is still a Gryffindor and is thus congenitally incapable of lateral thinking. This far, while he has shown multiple defensive approaches, all of his attacks are simple and direct. He seems either incapable of or uninterested in any form of indirect or obfuscatory tactics. You are a Slytherin. Use spells which can harry or divert him but which don't actually require you to overcome his admittedly strong defense." Snape glanced up at the flaming spell list still floating next to the far wall. "Something from the Opuggno series, perhaps?"

With that bit of advice, Snape stepped back into the crowd while Harry turned to study the spell list once again. Then, as the time-out ended, he resumed his dueling pose. Flitwick gave the signal again, and Harry and Jim both opened fire on each other. The spells flew even faster than the first two rounds, but around the one minute mark, Harry thought he saw his opening.

"_**SERPENTSORTIA OPUGGNO!**_" he yelled. Only Serpensortia was needed to summon a snake of Harry's choice – a boa constrictor, in this case – but using it as part of the Opuggno Jinx ensured that the snake would aggressively attack Jim without any further instructions from Harry, and certainly without the need for any Parseltongue instructions that Harry had no intention of giving in front of half the school. Unfortunately, "_Serpensortia Opuggno_" is a mouthful and requires a fairly complicated wand pattern, both of which gave Jim what he thought might be the opening for a finishing move.

"_**EXPELLIARMUS!**_" Jim's Disarming Jinx flew towards Harry only to impact with the conjured boa constrictor just as it was coming into solidity.

And then came the deafening _BOOM_.

The two spells crossed, and where they impacted with one another there was suddenly a seething ball of blinding white light. The ball expanded quickly, first rubbing up against the Certaman shield at the edges of the dueling platform and then _shattering it _with great force, knocking down most of the people around the platform in the process. Those further away and nearest the door rather sensibly made a break for it. Lily Potter did not, and instead, she tried to push her way through the crowd towards her sons.

Simultaneously, the glowing sphere shot out two tendrils of energy, one towards each of the Potter Twins. Harry couldn't see what was happening with Jim, but when the tendril nearest him touched the tip of his wand, his hand snapped tight into a death grip, and he felt as though he were being electrocuted. Instinctively, he fought back, pushing his magic though the connection between his wand and the sphere. For just a second, the sphere moved away from Harry and towards Jim. Then, it stopped suddenly before jerking back a few feet towards Harry, who could somehow feel his brother pushing the ball towards him.

"_Oh no you don't_," Harry thought angrily before he pushed more of himself into the sphere, which wavered between the two boys before remaining in place. Then, it started to slowly expand and grow brighter as both twins pushed against it. And from inside the glowing sphere came the sound of angry hissing that grew louder and _deeper_ as the sphere expanded.

"What the _Hell_ is _THAT_?!" exclaimed Lockhart in a mixture of anger and fear. Then, Professor Flitwick, who was nearby, answered his question with an exclamation of his own.

"Bless my soul!" he yelled in wonder. "It's ... of course! I should have anticipated this what with two identical twins! It's _the Brother Wand Effect_!"

"_The what?!_" asked Lockhart who was slowly backing away from the expanding sphere with his wand pointed at it. Inside, he could just barely make out some writhing shape thrashing about, apparently in pain from the sounds it was making.

"Never mind for now, Gilderoy! Severus! We must disarm the Potter Twins but we _must_ do so simultaneously, else the one who is disarmed first might be injured or killed!" On the other side of the table, Snape nodded and then pointed his wand at Harry Potter. Flitwick did the same towards Jim, and on the count of three, they each fired off Disarming Charms at the two boys. Jim's wand went flying off behind him, while Harry's flew off towards the panicking crowd. Theo Nott actually pushed two people aside before jumping up to catch it.

Instantly, the white sphere _exploded_ with enough force to knock most of the observers flat on their backs, including both Harry and Jim, as well as most of the faculty present. And in the center of the platform where the glowing sphere had been was ... not a snake so much as an _abomination_. Over thirty feet long and three-feet in diameter at the widest point, the snake was covered with shiny emerald green scales which appeared to be made of metal. But the most striking feature of the snake was its eyes – they _burned_, literally burned with an unholy green fire. Twisting around, the snake focused its attention on the largest mass of students, opened its wide maw, and breathed a gout of green flame directly towards them. Snape was faster, and he successfully cast a Mass Protego to protect the students, but then he screamed in pain, as he was somehow able to feel the heat of the flames _though_ his shield. The magical feedback caused the Potions Master to swoon, and Marcus and some of the other Slytherins caught him and dragged him away from the snake. The other professors on hand tried their best to usher students out of the Great Hall, but too many were on the far side of the platform. Flitwick, Lockhart, and several older students cast what spells they could, but the snake seemed to have magic resistant scales. Suddenly, the creature let out a _roar_, and Harry was surprised to realize he could understand it despite the snake's strange nature.

"_PAIN! WHY DOESSSS IT HURT SSSSO MUCH!"_

Then, one of the older Gryffindors standing near fired off a Cutting Hex at the creature which had no effect except to draw its attention and make it angrier. Amid cries of terror, the Gryffindors tried to get around the platform to flee, while Jim Potter finally pulled himself up off the floor into a kneeling position. The snake hissed in anger and then unleashed a gout of flame that struck the floor near the fleeing students, generating a small explosion and knocking most of the Gryffindors to the ground. A second later, another gout of flame targeted the helpless students, but at the last second, Justin Finch-Fletchley and Draco Malfoy (_of all people!_) interposed themselves and cast overlapping Protego spells. Both boys screamed in pain as the unearthly green flames struck, but the shields held and none of the students were burned. Even angrier now, the serpent cast about for some other target and saw one: Jim Potter.

From the opposite side of the platform, Harry marveled at the absurdity of the choice he faced. If he did nothing, the snake would likely kill his brother, ending their rivalry and clearing Harry's way to the Potter Seat no matter what James Potter and Peter Pettigrew had to say about it. _Or_ he could save his brother but at the cost of revealing himself as a Parselmouth in front of most of the school and confirming in the minds of most of Wizarding Britain that he was a future dark wizard. Harry muttered an expletive that would scandalize Hermione if she'd been on hand to hear it. Then, he drew a deep breath.

"_SSSSSTOP!"_

The snake froze and focused its attention on the source of the command. "_YOU ARE A SSSSPEAKER OF THE SSSACRED TONGUE?_"

"_YESSSS. I AM A SSSPEAKER OF THE FOUNDER'S SSSSACRED TONGUE. AND I COMMAND YOU IN THE NAME OF SSSALAZAR SSSLYTHERIN TO HARM NO ONE. DO YOU UNDERSSSSTAND?_"

"_YESSS, MASSSTER. BUT THE PAIN. IT HURTSSSS._"

"_I KNOW. I'M SSSSORRY. I WILL END YOUR PAIN AS SSSSOON AS POSSSSIBLE._"

At that, the serpent calmed itself and awaited further instructions. With the immediate danger past, everyone in the room focused their attention on the one who had charmed the monstrous creature. The Muggleborns were confused by what had happened but knew enough to realize they should be frightened. Everyone else in the room, however, knew exactly what a Parselmouth was and what it might mean to exhibit that gift. Whether in horror or wonder, everyone in the room was fixated on Potter and his giant, fire-breathing pet snake.

Everyone _including _his older brother Harry, for whom Christmas had just come early.

Quickly surveying the room, Harry called out to Theo Nott, and the other boy tossed Harry his wand. Then, summoning all his will and magic, Harry stepped forward and cast a spell at the giant snake with as much energy as he could. "_**VIPERA EVANESCA**_!" he cried, and with a hiss of pain and a final harmless gout of green flame, the giant snake disintegrated. Then, without even looking towards Jim, who seemed paralyzed by the crowd's reaction to him, Harry jumped off the platform and raced over to help Justin and Draco to their feet.

"Justin! Draco! Are you two okay?!" he exclaimed breathlessly. "I swear I have no idea what happened! It was supposed to just be a boa constrictor! I have no idea how it got turned into that ... _thing_!"

"I think we're both fine, Harry," said Draco.

"Yes," said Justin. "It hurt like the dickens when the fire touched our shields, but once the fire stopped so did the pain."

Quickly, Harry turned to the others students who had been knocked down – mostly younger Gryffindors. "Is everyone else okay?" he asked with as much genuine concern and compassion for the Gryffs as he could fake on short notice. By that time, Lockhart and the other professors were gathered around to confirm that everyone was alright. With as much discretion as possible, Harry studied the professors around him. Most of them were studiously avoiding looking towards Jim who was now making his own way off the platform nervously. Lilly Potter _was_ looking towards Jim with a concerned expression, but she made no move to approach him.

"Right," said Lockhart. "Now that we know we're all okay, Professor Flitwick, I believe you can shed some light on what just happened?"

"I believe so," said the Charms professor, "but first – Mr. Potter, what is your wand made of?"

Harry blinked at the odd segue. "Um, holly and phoenix feather."

"I thought as much. And Jim's wand, I happen to know, is ash and phoenix feather. And since there has only been one phoenix that has been sighted in Britain in the last century, I've no doubt it was the _same_ phoenix." Flitwick said triumphantly as if that answered everyone's question.

Lockhart coughed. "I ... see. And that has something to do with the ... Brother Thingy?"

"The Brother Wand Effect. An incredibly rare phenomenon. If you have two wands that have a strong sympathetic connection, each wielded by duelists who _also_ have strong sympathetic connections, and the two wands cross against one another just right, it can create a sort of magical embolism that allows raw Wild Magic to manifest, warping the spells used in unpredictable ways."

At the mention of Wild Magic, Snape coughed very loudly. "As interesting as that is, Professor Flitwick, the students have just endured a terrifying experience. Perhaps it would be best if we end tonight's session early and put off the Dueling Club's organizational meeting to another date."

"I agree, Professor Snape," said Lockhart. Flitwick started to say something but then thought better of it in light of the oddly stern looks that both Snape and Lockhart were giving him. "Everyone, thank you all for coming," Lockhart continued. "I'll be posting a notice sometime soon about when the Dueling Club will meet again. For now, please clear the hall."

With that, the students, most of whom had been standing around muttering in confusion, turned towards the exit, when Ron Weasley suddenly spoke up loudly enough for the whole room to hear.

"Harry, are you a Parselmouth too?" he said in a shaken yet oddly outraged voice.

At that, everyone in the room stopped and looked towards Harry. Jim by this point was about ten feet away when he froze, the blood draining from his face.

Harry looked around mildly at the sudden attention before turning back to Ron with a puzzled expression. "Parsa-what?" he asked in obvious confusion. Behind Ron, Draco's eyes bulged slightly before he caught himself and put on an emotionless mask.

"_Parselmouth_. It means you can talk to snakes," Ron said. Except that he wasn't looking at Harry, but at Jim. "_You-Know-Who_ was a Parselmouth,"

"Oh, you mean that ... _hissy_ thing Jim was doing," said Harry evenly. "Now that you mention it, I think my father said something to me about it at one point. But no, I've never had chance to actually learn the spell."

"It's not a _spell_," Ron spat. "Usually, it's inherited. But if Jim's _twin_ doesn't have it..."

"YES, YES!" said Lockhart very loudly. "That's all quite interesting, but it's late, late, late! Why it'll be past curfew in just..." He checked his pocket watch. "An hour and a half," he finished lamely.

"Ron?" said Jim. His voice cracked just a little bit.

"You got it from _him_, didn't you?!" Ron practically snarled. "You've got _a part of him_ _inside you_!"

With that, there was now a noticeable muttering from the surrounding students, all of whom were now blatantly ignoring the professors' directions to leave.

"Ron, don't ... please don't do this." Jim took a step towards his best friend, who quickly took two steps back with an expression of disgust and anger on his face.

"Honestly, Ron," said Harry in a reassuring voice. "You're being ridiculous. I'm sure there's a perfectly rational explanation for why my brother has this ... evil snake-talking power. I mean, you make it sound like You-Know-Who _marked_ Jim in ... some ... way." Harry's voice trailed off as he suddenly began to stare intently at the V-shaped scare on Jim's right temple. Soon, he wasn't the only one.

Jim grew even paler as he looked around the room and took in all the faces that now stared back at him with fear and loathing. He took another step towards Ron.

"DON'T YOU TOUCH ME!" yelled the upset boy.

"Ron, just let me explain!"

"Boys, that is _enough_!" said Lockhart, who was trying unsuccessfully to assert some control over the situation.

"No, I understand now!" Ron yelled while ignoring the professors completely. "I get it! Why you'd spend all your time with a nobody like me! All this time, I thought you wanted a friend to help you fight _Voldemort_!" There was a visible gasp as Ron said the taboo name. "But you never wanted a _friend_, did you?! You wanted _a MINION!_ How long would it have been before you made me get _A SNAKE TATTOO_!"

At that, Jim's fear over his exposure gave way to anger, and he took a step towards his erstwhile friend as if to strike Ron. "You bastard!" At that, the Weasley Twins and their brother Percy _all_ stepped in front Ron protectively.

"And there it is," said Ron to the rest of the room. "You see? He hears something he doesn't like and gets violent. Good thing he doesn't know the Cruciatus yet, isn't it!"

At that, Jim looked like he'd been gut-punched. Then, everyone jumped when Snape fired off loud fireworks from his wand. "EVERYONE! DORMITORIES! _NOW!_" Immediately, everyone moved quickly towards the exit, with the older Weasleys huddled around Ron protectively. Lily Potter intercepted Jim and began talking with him. Harry and Theo were among the last to reach the doors to the Great Hall, and both of them spared a quick glance back. By now, Jim had actually begun to cry, and his (_their_) mother pulled him into an embrace, even as her own expression became fearful. Theo saw it too.

"So," he said quietly. "How long until you let Jim off the hook?"

Harry didn't answer. Instead, he put his arm around Theo's shoulders with a firm grip. "Walk with me, Theo," he said in an eerily calm voice. Harry led Theo out of the Great Hall, across the corridor, and into the foyer until they were standing with their backs to the closed portcullis. Then, he gestured around the area.

"Where are we, Theo?" Harry asked with an amiable smile.

"Um, the main foyer?" replied Theo who suddenly felt oddly nervous.

"Yeaaaah, the main foyer. Now, Theo, picture it if you will. Me, Draco, Marcus, and the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team. All standing in this foyer, right where we are now. Half-frozen, soaking wet, muddy ... and _practically bollocks-naked_. With Jim Potter and his lapdogs laughing at us, and the head photographer for his _fan club_ taking pictures."

Harry turned back to Theo and grinned in a way that made the other boy shudder. "No, Theo. I'm not letting Jim Potter off the hook. Jim Potter, Hogwarts' most famous Parselmouth, is going to dangle on the hook for my amusement. I'm going to leave Jim Potter, future dark wizard, on the hook and let him twist slowly in the wind."

With that, Harry patted his friend on the back and then headed towards the dungeons with a spring in his step. Behind him, Theo exhaled and reminded himself why it was good to be Harry's friend ... and very, very bad to be his enemy.

* * *

_**People were talking ...**_

"_James, something ... something's happened,_" said Lily Potter through the fireplace's flames. "_With Jim._"

"_Headmaster,_" said Severus Snape impassively. "_There has been an important development that you should be aware of._"

"_No, Mr. Weasley, we will __not__ reassign Jim Potter to a private room no matter how frightened your brother is of him!_" said Minerva McGonagall in a brittle voice that made her anxious Sixth Year prefect wince.

"_Well now, __that_ _was unexpected_," said Peter Pettigrew almost gleefully to himself just seconds after James broke the Floo connection.

"_Mamma, I have some concerns about our long-term goals_," wrote Blaise Zabini in a letter to the Countess Zabini, except that his words were both in Italian and coded.

"_I __know__ he's a Gryffindor,_" said Cassius Warrington to a small group of like-minded Slytherins. "_Maybe the Hat made a mistake. But none of that matters now. All that matters is ... getting Jim Potter to realize who his friends are._"

"_I was going to start off by telling you about Draco Malfoy's odd and sudden affection for a filthy Mudblood, but something __else__ happened that was even more unexpected and important than that,"_ wrote Drusilla Crabbe in a letter to her father.

"_No, we're staying down here. I'd rather sleep on the Common Room floor than in a room with ... him,_" said Ron Weasley to the Head Girl, as Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas nodded their heads in frightened agreement.

"_How the __HELL__ does he expect me to spin __THIS__?!_" shouted Rita Skeeter angrily in response to a late night owl post.

"_I picked the wrong son_," muttered James Potter to himself in amazement and horror as he stared out his study window with a half-empty whiskey bottle in his hand.

"_Are you going to be okay, Jim?_" said Neville Longbottom, the only other boy still sleeping in the same room with the Boy-Who-Talked-To-Snakes.

Jim said nothing. He just rolled over and stared at the empty bed belonging to the best friend he'd ever had. Sleep was a long time coming.

* * *

**There will be a brief delay due to unexpected work commitments. The next chapter will most likely be posted on February 5, 2016 unless I miraculously get done ahead of schedule in time to post it next Friday, January 2. If so, consider it a late Christmas present. "Home For The Holidays," in which Harry socializes, James plots, Neville investigates, and Jim broods. All this, plus the Secret Enemy strikes again.**

**AN 1: "Curious," said Ollivander about Harry's wand back in Chapter 3. A pity that Harry was so angry with James that he didn't let the man finish. If he had, he might have learned about the _two_ other wands that Ollivander had sold containing feathers from the same phoenix. But then, Harry has already acknowledged that an impatience with followup questions is a big failing of his.  
**

**AN 2: After I'm done with The Secret Enemy (and during the break between that and Year 3, "Harry Potter and the Death Eater Menace"), I would like to take a stab at revising the first few chapters. It troubles me that more than 113,000 people have read Chapter 1, but less than 25,000 felt moved to continue on to Chapter 2. Any thoughts on how the Prologue might be modified on how to make it more attractive to new readers? Or is it just that most people recoil from the idea of yet another WBWL story and don't even try reading past that point (a sentiment that has shown up in some reviews)?**


	65. HP&TSE 31 - Aftershocks

**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY  
**

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

**CLARIFICATION:**** Apparently, I was a little to clever for my own good with the wordsmithing of the last chapter, and some readers were left confused. Sorry. To clarify, Harry did not use Parseltongue at the Dueling Club. He was about to use Parseltongue to stop the snake, but Jim (rather heroically) acted just a second before Harry could. At that point, Harry seized the opportunity to publicly deny being able to talk to snakes and to insinuate that Jim only could because Voldemort marked him and made him prone to becoming a dark wizard. Got it? Good. Carry on.**

* * *

**CHAPTER 31: Aftershocks**

_**1 August 1986 (The Day After Jim Potter's Sixth Birthday)  
The grounds of Potter Manor  
**_

_The toy broom wasn't very fast and couldn't fly very high, but it was still Jim's favorite present. His favorite real present from his mum and dad, that is, not one of the other presents sent by people he didn't even know and which his parents had made him give away to needy children. Which was fine with Jim because he had more presents than he could ever use, and his mum and dad said charity was a good thing and that the Boy-Who-Lived was supposed to do good things. But Jim was sure he'd have thrown a tantrum if they'd tried to give away his toy broom no matter how many needy wizarding children wanted one. He'd cried for hours when he'd broken the one he'd had since he was four and only been consoled when his dad had promised to buy him the newest model of the Nimbus Jr. for his birthday._

_The Boy-Who-Lived's Birthday Party Gala held the previous day had been long and tiring, and even though some of the guests his mum and dad had invited had brought children, Jim hadn't gotten a chance to play with any of them. Of course, that was to be expected – Jim had never had a chance to play with any children and at this point in his life, he wasn't fully aware that "playing with others" was a thing children did. And so, without knowing what he was missing from a lack of playmates, Jim was enjoying himself alone on his new toy broom ... right up until the little green snake reared up its head and hissed at him, an act which startled the boy so much he fell off and landed right next to the serpent. Jim had never seen a live snake before, but his mum and dad had both shown him pictures and warned him that snakes could be dangerous and were associated with the Bad House at Hogwarts – the Slither-Ins – and also with the Bad Man who Jim had defeated when he was just a baby._

_"Don't hurt me!" the frightened boy cried out._

_"Why would I hurt you?" replied the snake in a bemused feminine voice. "You're not a mouse. Why, you're not even a toad! And besides, I would never harm a Speaker!"_

_Jim blinked in confusion. His father had told him many things about snakes, but he'd never mentioned their conversational skills. "Hey! You can talk!"_

_"Of course, Speaker," she replied. "You're Speaking to me, and so I must respond. That is what it means to be a Speaker ... Speaker."_

_"Why are you calling me Speaker? My name's Jim, not Speaker. And what's your name?"_

_"What an interesting question! No one has ever asked me my name before. It's ... Evelyn. Yes, that's it. My name is Evelyn. Though you can call me Evie if you wish. And I call you Speaker because that's what you are: A Speaker of the Founder's sacred tongue."_

_Suddenly, another voice called out. "Jim? What are you doing?" It was the boy's mum, who was now standing about fifteen feet away and was watching the boy and his snake with a nervous expression._

_"Hey mum! Come and see!" The innocent boy said excitedly. "I can talk to snakes!"_

_Lily Potter stood perfectly still for several seconds as she absorbed what her son had said. "Really?" she said in a tight voice. "Why don't you show me?" And with a smile, the boy did so. He turned back to Evelyn and directed an unearthly hiss towards the little grass snake that sent a chill down the witch's back._

_After a few seconds, the boy turned back to his mum with a happy smile. "Her name is Evie, and she says she's a grass snake. Natrix natrix ... whatever that means. She says I'm a Speaker of Sal... Salzzzar Slither-In's sacred tongue. Can we keep her?"_

_"Jim ... come over here, please." Jim frowned at her mother's expression, which was one he'd never seen on her before. Dutifully, the boy got up and walked over to his mother who knelt beside him and brushed the dirt off of his clothes. "Jim... we need to talk about this. There's some things you need to understand about ... about talking to snakes ... and Salazar Slytherin ... and ... your father. Right now, though, I want you to go back to the house. It's almost time for lunch."_

_"But what about Evie, mum?"_

_"Jim!" Lily said more forcefully. Then, her face softened. "You go on. I'll take care of Evie." Jim hesitated. "And then, we'll have treacle tart!" At that, the boy's face lit up with a smile. Lily kissed Jim's forehead and then sent him on back towards the manor house. Once he was out of sight, she walked over to pick up the boy's toy broom. Then, she looked down at the grass snake which seemed to be waiting patiently. For a long moment, she stared at it angrily, as if it were the snake's fault that her son was a Parselmouth with all that entailed. Then, with a sudden flick of her wand, the snake was sliced neatly in two. Lily vanished the remains and then turned back towards the house._

* * *

_**18 December 1992  
An hour before dawn**_

Jim stared up at the darkened ceiling of the Gryffindor dorm. He'd barely slept a wink since the previous night's disaster. He'd made a promise at the age of six to never reveal that he was a Parselmouth, and while he certainly didn't regret using that hated and nearly-forgotten power to save the lives of his classmates, it was heartrending to see that everything his mother had warned him about was true – nearly everyone seemed to hate and fear him now because of Parseltongue's terrible reputation. Worst of all, not only was he exposed as a Parselmouth in front of his peers, but it was under circumstances which seemed to prove that Harry _wasn't_ a Parselmouth. And _that_ meant that Ron was probably right. Jim's ability to speak to snakes was something he'd acquired from Voldemort. A part of the Dark Lord was inside him and had been all along. Was that why he'd been drawn to Mr. Nemo's Occlumency book? Was that why he'd been such an immature prat for so long? Was that what possessed him to call Hermione Granger a "_Mudblood_" the year before? Jim looked over sadly at Ron's empty bed once more, and then he pulled himself up and started getting dressed for his morning workout.

"Jim?" said Neville sleepily. "What are you doing up so early?"

"Sorry to wake you, Neville. I'm just going for a run."

Neville tried to process that for several seconds. "Jim, there's four feet of snow on the ground outside."

"I know. So, I'll just run up and down the stairs for an hour or so instead."

"Oh," said the other boy. He watched in silence as Jim pulled on some Muggle sweat pants that he used for his morning workouts. "You know, it _will_ get better, Jim. Ron will come around. So will everyone else,"

"Ron and everyone else thinks I'm You-Know-Who Reborn, Neville." Jim paused. "Come to think of it, why do you _not_ think that?"

Neville shrugged. "Because I know you. It's idiotic to think that you might be a dark wizard, especially after you tried to beat up You-Know-Who last year with karate."

"Taekwando."

"Ah," said Neville, who was not conversant with Muggle martial arts techniques. "And anyway, it's ... extra idiotic to think you're a dark wizard just for being a Parselmouth."

Jim gave a sad smile. "You're being pretty broad-minded about it. Especially since last September, you were ready to jump me in the Common Room for that prank I played on Harry with the boggart."

"Gryffindors are supposed to do what's right instead of what's easy. Back then, it was right to stand up to you when you were being a prat to your brother. Now, it's right to stand by you when everyone else is being a prat to you." Then, Neville smirked a bit. "Mind you, there is a certain ... poetry to this. I mean, you _have_ been suggesting that Harry was a future dark wizard since his Sorting and with a lot less actual evidence than being a Parseltongue."

Jim sighed. "Believe me, Neville," he said ruefully. "I am _well aware_ of the fact that I seem to be paying off all my accumulated bad karma at once."

* * *

_**Professor Lockhart's Office  
8:45 a.m.  
**_

"Come in," said the DADA instructor in response to the soft knock. The door opened, and an oddly timid George Weasley entered.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Have a seat," said Lockhart without smiling. George moved to the chair in front of the desk. As he did, he glanced at a nearby chalkboard upon which was written a rune chain that he thought seemed oddly familiar. Lockhart noticed his expression.

"What do you think of it, Mr. Weasley?" he said in a cool voice.

George studied the runes more intently for a few seconds before speaking. "It's some kind of portkey matrix, but it's not like the usual kind. It looks like it was designed for something a lot bigger than the normal portkey. And if I had to guess, I'd say it was it was designed for a portkey to be triggered by some environmental condition." He cocked his head at one section. "Is that ... _steam_?!"

"Indeed. This matrix was for an oversized portkey designed to activate automatically when exposed to any significant amount of steam. And I direct your attention to the rune sequence on the third row, the one with that odd combination of Younger and Elder Futhark. Does that look familiar to you?"

George nodded silently. The sequence, as a matter of fact, looked like something out of the project he'd been working on desperately to catch up after his original notes had been stolen following the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match. Suddenly, he began to have an uneasy feeling about why he was here ... and why one of his favorite teachers was now so cold towards him.

"In point of fact, Mr. Weasley, you are the only member of Research Team Backdoor to sequence mixed runes in such an unconventional manner. Frankly, I'm surprised Professor Babbling didn't break you of such habits during your first year of Ancient Runes."

"I never had Professor Babbling, sir, or Ancient Runes."

"Well that makes ..." Lockhart stopped mid-sentence and stared at the boy. "I'm sorry. Could you repeat that?"

"I never took Ancient Runes. Me and Fred took Care of Magical Creatures and Divination. We thought they'd be easier grades."

Lockhart's left eye twitched. "Well, yes, _of course_ you did. And could explain you to me how in Merlin's name you can now display a better grasp of interlocking runes than some of the NEWTs-level students _despite never having had the class_?!"

George shrugged. "Our brother Bill is a curse-breaker. We got hold of some of his old textbooks from when he was working on his Mastery and taught ourselves what we know about runeworking."

Lockhart's eye twitched again, even more violently. "How ... how did you even learn _Futhark_?!" he asked in amazement.

"We found the recipe for the language potions and brewed them the Summer after Second Year," the boy said as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

"Of course you did." The professor leaned back and closed his eyes wearily. "Of _course_ you did."

"Sir, this is about that prank somebody played on the Slytherins last night, isn't it. You think I was involved, don't you?"

Lockhart opened his eyes and regarded his student intently. "I _think_ the prank was performed by someone highly familiar with the experimental rune sequences we've been working with in Project Backdoor. I _think _it was specifically someone who has been working on large-scale portkeys which was _your_ project area. And I _think_ it was someone with an inventive mind for pranks who also has a grudge against the Slytherin Quidditch team. Who do _you_ think my prime suspect should be?"

"It _wasn't me!_" said George excitedly. "Last month, during the Quidditch match, someone stole my notes out of the locker room. Whoever it was might have been able to use them for the prank!"

"Really?" said Lockhart doubtfully. "Your notes just happened to be stolen by someone with the technical expertise to understand them _and_ someone who would use your research against the Slytherins?"

"You can check with Oliver Wood. We told him the minute we found out that we'd been robbed. _And _we also asked Harry Potter to check into who might have done it _before_ yesterday."

Lockhart rubbed his chin for a few seconds as he considered what George had said.

"Sir," the boy continued earnestly. "My first day on the team, I _promised_ you that I wouldn't use what I learned for pranks. I meant it then and I mean it now. I had _nothing_ to do with what happened to the Slytherins last night."

Lockhart hesitated before speaking. "I believe you. Merlin knows why, Weasley, but I believe you. Unfortunately, my personal beliefs are not enough to defeat my professional responsibilities. When the Slytherins made it through the doors last night, it was just as Mr. Filch was about to _bar them for the evening!_ The Headmaster wanted the castle locked up so that children weren't tempted to go out to play in the snow. And if the Slytherins had been just a few minutes later, they'd have been locked outside practically naked in a blizzard and _no one_ would have known where they were. They could easily have _died._ The Headmaster wants answers, and all I have to give him are my personal beliefs in your innocence ... and the uncontroverted _facts."_

George looked fearful. He remembered how angry Professor McGonagall had been after Jim's boggart prank against Harry. And now someone had played an even more dangerous prank against Harry and several other Slytherins, a prank for which he was about to get the blame. In light of what had happened, outright expulsion was a possibility.

"I can give you until tomorrow morning, Mr. Weasley, to marshal what evidence you can in your defense before I go to the Headmaster. And I promise that if you are accused, I will speak up in your defense. But if I do, I want something in return."

The boy licked his lips. "What, sir?"

"I want you to sit for Professor Babbling's end-of-term examination before you leave for the Christmas holidays. And if you score high enough to satisfy her, I want you to join her Fourth Year Ancient Runes class when you return next term. You are a _wizard_, George Weasley. And you have an obligation to wizarding society and to _yourself_ to be the best damned wizard you can be. And you'll never reach your true potential so long as you let people talk you into settling for easy grades."

George swallowed painfully. "_Expulsion?_" he thought. "_Or kill myself trying to catch up in Ancient Runes when I'm a year and a half behind? Which would be the worse nightmare to have come true?_"

* * *

_**The Great Hall  
Lunch  
**_

Harry Potter idly played with his food while trying to discreetly study his newly outcast brother. The other boy sat at the far end of the Gryffindor table instead of the middle where he normally held court. To Harry's mild surprise, Neville was sitting with Jim, almost shielding him from notice by his house-mates. Harry felt the tiniest pang of jealousy at that, but then he suppressed it. Neville was universally considered to be the kindest boy in their year. _Of course_, he'd become protective of Jim once the rest of the school had turned on him. Harry also felt a slightly larger pang of guilt at how completely his brother had been rejected by the school for a talent that he himself also possessed and in large part because of his own manipulative actions. He suppressed that emotion even more ruthlessly. Then, for good measure, he suppressed the sudden spark of concern about using Occlumency to suppress emotions like guilt and empathy and what that might say about his own mental health.

Suddenly, Harry's attention was drawn to the sight of an owl approaching with a letter. He recognized it well enough. It was James Potter's personal owl, the same one that had delivered the Howler on his first day of class the previous year. "_Godric_" was the creature's name, if he remembered correctly. Harry smiled. If James had sent his favored son a Howler for being a Parselmouth, this might be the happiest day of his life. Unfortunately, the letter in the owl's clutches was not red, and the bird was actually headed in his direction. The owl landed and extended a claw towards Harry, one bearing a normal letter bearing his name along with the Potter family crest. Harry took the letter and then cut a small piece of ham to feed to the bird which hooted appreciatively before flying away. Harry elected not to immediately read the letter, which he pocketed instead. Glancing up and around, he was oddly pleased by the surprised and unhappy looks that both Jim and Lily Potter were giving him.

Meanwhile, further down the Gryffindor table, several of Jim's fellow Gryffindor's had struck up the beginnings of an argument.

"So, Oliver, will you be holding tryouts for a new Seeker after the holidays?" asked Cormac McClaggen.

"And why the devil would I do something as stupid as that, McClaggen?" the Quidditch captain replied without looking up from the latest issue of **Quidditch Monthly**.

"Well, because of what happened last night!" said Parvati. "You know. With the snake and the evil hissing voice. Don't you care about that?"

"Nope. Honestly, I don't care _in the slightest_ that Jim's a Parseltongue," said Oliver irritably.

"Parselmouth," said Luna Lovegood. "Language is important."

"Parselmouth, Parseltongue, Parselteeth or Parselgums, none of it matters to me. So long as Potter catches the Snitch, he can talk to snakes all day. Hell, he can teach them to sing and dance and spend his free time staging musical comedies for all I care."

"Really, Oliver?" said Seamus in disbelief. "You're actually okay with having a dark wizard on the team?"

"Oh, honestly," snapped Hermione. "The idea that Jim Potter is a _dark wizard_ is preposterous, no matter who or what he talks with." She narrowed her eyes at Seamus. "Which reminds me – where's Ronald? I'd have expected him to be the one here peddling this nonsense."

"He's off with the Twins," said Lavender without looking up from her lunch. The girl had been very quiet ever since the discussion had turned towards Jim's controversial gift. "George grabbed Fred and Ron before lunch started."

"Why didn't they get me?" asked Percy with his eyes narrowed. Lavender shrugged. "Well anyway, I don't know that Parseltongue necessarily makes Jim ... _dark_. But I've had my concerns with Ron hanging around him since their first year. Always dragging Ron into trouble ... and the way Jim just _assaulted_ Harry back in November! He definitely has issues."

"Of course, he has issues," said Seamus. "It's like Ron said. He got his Parseltongue from You-Know-Who. I bet Jim Potter is actually the Heir of Slytherin."

"I find that highly improbable," said Hermione with a disdainful sniff.

"Oh come on, Hermione," replied Parvati. "You-Know-Who. Salazar Slytherin. Even Herpo the Foul. Everyone knows that Parseltongue is the sign of a dark wizard."

At that, there was a small crash from behind her, as Padma Patil slammed her cup down hard onto the Ravenclaw table before rising from her seat to angrily approach her twin sister.

"Oh, really, Parvati?" she said harshly. "_Everyone_ knows Parseltongue is the sign of a dark wizard? Good to know! I can't _wait_ to get home for the holidays and let mother know that her favorite uncle is a dark wizard just because he spent three years learning to talk to serpents!"

Several students gasped at that, while Parvati blanched. "Padma!" she exclaimed in embarrassment.

"You have an uncle who's a Parselmouth?" Lavender asked her friend in surprise. Parvati opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by her angry twin.

"Yes!" said Padma imperiously. "Our great-uncle, Gupta Baskar, spent _years _learning Parseltongue because certain kinds of magic are more potent if you speak the incantations in the language of serpents, most notably healing magic. Today, Uncle Gupta is the one of the most respected and successful Healers in all of Wizarding India."

"Hang on," said Hermione in surprise. "I didn't know you could _learn_ Parseltongue."

"No offense, Hermione," said Padma, "but that's because you're a British witch attending a British magical school, and British wizards and witches don't acknowledge the existence of a universe beyond their shores. The truth is that Parseltongue is _thousands_ of years old, far older than Salazar Slytherin. _His_ innovation was not to create the language but to figure out how to invest it into his blood so that it would come naturally to his descendants instead of requiring years of study. But long before Hogwarts was built, Hypatia of Greece and Padraig of Ireland were Parselmouths, as was Paracelsus, one of the last great European wizard to become internationally famous among Muggles before the Statute of Secrecy was enacted. It is only because of its connections with Salazar Slytherin and with You-Know-Who that British wizards and witches think Parseltongue is evil."

Padma turned towards then end of the table. "Jim, I can see that this has been traumatic for you, but if you would like, I would be happy to write you a letter of introduction to Uncle Gupta. He can answer any questions you have about Parseltongue that are based on actual fact rather than," she turned back towards her sister with a glare of contempt, "_primitive superstition._"

Jim, who was visibly surprised at how the Ravenclaw came to his aid, nodded gratefully. "Yes, please. I'd be very grateful. Thank you, Padma."

She nodded, and with one last dismissive look towards Parvati and the other Gryffindors, she returned to the Ravenclaw table. Meanwhile, Neville leaned over to Jim with a smile.

"See," said Neville. "Things aren't as bad as you thought."

Jim shrugged, but the Patil girl's words did seem to raise his spirits somewhat. "Maybe they're not." He glanced up towards the head table and saw that his mother was looking down towards him with a thoughtful expression. As was, to his surprise, Dumbledore, who actually smiled at him. Jim smiled back and then returned to his lunch in a slightly better mood.

* * *

_**Meanwhile in Gryffindor Tower**_

Fred and Ron sat quietly by the fireplace. George had explained to them both what he'd learned from Lockhart – that whoever pranked the Slytherin Quidditch Team the night before had also done an excellent job of framing him. And worse, that he was at serious risk for expulsion over the matter. George and Fred had talked for a while and then argued for even longer before George complained of a headache and left to go lay down in his room. Ron and Fred stayed behind to continue talking.

"It's not fair. You and George had nothing to do with what happened to those slimy snakes. Why should he get punished for it?"

"Fair's got nothing to do with it, little brother of mine. I reckon George is right. Whoever robbed our lockers of George's notes must have pulled off that prank on the snakes in such a way that it looks like George did it. But I don't know how to prove that."

The two sat quietly for a few minutes. Then, Ron looked up to his brother.

"Maybe there's another way."

"Another way to what?" replied Fred.

"Another way to keep George from getting expelled," replied Ron quietly. "I could take the fall for it instead."

"_What_?!" Fred exclaimed in shock.

"Everyone knows how much I hate Slytherins. I haven't been exactly subtle about it. I could go to McGonagall and say I copied George's notes and used them to prank their Quidditch team. Maybe she'd believe me."

"I don't much see how that improves things, Ronnikins. We'd still end up with a brother expelled. A net loss in my book."

"Better me than George. I mean, he's the one who's going to make something of himself, not me."

"Stop saying that, Ron!" said Fred angrily. "You're gonna make something of yourself. Something nobody will ever forget. And besides, well ... no offense, but you're not exactly the Prankmaster Weasley around here. Nobody would ever believe that you could pull of something like that."

"Well, we've got to do _something_! Do you have any ideas?"

Fred shook his head no and then turned to stare at the fire. The two boys were quiet for a moment before Ron sighed and pulled out his notebook to prepare for his next class. Meanwhile, Fred thought about what his little brother had said. Slowly, an idea formed in his head, accompanied by a look of grim determination on his face. Ron sat quietly and took notes.

And waited.

* * *

_**_**The end of Potions Class  
**_3:00 p.m. **_

As the students were turning in their vials and packing up at the end of Potions, Professor Snape called out to Harry.

"Sensible Potter. Remain after class. There is a House matter we need to discuss." Harry nodded and moved to the front of the room while everyone else departed. Snape gestured for him to sit at a desk and wait while he finished marking the potions that had been turned in. Finally, after a few minutes, Snape looked up at Harry and pulled out his wand, casting a spell before the boy could react. "_**SERPENSORTIA.**_" Instantly, Harry was shocked by the presence of a very angry and highly venomous coral snake materializing on the desk right in front of him.

"_SSStop!_" he hissed in a panic, and the angry snake stilled. Then, Harry glared up at Snape, who was completely unrepentant.

"You were wise to conceal the fact that you too possess this gift, Potter, though you would do well to be on guard against the Snake-Summoning Charm from those who might wish to expose you."

"I hope, _sir_, that there won't be too many people who try to expose me by summoning _a coral snake into my lap_!"

"Milk snake, Potter. Completely harmless. '_Red touch yellow – Kills the fellow. Red touch black _– _Venom lack_.' I would recommend you pursue an interest in herpetology if you wish to exploit this gift to its utmost."

"Noted, sir," he said drily. As Harry spoke, he calmly popped his wand and then vanished the milk snake. "So, do you plan to inform anyone that I'm also a Parselmouth?"

"I have no particular interest in making life easier for the Other Potter, but I do have questions for my own edification. How long have you known that you've had this gift."

"Since last year, about a month before James brought my Hogwarts letter. There was a boa constrictor at the London Zoo. It struck up a conversation with me, and then I had a bout of accidental magic that allowed it to get loose. I didn't learn that it was called Parseltongue or that it was considered _evil_ until the day I met James."

"And he has no idea of this?"

Harry gave the Potions Master a look suggesting the question was practically offensive. "Currently, only seven Slytherins know I'm a Parselmouth, two of whom have graduated and all of whom are magically bound not to reveal my secret. No one else has any idea. Well, besides _you_."

"Oh, I'm sure quite a few people have _ideas_, Potter, but they lack proof. Now then, if you and the Other Potter _both_ speak this language, it is undoubtedly genetic. Have you any theories as to how you both might have inherited this gift?"

"I don't need a theory, Professor Snape. I know exactly how we got it." Harry told him about the blood test performed at Gingrotts ... and the family name it produced. And not all of Severus Snape's many years of Occlumency training could keep a look of astonishment from his face.

"Who else knows about your lineage?" he asked after recovering his composure.

"Artemus Podmore and Hestia Jones, both of whom are bound by solicitor's oath. Oh, and the goblins, of course, but I'm paying then a hefty price for confidentiality. My plan is for no one else to know about it until I'm of age or otherwise when I _absolutely_ need it."

"And yet, you freely revealed it to me."

Harry shrugged. "If I've misjudged my ability to trust you after all this time, I deserve to have my secrets revealed. Besides, I imagine you expect me to reveal the truth when doing so would be most damaging to James Potter, and that would make it worthwhile for you to _keep _my secret. Am I right?"

Snape snorted. "At least for the time being, Potter. However, it is possible that the Headmaster will instruct me to find out whether you are a Parselmouth like your brother. If so, we will discuss the matter at that time to determine how I can protect your secrets without violating my other oaths. You may go now."

Harry nodded and headed for the door when Snape spoke again. "Oh, and Potter? I want to be there to see the look on James Potter's face when he learns about Lily's true lineage."

Harry grinned. "Time permitting, sir, I'll send you an engraved invitation."

* * *

Outside in the hall, Harry was surprised to see that Neville was waiting for him.

"Got a second, Harry?" he said.

Harry nodded and followed his Gryffindor friend to an empty classroom where, to Harry's further surprise, Neville put up several privacy Charms before turning to face him with a somewhat abashed expression.

"Listen, Harry ... If you were a Parselmouth ... you'd tell me, right?" he asked nervously.

Harry chuckled and smiled at his friend. "Oh honestly, Neville," he replied in a reassuring voice. "Of course not."

"Okay that's ... wait, _what_?" The other boy seemed mildly offended.

"Neville, I trust you as much as anyone in the world. But _if_ I were a Parselmouth, there would be absolutely no upside to telling a highly honorable, morally upstanding Gryffindor who is obviously upset at the way my brother is being treated for having the same gift."

Neville frowned. "Harry..."

"No, stop. Let me just stop you right there. Right now, people think Jim acquired Parseltongue from You-Know-Who, which is plausible, I suppose. If Jim had any sense, he'd be playing that up, claiming that _of course_ that's where he got it. That he defeated Voldemort as a baby and acquired the power through some sort of magical 'right of conquest' thing. Weirder things have happened. And if he did, I'm sure Rita Skeeter would print an article to that effect, everyone would believe it, and his fanclub would all buy snake familiars so that he could translate for them and he'd be _even more _popular than before."

Harry held up a finger. "_But_, if I were a Parselmouth too, that would mean that he and I both inherited it, most likely through Lily Potter, which would mean that we're _all three _descended from Salazar Slytherin. Now you tell me – would it _really_ improve things for Jim if it were proven that he and I were _both_ the Heirs of Slytherin and as a result our father divorced Lily and kicked him and our mother out of the ancestral home."

"Oh come on, Harry. James is awful, but surely he wouldn't be _that_ bad."

With a smirk, Harry reached into the pocket of his robe, and produced the letter he'd received earlier from James Potter which he now handed over to his friend. Neville unfolded the letter and read it, his eyes widening as he did.

"Wow," he finally said. "Just ... wow. This was the letter you got today?"

"Yep. James Potter found out last night about Jim being a Parselmouth, and not one day later, he invites me and any guests of my choice – including _Snape_ – to spend the Christmas holidays at Potter Manor because, and I quote, _'my Heir should not feel unwelcome in the House of Potter during the holiday season_' unquote." Harry chuckled softly in amusement. "And since I certainly won't invite Professor Snape, how do you think you and your Gran would feel about spending the Christmas hols as my guests? The injunction means I can't be alone with the Potters without a guardian, and if Lady Augusta won't come, I'll have to pay one of my solicitors to spend the holidays there. Merlin only knows how many hours they'd bill me for."

Neville did a double-take. "You actually want to go? To spend your Christmas holiday at Potter Manor because your estranged Slytherin-phobic father suddenly wants to get to know you better or some such rot?"

Harry shrugged. "Like Artie said last summer, Potter Manor is part of my birthright. Whatever my relationship with James Potter – and it's still a _deeply_ mistrustful one – I am perfectly capable of being polite to him for the length of the Christmas holidays. Besides, I had planned to be at Potter Manor anyway for the New Year's Eve party. Networking opportunities and all that. Anyway, I suspect Jim would be thrilled if you were there given the way he's latched onto you as his only friend."

Neville grimaced at that. He'd been worried that Harry might feel a bit jealous. "I'll owl Gran and let you know what she says."

Harry thanked his friend, and with that, the two boys exited the classroom. It wasn't until Neville was nearly at Gryffindor Tower that he'd finally realized how skillfully Harry had evaded his direct question about whether he too was a Parselmouth.

* * *

_**The Headmaster's Office  
4:30 p.m.  
**_

Albus Dumbledore studied the young boy in front of him with evident surprise. "Mr. Weasley, do I understand you to say that you are ... confessing?"

"Yes sir," said Fred Weasley. "I didn't think anyone would be able to figure out how I did it so easily, but then Professor Lockhart here traced it back to George, and I don't want him to get into trouble for something that was entirely my fault. _I_ was the one who portkeyed the Slytherins' locker with all their clothes and their wands out of the locker room and into the Slytherin dungeons. George had nothing to do with it, and I used his notes without his permission. Professor Lockhart's project has always been too important for him to use it for pranking. That's ... kind of been a sore subject between us. Anyway, I was angry about losing the Quidditch match so badly, and I was angry when someone I assumed was a Slytherin stole from us, so I wanted revenge. I _swear _though – I didn't think the blizzard would come in so soon and would put them in danger. I just wanted to embarrass the Slytherins, not get them hurt."

Also in the Headmaster's office were Snape, McGonagall, and Lockhart. Snape sneered at the notorious prankster with contempt. He knew perfectly well how many pranks played on his Slytherins arose from the Weasley Terrors' abuse of what he'd taught them in Potions. McGonagall looked more sad than angry, as if she was disappointed at so much wasted potential. Lockhart's expression was unreadable.

Finally, Dumbledore spoke. "What you did, young man, was a very serious infraction of our school rules, one with nearly tragic consequences. Please step outside and wait downstairs while we discuss your punishment and contact your parents."

Fred swallowed hard and then headed down the spiral staircase before anyone spoke. Naturally, Snape was first.

"In light of what he just confessed to, Headmaster, surely expulsion is the only punishment possible."

Lockhart interrupted dismissively. "Oh, Severus, please be sensible. Headmaster, before we talk about punishment, surely we should discuss the preliminary question of '_do we believe Fred Weasley's confession'_? Because I'm not sure that I do. I think it's obvious that he's just trying to cover for his brother George who I accused earlier today even though I now believe him to be innocent."

"Why is that, Gilderoy?" asked McGonagall almost hopefully.

"Because of the way he denied it this morning. Call me arrogant, but I think I'm a pretty good judge of character and honesty. George Weasley thought my portkey project was important. Aside from being a way to define himself as separate from his twin, he also viewed the project as a way to honor the memories of his uncles Gideon and Fabian Prewett who were murdered by Death Eaters. He took it seriously enough to promise me that he would not use any of the research he was doing for me in his pranks. I believe he has kept that promise and also that his promise would have prevented him from letting Fred Weasley have enough direct access to the research for _him_ to have used it for pranking as well."

Snape snorted, but Dumbledore merely looked resigned. "Personally, Gilderoy, I am inclined to agree with you. I believe that young Fred just now was confessing to something he didn't do in order to protect his twin from unfair punishment."

"Headmaster!" exclaimed Snape angrily, but Dumbledore put up a hand before he could continue.

"_Unfortunately,_ my beliefs in this matter are insufficient. A student with a past history of just this sort of mischief has confessed to _this particular _bout of mischief, one in which a number of students, some of whom are from Noble Houses, were placed in serious danger. I cannot simply _ignore_ Fred Weasley's confession without actual evidence that someone else was responsible. Not unless I want to be overruled by the Board of Governors who I'm _certain_ will expel him and possibly even seem to have his wand snapped, particularly since Lucius Malfoy sits on the Board and his son was among those harmed."

"So if _not_ expulsion, how will you punish him, Albus?" asked McGonagall.

"Suspension, I think, for the remainder of the school year. Gilderoy, if you can prove that some other student was truly responsible for the prank, I will allow young Fred to return. If not, he will have to repeat his Fourth Year." Dumbledore shrugged slightly. "Who knows? Perhaps if Fred and George have to take all their classes separately, it might have a beneficial effect on them both."

The teachers talked for a few more minutes. Then, McGonagall went down to retrieve Fred while Dumbledore activated the Floo and called out for the Office of Misuse of Muggle Artifacts. He was not looking forward to explaining what had happened to Arthur Weasley.

* * *

_**An empty hallway near Gryffindor Tower  
7:20 p.m.  
**_

Jim was lost in thought as he headed towards his dorm after dinner. He was alone, Neville having gone on to a meeting of Team Protector. He'd actually considered tagging along, but then he remembered that he wouldn't be particularly welcome there after the boggart prank. Besides, he was a Gryffindor and no coward. A few anonymous students had hit him with minor hexes when he wasn't looking that day, but none with the guts to attack him directly ... so far. Consequently, despite everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours, Jim still felt safe walking the halls of Hogwarts alone. That was about to change.

While walking down a deserted stretch of hallway, Jim stiffened as he heard a noise behind him, but just as he started to turn, a thick heavy bag came down over his head and tightened around his neck. Before he could react, he heard a guttural voice rasp out a _**PETRIFICUS TOTALUS**_. Instantly, all of Jim's limbs were frozen, leaving him unable to defend himself when the second attacker walked up and gut-punched him so hard he couldn't breath for several seconds. Then, the two attackers (for he could feel four sets of hands) dragged him into an empty class and threw him painfully to the ground.

And then they started kicking him in the ribs, arms and legs.

After a minute or so of that, the attackers dropped down next to him and began to talk, their voices distorted by some magical obscuring effect.

"_We believed in you, Potter_!" said one angrily. "_We believed all that garbage about how you were the Chosen One who defeated You-Know-Who! And __all this time__, you were a filthy Parselmouth! A Dark Lord in training! You're a __disgrace_ _to Gryffindor House!"_

"_I lost __family__ to You-Know-Who and those filthy Death Eaters!" _said the other. "_How dare you sully their memory with gifts you took from that monster! And you call yourself a Lion?! You make me sick!_"

That last outburst was followed by the sound of the attacker spitting on him. But then, a third voice – a young girl, it sounded like – cried out.

"Hey! Get away from him, you creeps!"

There was a commotion, and Jim heard some curses thrown, a scream from the girl, and then the sound of his two (apparently Gryffindor) attackers running off. They must have gotten some licks in on his savior, because Jim heard a hiss of pain from her before she made her way over to where he lay, still petrified.

"Easy, Potter. _**FINITE INCANTATEM.**_" Jim's arms and legs relaxed, and he let out a gasp of pain. He didn't think anything was broken, but he would have some ugly bruises unless he went to the Infirmary, which he did _not_ want to do. A few seconds later, the bag was ripped off Jim's head, but he could still barely see as the room was dark.

"Who are you?" he asked. The girl hesitated and then cast a Lumos. Jim gasped again, this time in surprise at his savior's identity: Amaryllis Wilkes.

"You!" he exclaimed.

"Yeah, Potter, me," she replied. "Is that a problem? I can go yell for those bullies to come back if you'd prefer them."

He made a face. "No thanks. Did you see who they were?"

"No, the lights were off. I dove for cover once they started firing hexes at me, and then they ran off out the other door. Guess they didn't want to get caught by somebody without a bag over his head." She hesitated. "I did hear them ranting about you being a disgrace to Gryffindor, though." Jim winced at that. He was badly shaken to think that there might be fellow Gryffindors who would go to such lengths. The Slytherin firstie looked down at him. "You look awful, Potter. Do you need help getting to the Infirmary?"

"I'm not going to the Infirmary. I'm going to my dorm."

"Fair enough. Guess I'll be going to the Infirmary by myself." And at that, Jim noticed a tear on her sleeve that was slightly damp with blood.

"You're hurt!" he exclaimed.

"Yeah. Just a graze though. Didn't duck as fast as I should have. Luckily, it was only a small Cutting Hex." Amy stood and headed for the door, holding her hand over the cut in her arm. Jim watched her as she left, still grappling with the realization that fellow Gryffindors had assaulted him like cowardly thugs until the child of a Death Eater saved him. She was almost out the door when Jim grimaced and called out to her.

"Wait a second, Wilkes. I'll walk you to the Infirmary."

She stiffened as she looked back to him. "I don't need Gryffindor chivalry, Potter. And I don't need pity, either."

"Well, then, it's a good thing I wasn't offering either, Wilkes. I just decided that you were right, and I probably should let Madam Pomfrey check me over."

With that, the two students headed off towards the Infirmary. They walked in silence for a while before Jim spoke again. "So, what made you decide to ... rescue me?" he finally asked.

Amy looked over to the Boy-Who-Lived. "I've got experience with people trying to punish me for things I was born with and have no control over," she said somewhat bitterly. Jim nodded at that, as it was a concept he was suddenly coming to appreciate himself. The rest of the trip to the Infirmary was spent in silence.

* * *

About an hour later, Amyrillis Wilkes entered the Slytherin Common Room with a foul expression on her face as she made her way over to the corner where Cassius Warrington held court over his circle of Pureblood friends and associates.

"Success, Wilkes?" he inquired.

She sneered at him. "Yeah. As far as Jim Potter knows, he was attacked by a pair of bigoted Gryffindors and rescued by the plucky young Death Eater's daughter." She glanced down at the tear in her sleeve. "You owe me a new robe."

Cassius waved his hand condescendingly. "We had to make it look realistic, Wilkes. You know that."

"Whatever. Just remember our deal. I do this for you, and you keep your goons away from me and Ginny Weasley."

"I'll remember our deal, Wilkes. You just remember _your_ part of it."

The disgusted glare Amy gave the arrogant Pureblood made it quite plain that she did.

* * *

_**Gryffindor Tower  
**__**9:00 p.m. **_

There had been tears and shouting and finally resigned hugs. Ron, George, Ginny and Percy were all speechless at the news that Fred had been suspended for the rest of the year. George, in particular, was furious with his twin for confessing to something Fred hadn't done out of a desire to protect _him_ over something _he_ hadn't done either. Meanwhile, Ron openly cried and seemed devastated that Fred had taken his idea for self-sacrifice and used it himself. Ginny, to her own surprise, did not cry but instead adopted an expression of fierce determination. Undeterred by his families comments, Fred maintained that he was guilty of the prank against the Slytherins and stoically accepted his suspension, even though George and Ron refused to believe him. With one final round of hugs, Fred picked up his trunk and left Gryffindor Tower with Arthur Weasley, who seemed more sad than angry, as if he'd failed his son somehow.

Soon after, Percy escorted Ginny back to the Slytherin dungeon, while George and Ron watched out the window through the dim moonlight as Arthur and Fred walked down the freshly shoveled pathway towards the Hogwarts gate. From there, Arthur would Side-Along-Apparate the two of them back to the Burrow, presumably just in time for hours of tearful lectures from Molly. As soon as they were gone, George left for his room which was now one bed emptier. Ron continued to stare out the window towards the spot where he last saw Fred while occasionally wiping tears from his eyes. But after a few minutes and without even realizing he was doing so, the boy reached down with his hand to rest it on the black notebook that the young Gryffindor seemed to carry everywhere. As he softly (and unconsciously) stroked the soft leather cover, his heartfelt feelings of sadness and concern for his brother faded like a candle starved of oxygen, while memories of cruel pranks and hurtful insults rose up in their place, stoking an anger that should have faded with time but which now was as fresh as it was painful. Ron straightened his back and lifted his chin, his sad expression melting away into one of cruel arrogance.

"Who's the Prankmaster Weasley now, _Freddikins_?" he said softly to no one but himself. And for the briefest instant, Ron Weasley's blue eyes flashed an angry red.

* * *

**The next chapter will be posted on Friday, February 12, 2016. "Home for the Holidays."  
**

**AN 1: Thanks for all the words of encouragement about page views. I'm actually somewhat embarrassed about forgetting that most people who check for the latest update will go to Chapter 1 first, which is why it's view count is so high. I do still plan to make changes to the Prologue after completing "Secret Enemy," mainly by making Harry a bit less emo and softening his views on Dumbledore, which are not nearly so hostile as I'd anticipated last April before I decided that my Dumbledore was neither evil nor stupid.**

**AN 2: This chapter is called "Aftershocks" and not "Home for the Holidays" as said in the previous chapter. I'll fix that later.**

**AN 3: This chapter was updated on 2/6/2016 because I inexplicably forgot Ginny's existence in the last paragraph.**


	66. HP&TSE 32 - Home for the Holidays

**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY **

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

* * *

**CHAPTER 32: Home for the Holidays  
**_**21 December 1992  
9:00 a.m.**_

"Are you sure you're going to be okay?" asked Harry as he continued to pack his trunk for the Christmas holidays.

"_Yes_," replied Theo irritably. "I'll stay in bounds and avoid any creepy evil mirrors. Besides, Ginny, Amy and Marcus are all staying over. That's three times as many Slytherins as I had to talk to this time last year."

"So explain again why you're not riding the train with the rest of us?" asked Blaise. "You're missing out on one of our beloved school traditions – being cooped up with all your peers for six hours in tiny compartments that smell like cheap faux leather."

Harry looked at him quizzically. "Why would you say it smells like cheap faux leather? I'm fairly certain the compartments are actually furnished with expensive real leather."

"Don't evade the question."

Harry shrugged. "After everything that's happened, the Potters and Dumbledore decided that it would be best for me to Floo straight to Potter Manor rather than take the train and be exposed to mad assassins and crazed house elves for six hours or more. Neville and Jim are going the same way."

"Hmph," Zabini replied almost petulantly. "I wish I could. I'll have to take the train to London, meet Gunther, and then take an international portkey to Marseilles." He made a face. "I _hate_ international portkeys."

"Why Marseilles?" Harry asked. "I thought you spent the holidays in New York every year."

He shrugged. "Mother usually has some sort of get-together of the night of the Winter Solstice for some of her friends. this year, it's in Marseilles."

"Hmm," Theo said. "A solstice party. Sounds ... kind of pagan, actually."

"Not really," Blaise replied. "Just an excuse to break out the champagne a few days early."

Harry finished packing his trunk and gave his best Slytherin friends goodbye hugs. Then, he lugged the trunk down to the Common Room and outside into the corridor just as Professor Snape rounded the corner.

"Punctual as usual, Potter. Your Gryffindor traveling companions will no doubt be late, which gives us a few minutes to confer." Snape produced a piece of paper which he handed to the boy. Then, he gestured at the heavy trunk with his wand and shrank it down until it would fit into Harry's pocket. "One of your parents will be able to restore it to its normal size with a Finite." He hesitated thoughtfully. "Ask you mother first. She is the more competent of the two. I imagine your imbecilic father will accidentally explode the trunk or set it on fire or something else equally ridiculous."

Harry nodded in agreement as he pocketed the trunk and then opened the note. It had just a few words in Snape's familiar handwriting, but no signature.

_Perceptual Dilation _

_also-known-as  
_

_Fixing the Mind's Gaze Betwixt the Seven Beats of the Heart_

"Sir?" Harry asked in confusion.

"My understanding is that you will be meeting with your Occlumency instructor at least once over the break. On the note are written the two most common names for an obscure Occlumency sub-skill you might find valuable. I prefer the first name, but traditionalist Occlumens as well as those more given to poetry prefer the second. Not knowing anything about your instructor, I have included both names. Either way, it is a technique for using Occlumency to improve reflexes and speed up one's thought processes." Snape sniffed somewhat disdainfully at the boy. "I do not wish to see a repeat of your sluggish response time should you be forced to publicly duel the Other Potter again."

Harry furrowed his brow. It should have been obvious to Snape that he was only the tiniest bit slower than his brother, and the two of them were much faster than anyone else in the dueling club. Nevertheless, Snape seemed to have taken the view that Jim had utterly dominated Harry in their one-on-one duel before all the craziness with the giant chaos-snake (as Theo had taken to calling it) ended things prematurely.

The two made their way to Dumbledore's office. As Snape anticipated, the other boys had not yet arrived. After the Headmaster welcomed Harry into the office, the boy was startled by a trilling sound from a perch near the man's desk. It was a young-looking phoenix fresh from a recent burning day.

"And this must be Fawkes, I presume," Harry said somewhat excitedly. The bird preened itself proudly as Dumbledore chuckled. Harry looked up at the bird's owner. "Professor Flitwick says Jim and I both have wand cores with feathers which came from Fawkes." The boy crooked his head. "Is that ... unusual?"

"No more so than the existence of magical twins in the first place, my boy. I do not know about the Patil sisters, but if memory serves, both Fred and George Weasley just happened to have wands crafted from the exact same dogwood tree even though they were crafted very differently. I was quite surprised, however, when Fawkes surrendered _two_ feathers at the same time. He has only yielded one other feather suitable for wand-making during this century, and that was over seventy years ago."

"Really, sir? Do you happen to know who got that wand?"

Dumbledore smiled. "You might be pleased to know that it went to a brilliant young Slytherin by the name of ..." Before he could finish that sentence, there was a knock at the door, and then McGonagall and Lily Potter entered the office, followed by Jim and Neville.

"Ah, Professors McGonagall and Potter, along with your young charges. Harry, perhaps we shall continue our conversation after the holidays. Do you still wish to be tested on your Occlumency in January?"

"Yes, Headmaster, if that's convenient for you."

"Quite so, my boy. Quite so."

Minutes later, all three boys stepped out of the fireplace at Potter Manor. Augusta Longbottom and James Potter were waiting on them. Neville went to his grandmother and gave her a hug, while James regarded his two sons. He smiled at Harry with a warmth that actually surprised the wary Slytherin, though Harry thought that warmth was marred by a nervous tension that the man seemed incapable of concealing.

"Harry. Jim. It's great to see you both home for the holidays. Hopefully, it will be a lot more enjoyable than the last time you two were here. Jim, why don't you show your brother and your friend up to their rooms. Lunch is at noon."

Jim hesitated for a few seconds, during which he stared at his father as if waiting for something. Finally, he turned to Harry. "Come on," he said tersely. Harry, who had grown up with the Dursleys, sensed that there had been some subtext that he'd just missed out on. Neville, whose own upbringing was far less emotionally stunted than Harry's, realized the truth instantly, but it only made him more uncomfortable at the thought of how this vacation would go.

Jim had been expecting his father to give him a hug.

* * *

_**21 December 1992  
5:00 p.m. at Malfoy Manor**_

When Draco disembarked from the Hogwarts Express, his parents were waiting on him, but immediately, he could tell that something as different. His mother hugged him and kissed his forehead, and as they were leaving Platform Nine and Three-Quarters for the apparation point, his father made small talk about how Draco's fall semester had been. Still, there was a ... perfunctory quality to it all that Draco found worrisome. By 4:30, the Malfoys were back home, and Draco had been sent up to his room to freshen up from the long train ride. Prixie, the Malfoys' chief elf, informed the boy that his father wanted to meet with him in Lord Malfoy's study at 5:00 and that dinner would be served at 7:00. The announcement made Draco oddly nervous – he couldn't imagine what his father would want to speak to him about that might take up to two hours.

At the stroke of five, Draco knocked on the door to his father's study.

"Enter," came the languid voice from within. Draco cautiously stepped into the study. His father was seated behind the huge gilded desk that had been in the family since before the days of Louis XIV. There was a single chair that had been placed in front of the desk. Lucius nodded towards the chair, and Draco sat down.

"I wished to speak to you, Draco, because I have heard some ... intriguing stories about the school term just ended. I wish to hear your account of them. And perhaps your explanation for your own conduct."

Draco stiffened in his chair. "Father?"

"I am reliably informed, Draco, that you have undertaken an association with ... a _Mudblood_ by the name of Justin Finch-Fletchley. Is my information correct?"

Draco took two slow breaths before responding. "Yes, Father. That is correct."

"Explain yourself."

"Justin Finch-Fletchley may be the first wizard in his family line, Father, but that family line is descended from _Muggle aristocracy_. His immediate family members possess wealth and power within Muggle society that is equal to if not greater than our own family's status in wizarding society."

Lucius stared at his son intently. "And you believe that mere wealth is enough to elevate a family of Muggles to being equal to our own?"

Draco exhaled slowly. "What I _believe_, Father, is that Justin's family understands power even if they've never had the kind of power _we_ take for granted. And as a result, I believe Justin will learn to command power in ways beyond what either his Muggle family ... or most Purebloods can imagine." Lucius considered that in silence, so Draco pressed on. "Tell me, Father, do _you_ know what a _stock exchange_ is?"

Lucius's eyes narrowed slightly. "I am ... familiar with the term."

"Then perhaps you can explain to me why wizards _don't _have one. Is it something the Muggles have thought of that we just haven't yet?"

Lucius went very still at that, and Draco suddenly began to wonder if he'd overstepped his bounds. Then, in a swift motion, Lucius slid his holdout wand from its place of concealment in the walking stick that never left the man's side. Draco's eyes widened.

"_Okay, my father is about to use the Cruciatus on me. I guess I __did__ push too far._"

But to Draco's surprise and relief, Lucius aimed his wand over the boy's shoulder and fired off powerful locking and privacy charms at the door. Then, he rested the wand in his lap and regarded his son intently for a moment before speaking.

"The current wizarding population in Great Britain is less than 30,000. It is less than half a million in Europe and about five million worldwide. Generally, but particularly in Britain, material wealth among witches and wizards is concentrated within the top 1% of the population. By some estimates, the twenty richest wizards in Britain collectively hold more galleons than the bottom three-quarters combined. Because there is so little liquidity held by the vast majority of wizards and witches, a stock exchange is an inefficient medium for investment. Rather than sell shares in a new business venture on an open market, wizards who seek to start new businesses instead sell stakes in them either to Gringotts or, more commonly, to wealthy individuals. Thus, broadly speaking, our economic system more closely mimics the Roman patronage system rather than modern Muggle venture capitalism."

Draco stared in confusion. He'd understood less than half of what Lucius had said. A ghost of a smile tugged at the man's mouth before he waved his wand towards a nearby bookshelf and a multi-volume series on the wizarding history of Constantinople blurred into the shapes of several very different books. One of them then floated over and landed on the desk in front of Draco, a heavy and slightly beaten tome entitled _**Economics in One Lesson**_ by someone named Henry Hazlitt.

The boy looked back and forth in utter confusion between the patently Muggle economics textbook and the former Death Eater who revealed its presence to him.

"Um," he said articulately.

Lucius reclined in his chair. "After graduating from Hogwarts, I spent several years in France pursuing a Charms apprenticeship. This was ... before I knew your mother. My master was insistent that I have a well-rounded education to fill in what he considered to be egregious gaps in the Hogwarts curriculum, in particular what was at that time an appallingly poor Muggle Studies program. In 1974, I had the pleasure of attending a seminar on the topic of Muggle economics presented by the Muggle Studies professor from Durmstrang."

"The Muggle Studies professor ... from Durmstrang," Draco said uncertainly. He'd assumed that if Durmstrang had a Muggle Studies class, it probably focused on proper vivisection techniques.

"It may surprise you to know, Draco, that Durmstrang's curriculum is substantially broader and more open-minded than most British wizards would lead you to believe. There was a reason, after all, for my stated desire that you attend Durmstrang instead of Hogwarts. On that matter, your mother exercised certain ... marital privileges to overrule my preference."

The boy nodded, uncertain whether this was a dream or not. "And after this seminar, you began a study of the Muggle stock markets?"

"Not a study, Draco, so much as an aggressive diversification. You have no doubt heard it said that I am the sixth wealthiest wizard in Britain. What is _not_ said because I have concealed the knowledge from the wizarding world is that today the galleons in my Gringotts vault only make up less than half of my true net worth. The majority of my holdings are invested in the Muggle world through the goblins and other intermediaries. If those holdings were counted as part of my 'official' fortune, my placement would be several spots higher. That said, even when counting all my personal assets, our family is still not as prosperous as that of your young Muggleborn friend. Indeed, when your budding relationship with Mr. Finch-Fletchley was brought to my attention, I had my agents make inquiries as to his family background. The results were ... illuminating."

"Really?" Draco asked in surprise. "How so?"

Lucius pulled a filed out of a desk drawer and opened it. Draco saw as he did so that the name "_Finch-Fletchley_" was on the cover.

"While the Finch-Fletchley family's wealth is impressive, I was even more surprised to discover the boy's wizarding heritage. His grandfather, Jonathan Woodnutt, the Duke of Forgill, can trace his family tree almost back to Mary, Queen of Scots. I say _almost_ because the Queen's son who was progenitor of his bloodline, Robert Prince, was written out of Muggle history books after he displayed signs of magic in early infancy. You see, the existence of a wizard who was also a potential claimant to the thrones of France, Scotland _and _England was unacceptable to both wizards and Muggles of the day. All memories and records of Mary's infant son were erased, and Richard was stolen away to be raised in France by the Court Wizard to King Henry IV. He graduated from Beauxbatons in 1580 before leaving France for Scotland where he founded the House of Prince, and he lived just long enough to see his family elevated to a Noble seat on the Wizengamot in 1655. The Woodnutt line formally diverged from the House of Prince in 1699 when Robert Prince's squib great-granddaughter married Duncan Woodnutt, the Earl of Dunbar who was created the first Duke of Forgill that same year."

Lucius smiled warmly at his astonished son, who struggled to absorb all that his father was saying. "Congratulations, my son. While it may not have been your intention, you have through cunning and diplomacy successfully ingratiated yourself to a potential claimant for an incredibly powerful but currently dormant seat on the Wizengamot."

Suddenly unable to maintain his decorum, Draco grinned and let out a laugh.

Two hours later, a nervous Prixie informed the fuming Narcissa Black Malfoy that her husband and son were still talking and would take their dinner in the master's study and that she should begin eating without them.

* * *

_**21 December 1992  
9:30 CET (local time) just outside Marseilles, France **_

Blaise Zabini dropped to his knees and fought down the urge to vomit after the arduous portkey journey from London to the farmhouse in Marseilles. Gunther silently rubbed the boy's back for a few seconds and then handed him a potion to sooth the travel sickness. Thus fortified, Blaise rose to take in the view and smiled. He'd always loved the farmhouse, a charming two-story structure typical of Provence's rural architecture that sat on a tall hill overlooking the rolling farmland and vineyards below. It was here that Gunther had taught him how to ride horses and to throw a punch and (late at night after the Countess had retired) how to play poker and talk to girls. It was tiny, of course, compared to the Palais de la Comtesse de Provence, but Blaise _hated_ the Palais, and respectful of his wishes, Serena Zabini never made her son visit that place. It was only fair, after all. He was the one who, on the morning of his eighth birthday, discovered Le Comte's dead body slumped over the breakfast table. Le Comte (Blaise had utterly refused to call him anything but "Le Comte") had been a horrifically obese wizard with remarkably poor table manners for someone of his social standing. On the day in question, the man had taken too large a bite from his pain au chocolat and choked to death. It was _easily_ Blaise's _worst birthday ever_.

After soaking in the scene, Blaise quickly followed Gunther into the house through a side entrance. The Countess's guests were already here, an eclectic mix of family, friends and ... others. While Gunther stashed Blaise's trunk to be emptied in the morning, the boy darted up the side stairs to his room to freshen up and change clothes. Unlike Wizarding Britain, with its odd affection for robes, pointed hats, and other anachronisms, the current fashion of Wizarding France called for contemporary Muggle styles but with a distinct wizarding twist. When Blaise descended the main stairs to greet the guests and find his mother, he was attired in an immaculate suit of crushed black-green velvet with an open-necked black silk shirt underneath. A stick pin in the shape of a silver and green cobra adorned his lapel, last year's Christmas gift from the Countess to acknowledge his place among the Chosen of Slytherin.

Blaise finally found the Countess in a side room where chairs had been set up for the memorial ceremony. Among the Countess and her fellow travelers, the Winter Equinox was the perfect night for such memorials. It was the longest night of the year, and the walls between the living and the dead were at their thinnest, ideal for letting those who had been loved and lost know that they were not forgotten. With the Countess was Jacques Delacour, an official with the French Ministry with whom she was discussing the final details for tonight's services. Blaise frowned. He hoped that Delacour's wife and daughters were not present. Apolline Delacour was half-veela, while Fleur and Gabrielle were each quarter-veela, and while Blaise was generally confident in his Occlumency, he did not wish to pit it against supernatural allure on this night of all nights.

After concluding her business with M. Delacour, Serena crossed over to Blaise and gave him a strong motherly hug. "_Passerotto_! It is so good to see you at last! You had no problems getting here?"

"None, _mamma_. Nothing a Stomach-Soother couldn't cure. Have I missed anything?"

"No, _mio figlio. _We have plenty of time before we begin. Do you wish to pay your respects now or later?"

"Now, I think."

The Countess nodded and led Blaise off to one side of the room where a long narrow table had been set up along the wall. On it were dozens of photographs surrounded by votive candles. Most of the photos were magical and held moving images of people who waved to onlookers. Quite a few, however, were static Muggle photos, including the one that now held Blaise Zabini's attention. Within it were two figures: a man with regal African features and a beautiful Italian woman who bore a remarkable resemblance to the Countess Zabini, both attired in what looked like Muggle hospital scrubs and lab coats, and each with a doctor's stethoscope around the neck. In front of the picture were two votive candles, one of which was already lit. Blaise's eyes blinked repeatedly as he studied the picture while the Countess held a firm hand on his shoulder. Then, he picked up a long match and used it to light the other votive candle before reaching down the open collar of his shirt to draw forth a small amulet on a silver chain. Inscribed on the simple black facing was an open silver triangle enclosed by a silver circle and bisected by a vertical silver line. Blaise lifted the amulet up to his mouth and kissed it lightly before grasping it in his hands.

"_Novissima autem inimica destruetur mors_." The boy softly recited the Latin verse in a soft voice without ever taking his eyes off of the photograph.

"_Omnes ave dominum mortis_," the Countess said in answer.

"So mote it be," they said together in English.

* * *

_**23 December 1992  
9:00 a.m. in the Leaky Cauldron**_

Harry stepped out of the Leaky Cauldron's fireplace bearing an expression of mild annoyance. He'd not been sure what to expect from James Potter when he agreed to spend Christmas with them, but cloying protectiveness had not been among his predicted behaviors. Case in point: Artie Podmore had gone to great lengths to set up some Occlumency sessions over the Christmas holidays, but James Potter – who had asked more questions about Harry's life in the last two days than in all the previous time since the two had met on Privet Drive – insisted that the whole family should make a day of it in Diagon Alley. It was frustrating to Harry, who'd wanted to focus on Occlumency without getting distracted by the increasingly tense Potter Family Drama. It was beyond frustrating to Jim, who'd reacted to Harry's presence in Potter Manor with sullen resentment. The _odd_ thing, however, was that Harry didn't think his twin resented _him_ at the moment so much as their father. Granted, the man was a Gryffindor not known for subtlety, but even Lady Augusta and Neville noticed the way James had been trying to instantly forge a father-son relationship with Harry while ignoring the other son who'd just finished a very stressful fall term. Jim had been quietly fuming since they'd arrived at Potter Manner, and Harry was wondering whether he'd make it to Christmas before blowing up in some entertaining way.

Almost immediately, Artie was on hand to intercept the Potters, to thank a surprised James for delivering Harry on time, and to shuffle Harry upstairs before James could even speak. In Room 13, Mr. X and Mr. Y were already waiting.

"You should have contacted me the minute you decided on this ill-considered plan to spend Christmas with your parents, Harry," Artie said crossly. "If you were bent on this course of action, I'd have made arrangements to be there with you. I still can if you need..."

"No, Artie," Harry said forcefully. "Just ... no. You don't need to spend the holidays at Potter Manor where... where you have unpleasant memories."

Artie sighed. "If you mean _'where my wife died_,' Harry, just say so. And while your compassion for my feelings does you credit, you forget – _I'm_ the solicitor, and _you're_ the client. As ... unpleasant as time at Potter Manor might be, I am more than capable of setting them aside to perform my duties."

"Artie, it doesn't matter. It's done. Lady Augusta is staying there, and she's more than capable of keeping an eye on me. And besides, you _know_ me. And you _know_ I'm not going to be taken in by James Potter." With that, Harry turned to Mr. X and Mr. Y. "Thank you both for meeting with me on such short notice. Shall we proceed?" The two mystery-wizards looked at one another and then nodded towards Harry.

Downstairs, James was still complaining about how his Heir had been rudely snatched away from him, when his _other_ son spoke up.

"Dad, Harry came here for Occlumency training. Just let him do what he came here for."

For a second, James seemed annoyed by Jim's tone. But then, Lily moved to stand behind Jim with her hands on his shoulders, and the look she gave her husband made the man back down.

"Perhaps you're right, Jim," he said. "Harry's supposed to be here till lunchtime. You guys can go off for some shopping . Now, what are you looking to buy today? Christmas presents for your friends?"

"A few," Jim said with a nod. In truth, the number of people he felt inclined to buy a present for could be counted on one hand. "Also, you'd offered to buy me a familiar last year, but I didn't think I'd need a pet back then. Is that offer still ...?"

James waved his hand. "Sure, sure. Anything you want." He reached into his pocket and tossed a small bag of galleons to the boy. "Lily, Lady Augusta, why don't you take the boys out into the Alley? Meet back here at noon, and I'll buy everyone lunch."

Lily and Augusta looked at one another for a second before ushering the two boys out of the tavern and out into Diagon Alley. James watched them leave and then took a seat with a view of the stairs which Harry had just ascended.

* * *

Upstairs, Harry and Mr. X had just begun the day's Occlumency training. After about ninety minutes, the instructor signaled for a break.

"My congratulations, Mr. Potter. I feel confident in saying that you have completely mastered the second level of Occlumency. You are able to suppress your emotions at will without the need to do so constantly, you were able to detect my intrusion every time, and you were able to mount a consistent defense. Beyond this point, you have the basic psychic defenses needed to foil a Legilimens. That does _not_ mean you can do so against any and every Legilimens, as true psychic duels largely come down to experience and willpower. But you now have the _tools_ to defend yourself against any attacker and the means to perfect those tools going forward."

"Thank you," Harry said with an exhausted smile. "So what's next? What's involved in mastering level three Occlumency?"

"The second level is about mastering your emotions, Mr. Potter. The third level is about _understanding _them – about recognizing when you are acting in response to an emotional stimulus rather than rational decision-making. The level three exercises will also further improve your memory and recall. At this level, you will also begin the construction of a memory palace, a psychic landscape in which all of your memories can be safeguarded and which you can use as a fortress against more powerful psychic attacks."

Mr. X wrote some notes on a piece of parchment and passed it over to Harry. "These are the page numbers for exercises found within the two Occlumency texts you have been using. Please note that we will now be spending more time in _**Pathways of the Mind**_, a more esoteric and abstract book. Your progress may slow a bit, at least in the beginning. But if you persevere, I believe based on your current rate of development that you may master Level Three by the end of next summer if not sooner."

Harry nodded as he read over the note. Then, he started. "Oh, I almost forgot. Professor Snape said to ask if you could teach me this." He handed Snape's note over to the instructor who examined it silently for several seconds.

"Your Potions Master sent this for you?" The boy nodded. "Does he wish you ill?"

"Um, I don't think so," replied Harry uneasily. "Why?"

"Because perceptual dilation has a non-trivial chance of causing brain damage or even death if used incorrectly."

"... oh," said Harry. "Um, well, I guess I'd better use it correctly then. Is it something you think is within my abilities?"

Mr. X looked at the note again. "I believe so. The technique is not particularly hard to learn, but it is also not particularly useful until fully mastered, a time-intensive process. Perceptual dilation slows down your subjective awareness of time, allowing you to study your surroundings more thoroughly and make decisions more efficiently. In combat, it might be easier for you to sidestep a curse if you perceive it as moving more slowly than it actually is."

Harry's eyes widened in surprise. "That seems ... very useful. Why isn't this skill more commonly known?"

"Because in addition to requiring at least a second-level mastery of Occlumency, it also takes many months of practice to use the technique in any beneficial way and often a year or more of dedicated effort for true competency. The skill is historically known as "_Fixing the Mind's Gaze Betwixt the Seven Beats of the Heart_," the archaic name from the medieval text _**Aegis Mentalis**_. It is called that because the state of heightened perception can only be maintained for a duration equal to seven beats of the Occlumen's heart. Needless to say, it is essential that you maintain your calm so as to keep your heart rate as slow as possible in order to gain the maximum benefit. The technique will then essentially slow down your perception of time as it passes _between_ heart beats. Initially, the benefits are meager – you might experience two or three seconds of time between heart beats instead of one. With practice and experience, you can extend that duration. The 19th Century Master Occlumens Werner von Mises claimed that he could subjectively experience almost a full minute of time between each beat of his heart. The _danger_ is that if you maintain the altered mental state for _more_ than that _or_ if you extend the duration between heartbeats to more than your Occlumency skill allows, you risk suffering an aneurysm or stroke. Which, incidentally, is how von Mises died."

Harry swallowed. "Thank you for the warning, Mr. X. I promise I'll be careful."

Mr. X studied the boy impassively for almost five seconds (though Harry now wondered if the man was thinking for a lot longer than that, given what Harry now understood of perceptual dilation). "Very well," he said with a shrug. "You have prepaid for my services through next summer, and I don't give refunds to students who accidentally lobotomize themselves. Now here's how you activate the perceptual dilation effect."

* * *

_**Meanwhile in Magical Menagerie**_

Jim entered the pet store first and with a purpose. Neville and Augusta were close behind followed by a surprised Lily Potter who called out to her youngest son. On the way to the pet store, the Boy-Who-Lived had stopped to sign a few autographs, but to Lily's concern, not as many as usual. In fact, she was quite certain she saw one witch pull her small children across the street to specifically avoid having Jim cross their path. She almost didn't notice when Jim bypassed Eeylops Owl Emporium for Magical Menagerie.

"Jim? I thought you were after an owl," she said tentatively.

"No," he said simply as he strode through the store, with the others following behind. Jim made his way to the back corner of the store, a rather dusty and dimly lit back corner within the otherwise charming pet shop. To Lily's mounting alarm, this corner was where Magical Menagerie's supply of snakes and other reptiles were to be found, animals more often sold for potions ingredients than as pets. Jim stopped and looked around, as if to make sure that no one except his three companions could hear. Then, he turned to face the snake cages and _hissed._ Instantly, all of the snakes, about twenty or so, reared up and turned to look directly at the boy before hissing back to him almost in unison.

Lily looked around wildly to see if anyone else in the store was watching the scene while Neville took a step forward.

"Uh, Jim? What are you saying to them?" asked Neville quietly.

"Oh, I'm just letting them know I'm a Speaker and asking if any of them would like to come with me and be a Speaker's pet snake. You know. The usual." With that, the boy moved closer to the cages and picked several snakes in particular to hiss at, as if he were interviewing them for a job opening. Lily moved up right behind him and put her hand firmly on his shoulder.

"Jim Potter!" she hissed (in English, of course). "You stop this right now. I did not bring you to Diagon Alley today for you to cause a scene!"

He turned and looked up at his mother with a deceptively calm expression. "No, Mum, you brought me here because Dad insisted on coming with Harry and making today a father-son outing, and you didn't want me to sit at home and brood over it. Anyway, I want this one." He pointed back to a two-foot long snake with brown and yellow scales. "He says he's a California king snake." The snake hissed something, and Jim nodded. "_Lampropeltis getula californiae. _His name is Steve."

"Jim, you _cannot_ buy a snake and then run around in public talking to it," Lily said in a pained voice. "You know what people will think about that!"

"Yeah, I know exactly what people will think. They'll think the same thing they've been thinking for almost two weeks now – that the Boy-Who-Lived is a dark wizard. That's why I don't walk around the school anymore unless I've got one of my few remaining friends to watch my back."

"What?" Lily asked in alarm. "What do you mean...?"

"It doesn't matter," Jim interrupted. "People are going to believe what they want to, and I can't do anything about it so I might as well ... embrace it."

Lily stepped forward and pulled Jim into a tight hug. "Jim! I know this has been hard on you. I'd have given anything to spare you from it. But that doesn't mean you should just give in and make things worse! And I am telling you right now – buying a snake for Christmas and carrying it back to Hogwarts, to say nothing of _Potter Manor_, will _make things worse_!"

Jim sighed loudly and then, with a single backward glance towards "_Steve_," he walked past his mother and out of the store. Lily followed, sparing an embarrassed glance at Lady Augusta whose face was impassive. After she'd left, Neville exhaled loudly and looked up at the older witch.

"I'm sorry I dragged you into all this ... whatever this is, Gran," the boy said.

"Oh, don't apologize, Neville," she answered with an odd smile. "I feel for the boy's unhappiness, but other than that, this is the most interesting Christmas holiday I've had in _years_. It's like a Muggle soap opera but with talking snakes!"

* * *

At noon, the Potters and Longbottoms reassembled back at the Leaky Cauldron for lunch in one of the inn's small private rooms. James and Harry were already sitting together, with Harry politely but evasively answering James's questions about his Occlumency training. When Jim sat down on the opposite side of the table from his father and brother while wearing a tired expression, James looked over at him in surprise.

"I though you were getting an owl," he asked.

"Changed my mind," Jim replied in a clipped tone while diligently studying a menu. "No pets for the Boy-Who-Lived today."

James looked at him quizzically for a second and then shrugged. "Well, maybe this summer then. Did everyone get their shopping done? Harry, do you need to pick anything up?"

"No, thank you. I actually owl-ordered everything a month ago."

Harry split his attention between his father's forced Christmas spirit, his brother's obvious unhappiness, and Neville's visible horror at the Potter family dynamics. At this point, Harry honestly wasn't sure whether his presence made things better or worse. On one hand, James's renewed interest in him was plainly based on the man's reaction to Jim being a Parselmouth. On the other, Harry thought it was possible that James was forced to at least be civil with Jim when Harry was around, and he might well be even more openly intolerant of a Parselmouth son if Harry hadn't come. In any case, at this point, Harry thought that no amount of physical or mental torture would ever get him to admit that he too was a Parselmouth to James Potter or anyone else.

James nodded. "How about you, Jim? Done with your shopping?"

The boy didn't look up from his intense fascination with the menu. "Yeah. I bought gifts for you and Mum, plus everyone I consider a friend. That part hardly took any time at all."

Lily winced and tried to figure out how to end the day's excursion early before Jim, James or both made a public spectacle. Suddenly, Jim put the menu down and looked up.

"Actually, that's not true. I _do _need to buy one more gift. It's for, well, not really a friend but someone who really helped me out of a jam last week. Mum, it's a girl, and I have no idea what to buy for her. Nothing fancy, just a small thank-you gift."

James smiled at his younger son for the first time all day. "You have a young lady friend you're buying a Christmas present for? Good for you! You can never start too early, I say. What's the lucky girl's name?"

Jim paused while considering how to evade the question. And then, he smiled after deciding not to even bother. "Amy Wilkes," he said easily while turning his attention back fully to the menu. There was a sudden clinking sound as James Potter nearly knocked his water glass over before catching it.

"Amy ... Wilkes? The Toymaker's daughter?" James said in disbelief.

"Oh, I hardly think it's fair to hold that against her, Dad. I mean, she never even knew her parents, and like I said, she helped Boy-Who-Lived out of a difficult spot, so she's hardly Death Eater material. And surely you don't think I should be rude to her just because she's a Slytherin, right?"

"Of ... course not, I mean... _that's not the point," _James sputtered.

"Besides," Jim continued, "I'm trying to become more tolerant and open-minded where Slytherins are concerned. After all, if I hadn't been so biased against them, I might have made it into Slytherin House myself. I mean, _the Hat __did__ offer it to me_."

There was another clinking sound. This time, it was Harry who nearly knocked his water glass over before catching it with the same grace as his father. "Sorry about that but ... _the __what__ offered you __what__ now?!_"

Jim laughed out loud. "The _Sorting Hat_, Harry. Remember that? Floppy and a little smelly but with a lovely singing voice? It offered me Slytherin at first. It said I could be great, that it was all there in my head, and that Slytherin could help me on the way to greatness. But I said no because I hated Slytherin and was afraid of disappointing other people and letting them down." There was a dead silence at the table. Jim finally looked up and around at the others.

"What?" he asked mildly.

* * *

After lunch, as the group was preparing to Floo back to Potter Manor, Harry pulled Neville and Lady Augusta off to the side.

"Listen, I _really_ want to apologize for all this, and if you want me to make some excuse for us all to head back to Longbottom Manor, I'll be happy to do so."

"Nonsense, Harry," said Augusta with gusto. "Not to make light of your situation, but watching James Potter squirm under his sons' disdain is perhaps the most fun I've had in _years_. Far better than sitting around the Manor listening to Cousin Enid natter on about macaroon recipes."

"_What Gran means_," Neville interrupted in consternation, "is that we're here for you, so don't think you need to apologize for how others are behaving."

"That too," said Augusta.

"Thank you, both of you. Honestly, I was expecting some friction in the Potter family but not ... _this_. I never imagined there could be so much tension all the time."

Augusta nodded sagely. "The tension _is_ unbearable." Then, she smiled almost fondly. "I hope it will last."

Harry did a double-take. "Lady Augusta ... did... did you just quote from **_Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory_**?!"

"Certainly not," she sniffed disdainfully. "_I_ was _mis_quoting Oscar Wilde. I've never even _been_ to a chocolate factory!"

* * *

_**9:00 p.m. at Potter Manor**_

"We need to talk," Lily had said to James just after they returned from Diagon Alley. She'd used that frighteningly quiet voice that James had referred to as "the Death Whisper" since their Hogwarts days. He nodded. He knew what was coming, and he knew that he'd put it off for far too long. In retrospect, he should have told her everything back before the twins were born, but his Gryffindor courage had failed him. Nowadays, he had to rely on liquid courage instead.

"Nine o'clock in the Master's Study. After the kids have gone up to their rooms." He hesitated. "Bring your wand." She gave him a look but then nodded.

At the appointed hour, she knocked on the study door. It annoyed her still that she needed to knock on any door within her own home as if she were a houseguest. But James had explained when they moved into the Manor that the Master's Study was the sanctum sanctorum of the Head of House Potter and that he himself had only been inside the room only four times prior to Charlus Potter's death, so she let the matter drop. Sort of.

James opened the door and ushered Lily inside. Immediately, she stopped and froze at the sight of a prophecy orb sitting on James's desk. "Is that...?" she said, her voice catching slightly.

"No," he replied. "It's ... a different one."

He walked past her and sat on the edge of the desk. It seemed disrespectful to sit behind it with his wife on the other side, as if she were some kind of supplicant. The look she was giving him now was bad enough.

"Another prophecy," she said coldly. "There's _another_ prophecy that you're just now telling me about."

He took a deep breath through his nose. "Yes. I never told you because, well, I held out hope that it wasn't about us. This prophecy has been in play for two centuries. And before I can reveal it to you, I'll need a secrecy oath." He held up a hand to forestall the angry response that was coming. "It's not my choice, Lily. I'm under an oath myself never to reveal it to anyone _not_ bound to keep the secret."

"Fine," she said finally. "But depending on the contents, I still reserve the right to hex you for keeping it from me."

He snorted bitterly. "Fair enough. I'm sure I deserve it." She swore the oath, and then he tapped the prophecy orb. When it was finished, she asked to hear it again, giving no sign as to what she thought. Finally, after the third repetition, she was ready to speak.

"And this is the reason for your attitude towards Harry ... and now towards Jim. When Harry was Sorted into Slytherin, you assumed that he's the '_Last Potter_' who's destined to become '_Prince of Slytherin_' and kick off the rest of the prophecy."

He nodded. That was also the real reason why he'd only wanted one child, something he'd explained to Lily before their marriage and to which she'd readily acquiesced. Her relationship with Petunia ensured that she had no desire to see any more sibling rivalry, while James wanted to avoid the possibility of '_two who should be as one set against each other in reckless hate_.' The arrival of twins had been a surprise to them both.

"And _then_, you decided the best way to respond to Harry maybe being the future Slytherin Prince was to send him _a drunken Howler_!"

James winced. "Yes, Lily-flower, _I know_. That was ... beyond stupid, and there hasn't been a day since that I haven't regretted it. But there's more to it ..." He hesitated and took a deep breath. "Jim was born after Harry, so if the prophecy really was about Harry, then ... then, it would mean that Jim was _going to die_. Die and leave Harry as the Last Potter. With Harry getting Sorted into Slytherin and especially in light of his anger towards us – justified as it might have been – _plus _the other prophecy hanging over Jim, I thought the first prophecy might mean that Harry might someday play a role in helping Voldemort come back to _kill_ Jim in revenge for us abandoning him to Petunia and Vernon."

Lily started rubbing her forehead with her hand as she tried to process all the new information. James continued.

"In fact, you'll recall that originally I opposed sending Harry away despite everyone saying he was a squib. The main reason I changed my mind was this prophecy. Dad never told me about it while he was alive, and so I didn't learn of it until his will was probated and I gained full access to the restricted parts of the family vaults." He hesitated again. "The Death Eaters used to claim that Muggleborn steal their magic away from wizarding children, leaving them squibs. That's rubbish, of course, but there's a kernel of truth in it. There _are_ ancient, forbidden dark rituals that supposedly allow magic to be transferred away from a wizard to a squib. As much as I wanted to keep Harry with us, with both prophecies in play I was afraid Harry might become so bitter about being a squib that he might get hold of one of those rituals and use it to claim Jim's magic for his own. I know that sounds far-fetched, but it's the sort of thing that can happen when prophecies are involved. I mean, the mere fact that we _have_ twins is suggestive – Harry and Jim are the first generation of Potters to yield more than one child since the 1780's."

Lily had wondered about that. Two hundred years of Potter fathers siring a single male child carry on the family name without deviation. No daughters. No multiple births. Not even any unplanned second children. Aside from the statistical oddity, she'd been amazed that the Potters had courted line extinction for so long. One Potter dying before he lived long enough to marry and produce an heir would have ended the family completely. She shook her head and focused on the present.

"James, after everything, surely you realize by now that trying to manipulate a prophecy only increases the likelihood that you'll inadvertently make it come true."

He barked out a laugh. "Oh, yeah, Lily. I think that's been made abundantly clear to me."

"Then why in _Merlin's name_ have you suddenly decided to push Jim away? Do you not think he's _noticed_ that you're now rushing to accept Harry while ignoring him?"

"I haven't been ignoring Jim. I'm just ... trying to make up for lost time with Harry."

She scoffed. "_Oh please_. Jim is revealed as a Parselmouth and _the next day_ you unexpectedly invite Harry to spend Christmas with us? And say that it's okay for _Severus_ to come with him if that's what's needed to make it happen? It's _obvious_ that you're treating Jim differently now that you know he can talk to snakes."

"YES! OKAY?!" he snapped. Then, he continued more calmly. "Like I said, I was concerned before that Harry might play a role in killing Jim to become the Last Potter. Now, I'm worried about the fact that Jim is the Last Potter _right now __and_ he already has a trait that marks him as the Heir of Slytherin, which is a name that just happened to get vandalized onto a wall next to a petrified cat while Jim's at school!"

"You think that was _Jim_?!"

"Can you guarantee 100% that it's not Jim being influenced by some subconscious remnant of Voldemort? Perhaps a dormant piece that was activated last spring when he killed Quirrell? " He sighed. "That's why I'm telling you all this, Lily-flower. You're the smart one, not me. The fate of the whole wizarding world may be at stake. I need you help me figure this out. To help me decide what to do."

Lily sat quietly as she considered James's words. "No," she finally said.

James did a double-take. "No? What do you mean, no?"

"I mean that Lord Potter may be concerned with the fate of the wizarding world, but Lily Evans-Potter is concerned with the fate of her two boys, and the rest of the wizarding world can go to hell." She rose and walked over to open the door.

"Elmo!" she called out, and the Potter's chief house elf appeared instantly. "Elmo, prepare the bedroom next to my private study. I'll be sleeping there for the foreseeable future."

"Lily! Let's be reasonable!" James jumped up from the desk in surprise as the elf nodded and popped away. She turned back to face her husband.

"I love you, James. I always will. But right now, I don't think I have it in me to share your bed. In the past, I know I've wronged Harry, and in some ways, Jim as well. But I will do whatever it takes to keep them from harm and to protect them from anyone who threatens them." Her eyes flashed angrily. "Do not make the fatal mistake, James Potter, of leading me to think that you're a part of that group."

She turned and left the Master's Study as James let out a shuddering breath. The previous year, he'd thought that Harry's eyes were a different shade of green than his mother's. "_The same color as the killing curse_," he'd thought. Now, he realized that they weren't so different after all. When Lily was angry enough, her eyes looked like the killing curse as well.

* * *

_**Later in the Mistress's Boudoir**_

Lily sat fuming at her desk in what the elves insisted on calling "The Mistress's Boudoir," apparently because it was unseemly for a lady to have a private study or library of her own. When James had explained about the Master's Study, she'd accepted his need for privacy ... and then asked for a room of her own that _he_ couldn't get into without _her_ permission. Finding the idea amusing, he set up such a room for her. He'd never even asked to enter it and almost certainly had no idea how many wards she'd put up herself over the years to keep out all intruders, including her own husband. Not even the Potter elves could get into this room, and it endlessly annoyed the small creatures that there was a room in the Manor that they weren't allowed to clean.

As she leaned back in her chair, Lily thought long and hard about what James had just told her. Learning about the second prophecy was the perfect end to an absolutely dreadful year, one that had featured Voldemort's return, multiple attempts on Harry's life, and Jim's exposure as a Parselmouth.

"_Oh, and Vernon,_" she thought to herself. "_Mustn't forget Vernon._"

She shook her head angrily. It was both exasperating and predictable that James had kept the other prophecy from her for so long. She did love her husband dearly, but he certainly made it difficult at times. At his best, James Potter was warm, loving, generous, and brave. At his worst, he was still the same spoiled condescending Pureblood man-child she'd spent so much time arguing with at school.

That vague condescension that he still held for his wife's Muggleborn nature was at the forefront of her mind now. _Of course_ he'd conceal a prophecy handed down from Potter Lord to Potter Heir for generations from his wife even though it involved both of their children. It was _exactly_ the sort of thing she might have expected from him - concealing the prophecy from her for over a decade only to seek her counsel once he'd repeatedly cocked things up. After all, how could a lowly Muggleborn, no matter how intelligent, ever have anything useful to contribute to a prophecy suggesting that either of her two sons might be the harbinger of a magical apocalypse?

Lily inhaled deeply, soaking in the familiar smells of her small study. When she was angry, nothing was better for calming her and focusing her mind than the smell of books, and that smell permeated the Boudoir. Two of the four walls were _covered_ with bookshelves stretching up to the vaulted ceilings. Books, books and more books, and almost none of them fiction. Over half were obscure and esoteric magical texts on nearly every magical topic that wasn't outright illegal to read about. The rest were Muggle books, primarily in the sciences. Quite a few were textbooks that went along with the framed certificates hanging on the wall over her desk, certificates denoting that Lily Evans-Potter had successfully completed degree programs in multiple scientific fields from universities across the U.K. before pursuing a Master's in Biochemistry from St. Andrews.

After Hogwarts, she'd wanted to get a Mastery in a magical field, of course. But the War, the birth of her children, and James's new Lordship ended those plans, at least for the foreseeable future. While she'd been almost jealous of Severus for actually getting a Mastery before the age of twenty-one, she'd also been realistic. An apprenticeship was a full-time position, and between being the Lady of House Potter and the Mother of the Boy-Who-Lived, Lily simply did not have the time to pursue an advanced magical degree. Advanced _Muggle_ degrees, however, were another matter. Between the ability to apparate across Britain as needed and having several house elves to watch over little Jim during her classes, it was surprisingly easy over the last ten years to complete multiple degrees. James had been supportive, of course, even though he seemed to view getting a Muggle university degree was some sort of "hobby activity" for his young wife. While intelligent in his own way, the Pureblood was almost wholly ignorant of Muggle sciences and how they might be relevant to any field of magic. In particular, he hadn't the faintest idea how something as mysterious and Mugglish as "biochemistry" might possibly be relevant to Potions or Herbology, let alone Transfiguration.

If only he knew.

* * *

_**18 October 1992 (just over two months ago)  
3:00 a.m. at 4 Privet Drive, Surrey**_

There was a soft click, and then light filled the room where Petunia and Vernon were sleeping. Petunia awoke and blinked her eyes, but Vernon kept right on snoring. She sat up and then gasped in surprise. For there in her bedroom, sitting in a chair that hadn't been there when Petunia went to sleep, was Lily Potter, her wand resting in her lap. Next to her was a small table that also hadn't been there before with a big thick book resting on it.

"Hello, Petunia. It's time for a family reunion."

Petunia stuck out her chin. "I have nothing to say to you. Now leave, before Vernon wakes up."

"He won't wake up before dawn, Petunia. Neither will Dudley." Lily smiled. "Magic, remember?"

Petunia sneered. "How could I forget? Magic's only been ruining my life since we were little girls." She paused. "This is about The Boy, isn't it?"

"His name is Harry, though I gather you never actually bothered to _use_ his name, did you?"

"Don't you DARE come into my house with your ... _freakishness_ and judge me! I took him in and raised him and got nothing but trouble for it. You_ promised me_ that he would have no magic! That he would be _ordinary!_"

"I _told _you that we believed he was a squib and that he wasn't safe with us, but that if he showed any signs of magic, you should contact us and we'd take him back. You never did. You just locked him away in a boot cupboard and used him for slave labor. And you _still_ act like he's the villain in this piece instead of your victim. You have the _audacity_ to claim that he's the _freak_ instead of you."

"Stop it!" Petunia said holding back a sob. "You don't know what it was like when he was here. The fear ..."

"I don't know and I don't care. I'm not here to talk about ancient history, Petunia. I'm here to talk about last July. The last day Harry was here. The day your husband tried to kill my son."

"Vernon did nothing! The Boy brought those ... _things_ to our home!"

"Those things were called doxies, Petunia, and Harry didn't bring them. They were sent by someone else to kill him, and with Vernon's help, they very nearly did. James concealed the truth from me, but I've seen the auror report. I know _everything_!"

Petunia started to speak, but Lily cut her off abruptly. "I was stung once by a doxie. Did I ever tell you that, Petunia?" The other woman shook her head, too frightened to speak.

"It was during Fourth Year in Care of Magical Creatures. There was a mishap, and one of them stung me on the tip of my finger. And I _screamed_. It was the worst pain I'd ever felt. I actually begged someone to cut my finger off to stop the pain before somebody stunned me to shut me up. I woke up two days later in the infirmary because the prescribed medical treatment is to knock the patient unconscious and keep them in a healing coma until the venom is fully neutralized." Lily crooked her head. "Can you just _imagine_ how you'd feel if something like that had happened to your Dudley?"

"You leave my son _alone_!"Petunia shrieked.

Lily's face softened. "Petunia, Dudley is my nephew, and you're my sister. Evans blood flows in his veins just as it does mine and yours. I would _never_ do anything to harm him just as I would never do anything to harm you."

Petunia gasped in relief, and after a few seconds, she began to cry. "Thank you, Lily. Thank you so much. Thank you for sparing my family."

Lily watched her sister's tears of relief impassively before she spoke again.

"Vernon's not family, Petunia," she said in a cold voice. "There's no Evans blood in his veins."

Petunia looked up sharply, fear clouding her face once more. "Lily...?"

Lily cut her off with a voice like a knife. "I brought Harry to you to be _safe_, Petunia, safe from people who would have harmed him. Or worse, people who would have used Harry to get to my other son and _harm them both_. I gave in when you demanded that I avoid contact with Harry growing up. I was willing to _never see my son's face again_ if it meant he would be safe. And the people to whom I entrusted Harry abused him and tormented him and eventually your repulsive pig of a husband tried to _kill_ him in the one of the worst ways to die I can think of. _What did you think I would do when I found out?!"_

The other woman was frozen in fear of her sister and could barely gasp out the words. "Lily ... what _are_ you going to do?"

"Do?" she said almost in surprise. "It's _done_, Petunia. Before I even came in here, I paid a visit to your bathroom and worked some of my _freakish magic_ on Vernon's medications. I transfigured them all into other drugs that were chemically similar but which will worsen his condition rather than treat it."

Petunia glanced at the book on the table and finally noticed its title: _**Applied Pharmacology**_. Lily noticed. "Yes, Petunia, magic and science working together to make the world a better place. Vernon will have another heart attack, a much worse one, within a week. Two at the most. The transfiguration is sympathetically linked to Vernon's life. The second he's dead, the spell will end and the drugs will revert to their normal state, even those in his system. There will be no way either through magic or Muggle science for anyone to know what I've done or how Vernon really died."

"_I'll know_! There are laws against your kind harming us with magic! I'll find someone in your world and _let them know what you did_!_" _

Lily shook her head. "No, Petunia, you won't. Because in a few seconds, I'm going to put you back to sleep and then erase your memories of this conversation."

Petunia was suddenly paralyzed in confusion. "But ... if you're going to take my memories, why did you even say all this to me in the first place?!"

Lily studied her sister in silence as if drinking in the sight of her. "Because you hurt my son, Petunia Dursley. And for the rest of my life, I will treasure the memory of the look on your face right now."

Petunia drew breath to scream, but before she could, Lily flicked her wand, and the Muggle fell back into her bed asleep. The witch moved over to the bed and placed her wand next to her sister's temple, casting an Obliviate to erase the last five minutes. Then, she picked up the pharmacology book and tucked it under her arm before vanishing the table and chair. Lily stopped at the door and took one last look at her sleeping sister before she turned the lights back off and left the house.

* * *

**The next chapter (Title TBA) will be uploaded on MONDAY, FEBRUARY 22, 2016. I've decided to try Monday updates for a while so that I'll have time to write on the weekend and adjust as needed rather than continually panicking on Thursday night.  
**

**AN 1: I am humbled by the fact that several people actually messaged me to see if I was okay after missing my normal update schedule (for the first time in 66 chapters). There was no big emergency this time, but damned if this chapter didn't fight back. Most of it I wrote in a single afternoon, but all of the Harry-Jim-James interactions I rewrote five times before finally settling on what you read today. At one point, I seriously considered scrapping the whole thing and having Harry decline James's invitation and stay at Longbottom Manor over Christmas and not do anything but catch up on his naps. Anyway, hopefully the extraordinary length of this chapter will make up for the delay.  
**

**AN 2: I was never impressed with either of the women who played Augusta Longbottom in the movies. Henceforth, the part of Augusta Longbottom will be played by Penelope Wilton (Harriet Jones from Doctor Who; Lady Isobel Crawley from Downton Abbey).  
**

**AN 3: Updated o 2/22/2016 to correct bad Latin and also paper over my errors pertaining to how British Muggle college degrees work.  
**


	67. HP&TSE 33 - A Very Potter Holiday

**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY **

* * *

**CHAPTER 33: A Very Potter Holiday**

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

* * *

After the unpleasantness at the Leaky Cauldron, the rest of the holiday break was more subdued. Jim spent most of his time alone in his room, although Neville succeeded in coaxing Jim and Harry into flying with him on the morning of Christmas Eve. It quickly became apparent that Lily and James now had separate rooms, a fact of which Lady Augusta oddly approved.

"Every Lady should have her own rooms separate from the Lord's," she'd said sagely. "It keeps everyone from taking things too personally."

On the afternoon of the 24th, James invited Harry into his private office, where he spent three hours going over the family's assets with his Heir, including details concerning the Potter Charitable Trust. Much of it was over Harry's head, but he did come away with the definite impression that Pettigrew's offer of two-million galleons to step aside as Heir was small potatoes. He also did his best to absorb every detail with an eye towards sending Artie a pensieve memory as soon as he was back at school. When the two were done discussing the family business, Harry thought it was time to lead the conversation in the direction of other matters.

"Thanks for telling me all this ... Dad," Harry said with a smile. He'd been practicing his fake smile _a lot_ since he knew he'd be spending the holidays with the Potters. And he was rewarded when James grinned warmly and almost affectionately at his use of the word "_dad_" no matter how forced it might have been. "We still have some time before dinner. I was wondering..." He hesitated for what he thought was the right length of time to project bashful sincerity. "If you don't mind, could we talk a little about, well, _other_ family matters."

James crooked his head. "Like what?"

"Well ... what was Hogwarts like for you when you were my age? How did you and ... Mum get together? What was it like during the War? That sort of thing."

James adopted a wistful expression. "Well, I hate to say it, but when I was your age – and for a few years after – I was a complete prat!"

Exercising incredible willpower, Harry made no comments about James's current personality. The man continued.

"I had three close friends: Peter, Remus ... and Sirius. We were inseparable. And we are all obnoxious arrogant little gits. '_Toe Rag_' was your mother's favorite name for me for pretty much our first five years in school together, and it wasn't a term of endearment. We called ourselves the Marauders and considered ourselves '_merry pranksters_.' A lot of other people would have described us as bullies, and it took me a long time to realize that they might have had a point. That's one reason why I'm so glad that you and Jim both count Neville as a friend. I didn't even start to grow out of that childishness until the end of Fifth Year when Frank Longbottom pretty much kicked my arse over a particular bit of school yard cruelty. Between that and some other things that happened the following year, I grew up, stopped with the pranking – mostly – and focused on getting my grades into shape. To my great amazement, my newfound maturity actually impressed Lily enough to the point that she finally agreed to go out on a date with her. And when that date went well, we went on another ... and another. One thing led to another, and we got married right out of school."

"That seems... anticlimactic."

James shrugged. "Growing up frequently is."

Harry nodded as he took that in. "You say one of your Marauder friends was someone named Remus? Is that where my middle name came from? I'd assumed that Jim's middle name was Romulus and you called us that because we were twins."

James laughed. "No, no. Although if my mother had lived to see your birth, she'd have thought twin names like that would have been adorable. No, Remus Lupin was part of our little four-man band. He was both a very good friend and the brains of our quartet. Unfortunately, he suffered from a medical condition that made it impossible for him to serve as godfather to a child and especially one from an Ancient and Noble family, so we decided to honor him instead by naming both you and Jim after him. Your full wizarding name is Hadrian Remus Potter, Hadrian being the wizarding name of your great-great-grandfather who was Minister of Magic around the turn of the century."

"And Jim?"

"Iacomus Evan Potter. Iacomus is the Latin equivalent of James and is also the name of another of our prominent ancestors from the 15th century. Evan is a Welsh derivative of John, which was Remus's middle name, and it's also close to Lily's maiden name. Outside of official wizarding legal documents, Jim is just James Evan Potter, Jr. We only added the Junior for some weird social reason that I can't even remember, but it doesn't have the same importance for wizards that it does for Muggles. You would never have had Junior after your name even though you were firstborn because generally it's considered socially improper for a wizard to name his Heir after himself."

James grimaced in annoyance. "Honestly, the whole thing was kind of a mess. You see, we weren't expecting twins. Neither Lily's family nor mine has a history of them, and while Healers can monitor the health of an unborn child, it's very difficult to magically determine gender or the presence of multiple fetuses. Something to do with how a magical baby, or babies in this case, growing inside a magical mother screws up diagnostic spells. You were _supposed_ to be 'Harry James Potter.' We were prepared for the _possibility _of a 'Clementia Rose Potter' if you'd been a girl, but _not _for the possibility of _two boys_. We had to scramble to name you both because our family's Wizengamot charter has a bunch of stupid rules for the naming of Potter children and I didn't want to screw up anyone's inheritance rights by putting the wrong thing down on the official birth certificate. Your middle names could be anything Lily and I agreed on as long as you were named after a person we both considered important, but the first names _had_ to be Latinized names associated with revered Potter ancestors."

Harry took a moment to be properly horrified at the thought of being a girl named "Clementia Rose."

"So what happened to Remus Lupin?" he asked. "I noticed that you referred to him in the past tense. Did he make it through the war?"

James hesitated, and it was clear that Harry had raised a sore subject. Not that he particularly cared, of course, but Harry knew that James required a delicate touch, so he slipped on his best mask of guileless innocence.

"He did, but we ... quarreled after Jim vanquished You-Know-Who. In part, it was about you. Remus wanted to assume guardianship of you rather than see you sent off to live with Muggles, but his condition would have made that impossible. When Lily and I turned him down and sent you to the Dursleys instead, he ended up leaving Britain saying there was nothing left for him here. I haven't seen Remus in over ten years."

Harry nodded. "_And now comes the tricky part_," he thought to himself.

"And Sirius Black? He was your friend for so long. Did you ever find out why he betrayed you?"

"No," James said flatly. "The fact that he did was enough. Once he was in custody, I chose not to dwell on it."

"Did he say anything about it at his trial?"

"I didn't go. You, Jim, and Lily were still at St. Mungo's at the time of Sirius's capture, and I refused to give him the satisfaction of thinking he was more important to me than my family. I'll admit I was shocked when I read in the papers how much time he'd spent as a secret Death Eater and how many crimes he'd committed and pinned on dupes he'd put under the Imperius Curse. Shocked and also embarrassed at how well he'd deceived me. After bringing him in, I never saw him again, and I've never regretted it."

Harry studied his father's face and the emotions playing across it. "_Your learned that your best friend had betrayed you for years and almost got your whole family killed,_" he thought. "_And you weren't even interested in going to his trial, let alone confronting him personally to hear what he had to say? Oh no, that's not the least bit weird and suspicious to me. Not one bit._"

* * *

_**25 December 1992**_

Early on Christmas morning, the Potter household awoke to celebrate Christmas. Gifts had been delivered the previous day, and after what had happened on Jim and Harry's birthday, each of them was exhaustively checked by the house elves for anything unusual or dangerous before they were left out under the tree for the three boys.

For the most part, Harry was pleased with his haul, though he was somewhat surprised to have received more Christmas gifts than the Boy-Who-Lived. Jim got gifts from Harry, Neville, Hermione, Padma Patil and collectively from the Quidditch team, while Harry got gifts from everyone in the study group, plus nearly every individual Slytherin on the Quidditch team or in his year. Indeed, among Second Year Slytherins, only Pansy and Vince had snubbed him. Even Greg had sent a box of sugar quills. Of course, Harry had not set out to treat the number of Christmas gifts the two boys received as a competition, but if he had, it was clear who the winner was. The most unusual gift was a book he'd received from Theo – _**Tales of Beedle the Bard**_, which was book marked at "The Tale of the Three Brothers." What made it unusual was that Harry _also_ received a different edition of _the same book_ from Marcus Flint which was _also_ book marked at the start of that same story.

Jim also received two books of his own, one each from Padma and Hermione. Padma's book was about the history and current status of Wizarding India, while Hermione's gift was a copy of _**Hogwarts: A History**_, though it was a much slimmer edition than the one Harry owned. Discreetly studying his brother's reactions, Harry noted the following details: that Jim initially seemed disappointed with Hermione's gift until he read the note accompanying it, that Jim then slid the note into a pocket with what passed for subtlety among Gryffindors before opening the book up to the contents page, and that Jim then immediately looked up sharply in James's direction before flushing slightly and then putting the book away.

"_Hmm_," thought Harry. "_So Hermione sent Jim a book with a transfigured cover, and he immediately hides it away from James. Fifty galleons says it's something about Parseltongue. Interesting. I wonder how hard it would be to get Jim to admit it to me __and__ tell me the title without making him suspicious. Oh well, something else for the To Do list._"

* * *

_**That afternoon...**_

After the noontime Christmas Dinner, Augusta, Neville, and Harry left Potter Manor via Floo for St. Mungo's to visit Neville's parents. At the Floo exit, they were met by Nymphadora Tonks and the scariest looking wizard Harry had ever seen, a burly, heavily scarred man with a whizzing electric-blue fake eye and a heavy wooden leg. Tonks introduced him as her supervising instructor, Alastor Moody. Neville recognized the man's name immediately and displayed an awestruck expression, while Augusta apparently knew him personally.

"Why Alastor, whatever brings you to St. Mungo's on Christmas Day?" she asked. "Is your eye out of focus again?"

The man gave a snort. "Scrimgeour has taken an interest in the health and safety of young Mr. Harry Potter here. While we don't have the authority to assign either an investigator or a bodyguard to Hogwarts – at least not yet – Trainee Tonks and I have been tasked with keeping an eye on the boy when he's out and about." Then, Moody's expression softened, if only a tiny bit. "Your ... _Christmas tradition _is widely known, Gussie. I thought it likely that Potter might choose to accompany you today. And so, here we are."

With that, his whizzing blue eye whirled about and trained itself on Neville. "Hello, Neville. I doubt you remember me, but I knew your parents quite well in their day and visited your home a few times when you were just a baby."

Neville nodded appreciatively. "Yes sir. Gran has shown me pictures of you with Mum and Dad from their days at the Auror Academy. And ... I've read all the stories about you in the Prophet." He turned to Harry. "Harry, this is Alastor Moody, one of the best aurors to serve in the last hundred years at least. They say half the dark wizards in Azkaban were put there by him. Auror Moody, this is my friend Harry Potter."

"Oh, I know who Harry Potter is, Neville," he said. "We were watching over you the other day at the Leaky Cauldron."

Harry's brow furrowed. "No offense, sir, but I think I'd have remembered you."

"Hmph. Tonks here is a Metamorphmagus, as I gather you know. She was the thin Norwegian-looking fellow sitting two tables over from you who kept complaining that the tavern didn't serve lutefisk." He glared at her with his good eye. "For which I lectured her sternly afterwards since it defeats the_ whole purpose _of a disguise if you use one _that draws attention to yourself!_" Tonks rolled her eyes while Moody looked back at Harry. "As for myself, let's just say that your father doesn't have the _only_ invisibility cloak in Britain, just the fanciest one. If you plan to wander about Diagon Alley like some wide-eyed continental tourist when you have mysterious wizards plotting to kill you, you would be wise to pay more attention to your surroundings. That or invest in a Foe-Glass or a Sneakoscope. A _good_ one, not the cheap copies they have in Diagon Alley. And always remember – CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

Harry jumped at that as did several people in the waiting room, and the nearby receptionist (who bore a faint resemblance to the sour-faced Hogwarts librarian, Madame Pince) let out an angry "_Shush!_" to which Moody paid absolutely no heed. Augusta gave him a stern look.

"For Merlin's sake, Alastor! We're in a hospital! Stop ... pontificating!"

The auror sniffed disdainfully, apparently unmoved by the woman's complaint. Augusta shook her head and ushered the two boys past Moody and Tonks and towards the elevator. Not for the first time, Harry felt conflicted about accompanying the Longbottoms. He already felt as though he was intruding on the family's privacy, and now, by his very presence, he was attracting Ministry-sanctioned bodyguards.

Unfortunately, due to the nature of Harry's current legal status with the Potters, he couldn't stay at Potter Manor without a chaperone or it might lead to the dissolution of his injunction against James Potter and allow the man an unacceptable level of control over Harry's affairs. Besides, Alice Longbottom was supposed to have been Harry's godmother, and so he felt a fraternal obligation to accompany Neville today. He remained silent as the group rode up the elevator to the Janus Thickey Long Term Care Ward where Neville's parents had been since he was a baby. Once inside the Longbottom's room (Moody and Tonks waited outside respectfully), Harry stayed back while Neville spoke to his parents, neither of whom seemed responsive. It was both sad and touching, particularly when Alice, her hands shaking from palsy, handed a candy wrapper to Neville who looked down at it and then quickly placed it into his pocket. For a brief moment, Harry had a flash of insight into some other world, one in which Neville had been the Boy-Who-Lived and where Harry had been sent to the Dursleys not because his parents thought him a squib but because they'd been left as empty shells after trying to protect their children from Death Eaters.

"Mum," Neville said gently. "This is Harry Potter. Lily Potter's eldest boy. Your godson." For a brief moment, Alice Longbottom turned her head as if to look in Harry's direction, although he could tell that she was looking over his shoulder rather than making any true eye contact.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Longbottom," he said respectfully. In that, she dipped her head a bit, though it seemed more of an involuntary response than any actual reaction to his words. The trio spent about thirty minutes in the Longbottoms' room in the Janus Thickey Ward. Harry and Augusta sat quietly while Neville told his mum and dad all the major events from his fall term at Hogwarts as he gently brushed his mother's hair.

After the visit was over, Moody and Tonks escorted the group back towards the lobby.

"So, Miss Tonks," said Augusta. "I see you have a stern taskmaster watching over you. Does this mean that you won't be able to tutor my grandson and Harry this summer?"

"Um, no, Lady Augusta, sorry," Tonks replied. "I was going to write to Mr. Podmore at the start of the year once my schedule was confirmed, but it's looking like I'll be at the Academy all summer." Both boys looked disappointed at this.

"Oh well, that is a pity," Augusta continued. "I am pleased, however, to see that you are progressing so well through the Auror program. Mind you, I do hope that Alastor is instructing you in matters of ethics as well as tactics."

"And what's _that_ supposed to mean, Gussie?" Moody said gruffly.

"You know as well as I do, Alastor, what it means to be a Metamorphmagus in today's climate. And I'm sure you know perfectly well what use Cornelius Fudge might have for someone with such a skill."

"The law is the law, Gussie," the Auror snapped irritably. "Metamorphmagi are covered under the Conscription Act, though I must _grudgingly_ admit that Trainee Tonks is qualified to serve as an auror regardless of whether the Act applies to her."

"What's the Conscription Act?" Harry asked.

"A very old and obscure law of the Wizengamot," said Augusta. "One which requires wizards and witches who possess certain rare magical gifts, whether innately or acquired, to register them with the Ministry or risk imprisonment. Depending on the nature of the gifts in question, the person may also be compelled to act as an agent of the Ministry."

"In my case," said Tonks, "the Metamorphmagus gift is on the Conscription List, so when my powers manifested when I was a baby, my parents had to register me. I was always going to end up working in the Ministry in some capacity after that, but my grades plus my gift made me _qualified_ for the Academy no matter how _grudging_ some people are about it." She gave Moody an evil eye with that last remark. He grunted loudly in response.

"_Anyway_," he said to Augusta, "you will be pleased to know that, yes, Trainee Tonks and I have had several _long_ talks about what she can and cannot legally do as an auror using her Metamorphmagus gift and what Ministry personnel, whether in or out of the DMLE, can and cannot ask of her. I've also had equally long talks with both Rufus and Amelia, and I don't think either of them will tolerate any shapeshifting funny business." He walked in silence for a moment. "Of course, whether _Potter_ will tolerate any shapeshifting funny business remains to be seen."

Augusta looked sharply at Moody. "It is confirmed then? That James Potter will follow Rufus as head of the DMLE?"

"Pretty much, baring some sort of scandal. Cornelius seems to think James is the moon and the sun." Moody turned towards Harry. "Speaking of scandals, are _you_ by any chance a Parselmouth like your brother?"

"No, I'm not," Harry lied effortlessly. "And I'll thank you not to summon a poisonous snake and throw it at me to try and prove otherwise. That got old very quickly during the last few weeks of term."

Moody studied Harry for a few seconds, his false eye whirling madly. Then, he gave a rasping laugh. "Fair enough, boy. If you say you're not a Parselmouth, I guess I'll have to take you at your word. You certainly _seem_ honest."

Harry frowned as he filtered his way through the layers of possible obfuscation in what Moody had just said. Suddenly, he was curious as to whether the grizzled auror might have been a Slytherin.

"Why are you so curious?" asked Augusta suspiciously. "Parseltongue isn't on the Conscription List."

"Not yet," he answered. "But it's been a long time since there have been any families known for producing Parselmouths who sit high enough in the Wizengamot to veto Parseltongue's reclassification. And with what's been happening with the Boy-Who-Lived, well, there's been _talk_."

Augusta frowned as she considered the implications of that, while Neville spoke up.

"But ... Lord Potter is Head of an Ancient and Noble House. You can't get any higher than that. Surely if it's possible for anyone to ... veto this ... whatever it is, he'd be able to do it."

"Able doesn't mean willing, lad," Moody replied. "People in this country deeply fear and mistrust Parselmouths. It's not fair, but that's the way it is. If he had to choose between Jim Potter getting drafted into government service – and most likely into James's own department – or vetoing the reclassification measure and letting people think he was shielding the Boy-Who-Spoke-Parseltongue from the law, perhaps even out of some dark motive," he turned towards Harry, "well, what do _you_ think he'd do?"

Harry considered the question. "Honestly, I've no idea. I'm ... still getting to know James Potter."

Moody coughed loudly and then spat some phlegm into a nearby potted plant. "Yeah, good luck with _that_, kid. Personally, I know him well enough to take early retirement the day after he's confirmed as Chief Auror."

"Really, Alastor?" said Augusta in surprise. "You'd quit just over that?"

"Hell yes!" he exclaimed. "You and I both know I'm not pretty enough to be one of James Potter's aurors!"

He and Augusta both laughed, but Harry had a different question. "Just how many gifts are on this Conscription List right now? And how many people get drafted into working for the Ministry just for having them?"

"Oh, there are only a few gifts, Harry," said Tonks. "And they're all extremely rare. House Black used to be known for producing wizards and witches with various shapeshifting powers, but I'm the first one to display any of them in a hundred years or more.

"The first one to be _discovered_, my dear," said Augusta. "Your mother's family was insular and paranoid for a _reason_ after all. And I've heard it suggested that Sirius Black was an unregistered Animagus..."

"More than suggested, Gussie," Moody interrupted. "James Potter was _oddly insistent_ that Sirius Black's Azkaban cell have special anti-Animagus wards on it."

"_Really_!" she said, absorbing that bit of gossip. "How very interesting! Anyway Miss Tonks, I also seem to recall that when I was at Hogwarts, there were all sorts of unsavory rumors floating around your great-grandaunt Cassiopeia Black suggesting that she might have been an unregistered Metamorphmagus herself."

"Oh honestly, Gussie," said Moody acerbically. "She was a Black. They've _all_ got unsavory rumors floating around them."

* * *

_**31 December 1992  
7:00 p.m.**_

The Potter New Year's Eve Ball lived up to its reputation with a guest list of nearly a hundred. At breakfast on Boxing Day, Lily casually mentioned that she had hired someone to come in and give Jim dancing lessons, and she asked if Harry and Neville would like to join in. Augusta answered with a firm "Yes" before either of them could respond, and all three boys showed varying degrees of mortification. Lily and Augusta also conspired to get in a fitting for formal robes for the boys.

On December 27th, all three boys met in the Grand Ballroom (a huge room half-again as large as the Great Hall at Hogwarts) where Lily and Augusta were waiting for them along with a positively ancient witch who was introduced as Madame Twanky of the "Twanky Academy for the Terpsichorean Arts." Madame Twanky did not personally teach the boys dancing lessons as such. Instead, she brought with her several mannequins which were charmed to move at her direction, which the boys found extraordinarily creepy and off-putting. After using the animated dummies to demonstrate the basic steps, she assigned one of the mannequins to each of the three boys and spent several hours teaching them the traditional waltz, the Viennese waltz, the pavane, the gavotte, the polka, and finally the foxtrot. Madame Twanky made it clear that she found the foxtrot common, bordering on vulgar, but she understood that "young people nowadays are into that sort of thing,"

On the evening of the Ball, Harry and Jim (both wearing brand new formal robes with green and red waistcoats, respectively) stationed themselves next to the Floo. It turned out that each of them had special guests upon whom they were waiting. The Greengrasses arrived first, and Harry welcomed the Noble family back to Potter Manor before escorting both Daphne and Astoria to the ballroom. Then, he returned just in time to see the Patils arrive ... and to watch as Jim kissed Padma Patil's hand. Slightly startled, Harry also extended his welcome to the Patils and quietly informed Mr. Patil that Lord Greengrass and Lady Augusta were already in the ballroom. Jim extended his arm to Padma who took it, to the quiet surprise of both Harry and Parvati. Recovering smoothly, however, Harry quickly offered his own arm to Parvati and escorted her to the ballroom, with Mr. and Mrs. Patil following behind.

A few minutes later, the Potter Twins were back once more at the Floo, awaiting more special guests. Apparently, James had pulled strings to arrange a one night only Floo connection between Potter Manor and the Granger residence. Hermione stepped through first, radiant in a periwinkle blue ball gown with long white Victorian opera gloves. Mr. and Mrs. Granger followed, each dressed in Victorian formal wear. Jim stepped forward first to kiss the hands of Hermione and then Mrs. Granger before shaking Mr. Granger's hand warmly. Harry watched Jim's interactions with Hermione's parents before following suit. The results of his observations were dispiriting. He'd held out hope that whatever curse caused Muggles to dislike him was common to both him and his brother. However, the Grangers seemed quite charmed by Jim (who, to be fair, _did _know how to conduct himself well in formal social situations). But when Harry stepped forward, both Muggles visibly recoiled from him. Though Hermione's parents both tried to maintain a sense of decorum, it was clear to Harry that she'd noticed their reactions. Harry quickly finished his welcome and then left the Grangers to his brother while he returned to the ballroom to Astoria Greengrass to dance a waltz with him.

The two made small talk as they danced, though Tori still obviously had eyes for Cedric Diggory, who was dancing gracefully if nervously with some Ravenclaw named Chang whose parents both worked in the Ministry. After the waltz ended, Harry escorted Astoria back to her mother's side and then asked Daphne to dance a pavane with him. A slower, more regal dance, the pavane allowed the two to discuss more serious topics.

"Your home is lovely, Harry," Daphne said.

"Thank you, Daphne, though I'm still not sure I would call it _my home_. That part's a work in progress."

"Speaking of works in progress, I have news about your pet project involving my family. Father is telling Lady Augusta and Mr. Patil right now, but I wanted to let you know personally instead of hearing about it later."

"Oh?"

"There's been a ... complication. We think the Selwyns found out about our families' business negotiations and decided to intervene."

"With a carrot or a stick?"

"Carrot now, though probably with a stick if the carrot's not big enough. In a nutshell, Lord Selwyn set up a meeting with Father last week and made us an offer. If we'll break off our negotiations with the Longbottoms and Patils and sign an exclusive trade agreement with the House of Selwyn, they'll sponsor our elevation to Ancient and Noble status."

The news was so startling to Harry that he briefly fell out of step with the music. "That's ... a pretty impressive offer. We must have scared the Selwyns even more than I'd thought." He took a deep breath. "Has your father accepted?"

"Not yet. He's not obligated to answer for several months." Daphne bit her lip slightly. "How much pull does your alliance have, Harry? We're assuming that the Selwyns will have the support of House Nott and House Malfoy and their respective vassals. Can the Longbottoms match that? And would your father support us? I mean, we're Slytherins from way back, but we never supported You-Know-Who."

"I'm sure Lady Augusta is counting votes as we speak." He hesitated. "I'll be honest with you. Vote allocation in the Wizengamot seems convoluted as heck and isn't something I've spent a lot of studying. I have been rather busy with other matters, I'm afraid. But I'll try to let you know something by the time we get back to school if Lady Augusta hasn't already contacted your father by then."

She nodded, and the two switched to small talk about school matters for the rest of the dance. As the song ended, Harry noticed Hermione standing with her back against a wall while sipping punch. And to his surprise, she was rather aggressively not looking at him in a decidedly Slytherin manner. In fact, when he took a step in her direction, she quickly finished her punch and made her way out of the ballroom. Smiling, Harry followed her out and down a hall and then saw her step into the Music Room. After looking around, he followed her inside and then put a privacy ward up over the door. When he turned around, Hermione was sitting on a bench in front of a grand piano. Harry glanced around the room (and wondered for a second why on Earth the Potters kept a sousaphone lying around) before heading over to join her.

"Why Miss Granger! Wherever did you learn how to attract someone's attention by strategically ignoring them?"

She looked up at him with an amused expression. "From Blaise, of course. After your interaction with him at the birthday party last summer, I became interested in how Slytherins communicate with one another through body language and other nonverbal cues, so I cornered him and asked him for some pointers."

"You make us sound like some sort of alien species, Hermione." She crooked an eyebrow at him to suggest that she thought that exact thing about Slytherin House. He shook his head as he sat down next to her on the bench. After eighteen months as a Slytherin, he thought that it quite possible that she was right. "Never mind. Since you've been such an attentive student of Blaise's techniques, what do you want to talk about?"

"Oh, I was just curious, Harry Potter, as to what you could _possibly _have done to make my parents have such an obvious and uncharacteristic dislike for you?"

He coughed. "It's ... not something I can talk about. Not here anyway." He glanced around the room. "The walls have ears. Probably literal ears since it's a magical house."

She studied him for a moment before touching her wrist and then, with a flourish, pulling out her wand which had been ingeniously hidden inside the glove. "_**MUFFLIATO.**_"

"Ah yes. The privacy charm that you found in a stack of Gryffindor pornography. Did you ever turn that back in to Professor Snape?"

"Yes, and don't change the subject. Professor Snape says this is the strongest privacy charm he's ever seen or heard of, so we should be able to talk freely."

He sighed and looked down at the floor. His Slytherin side calmly and somewhat coldly listed every reason why this was not the sort of thing he should reveal to Hermione Granger, the brilliant but reckless Gryffindor with the infuriatingly strong moral code and the absurd lack of restraint when someone presented her with a mystery. And _honestly_, she didn't know _the first thing_ about protecting her mind from intrusion! But to each objection, his Gryffindor side had only one response – that she was his very first and very best friend and she would never betray him or let him down. And so he told her. Naturally, she was appalled.

"And you have no idea what's causing this ... psychosis in the affected Muggles?"

"None. Snape says its unprecedented, and if _he_ doesn't know what's causing it, I can't imagine who _would._ All I know is that it makes Muggles dislike me and eventually want to see me suffer and die, but wizards aren't affected and can't even perceive whatever it is."

Hermione hesitated. "That's not _quite_ true." Harry looked at her in surprise. "Luna Lovegood. We been studying her ... extrasensory power in Project Mysterioso."

"Extrasensory power? That's what we're calling it now when somebody sees imaginary creatures?"

"That's just it, Harry. I don't think they're imaginary anymore. By recording her own observations about your brother, she was able to deduce that Jim was being psychically damaged by that dark Occlumency text weeks before anyone else discovered it."

Harry's widened slightly. "And she sees something in me?" he asked in surprise.

"Not exactly. She says she knows that there's something there inside you but that whatever it is, it knows when it's being observed and is able to actively conceal itself from her ... well, we don't have a name for what Luna does yet. Though she's very attached to the idea of calling it her '_Mysterioso Vision_.' That's what Professor Lockhart gets, I suppose, for trying to be witty and ironic."

Harry laughed at that before turning thoughtful. "So, I've told you one of my secrets. You tell me one of yours. What was that transfigured book you gave Jim as a Christmas gift? Something to do with Parseltongue?"

"If that were true, Harry, I doubt it would be of much interest to you. I mean, _you're not a Parselmouth, are you?_" And with that, she smiled and batted her eyelids almost mockingly. If he'd been drinking, Harry would have done a spit-take.

"_I am not a Parselmouth_" were the words he tried to say, but they kept tripping over "_first and best friend_." Finally, she took pity on him.

"Harry, speaking _purely hypothetically_, if you _were_ a Parselmouth and kept it hidden even after Jim's exposure, would it be for legitimate and important reasons? Or would it be just to cruelly isolate Jim at Hogwarts and make him miserable?"

He took a deep breath and exhaled. "_Hypothetically_, it wouldn't _just_ be to make him miserable. There would be legitimate and very important reasons as well."

"Pertaining to your Slytherin lineage, I suppose?"

That remark so startled Harry that he lost his balance and fell off the piano bench and onto the floor. Hermione laughed gently.

"What?!" he explained.

"Harry, honestly. I always thought it more likely for Jim, and presumably you, to have inherited Parseltongue as a family gift than for Jim to have gotten it from You-Know-Who as some sort of nonsensical magical transference. And since your mother was a Muggle-born, I assumed that the gift came by way of one of those Slytherin lines that was forced to change its name after the Inheritance Act was passed. From what I've read, no one knows _for sure_ which families are descended from Slytherin, but the ones _thought_ to be were generally rather awful, so I can see why you would want to control the circumstances under which you revealed any such magical heritage."

Harry climbed up and sat back down on the piano bench. "You're preceding under the assumption that all Muggle-born are actually lost descendants of magical lines, I take it?"

"Through squibs, yes. In our potions book last year, there was an essay written in the 19th century by Hector Dagworth-Granger, the founder of the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers. Somewhat curious, I looked up his family tree and compared it to that of my father's side of the family. It appears that I am Hector Dagworth-Granger's third cousin, twice removed. Or his second cousin, three times removed. I never can remember how that works."

"Have you contacted him?" Harry asked in surprise.

She sniffed as if she'd just detected a particularly foul odor. "Cousin Hector is deceased. I wrote to his daughter Cressida Dagworth-Granger last summer, and what a delightful charmer she was! Her response was a rather terse letter stating that the Dagworth-Granger family has never produced any squibs in its illustrious history, that she would not stand for any _Mudblood_ besmirching her father's name and legacy, and that if I ever contacted her again she'd sue me for defamation."

"Oh, Hermione, I'm so sorry."

"It's alright, Harry. One day, I'll be invited to join the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers on my own merits. And I'll turn the bigoted Pure-Blood twits down flat!"

* * *

**The next chapter is _tentatively_ scheduled for upload on Monday, 2/29/16. _However_, I am trying to complete income taxes this week and may get behind. If the next chapter is not up by noon CST on 2/29/2016, assume that I'm weeping into my tax forms and that the upload will get pushed back to 3/2/2016 instead.**

**1\. The last chapter will be uploaded to correct bad Latin from Countess Zabini and a mistake involving how multi-majored degrees are given (or more accurately are _not_ given in Great Britain). **

**2\. I had not originally planned to include Mad-Eye Moody in this chapter (and really not even in this book), but once he showed up, he just took over the whole scene. I think Moody's more fun to write than anyone except Snape.**

**3\. This chapter is a bit shorter compared to the more reacent ones, but I hope its "density" makes up for it.**


	68. HP&TSE 34 - A New Year Begins

**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY **

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

**Only one day late. So my taxes were only half the ordeal I thought they'd be. :) Enjoy.**

* * *

**CHAPTER 34: A New Year Begins**

_**3 January 1993  
The Hogwarts Express**_

Blaise Zabini sat alone in his compartment aboard the Hogwarts Express reading a book while occasionally reaching into a bag of Bertie Botts' Every Flavour Beans and hoping he didn't pull out one that tasted of earwax. Harry and Neville were returning to Hogwarts via Floo, while Theo had remained there for Christmas. So among the Hogwarts Second Years who he actually considered friends, that left only...

"Ah Blaise!" said Hermione brightly as she stepped into the compartment with a flourish. "Here you are. I've been looking for ages."

"No you haven't," he replied without looking up from his book. "We left the station less than five minutes ago."

"Well, it felt like ages." She crooked her head to study the cover of Blaise's book. "Hmm. **Lords and Ladies** by Terry Pratchett. You _do_ realize that that's a Muggle fantasy novel and not a primer on Wizengamot etiquette, right?"

He glanced up and favored the girl with what she might have considered a sneer if she hadn't understood the affection behind it. "Naturally, Hermione. The fact that I got it from Barnes &amp; Noble in Manhattan was my first clue. What? Can't a wizard show appreciation for a good Muggle book?"

"Not as a rule, no, though I'm please to see you are an exception." With that, she turned her back on him and erected a privacy charm.

"Really, Hermione? You're afraid that some Pureblood book critic will find out that I'm reading Terry Pratchett and cause problems? Surely Pureblood bigotry isn't _that_ bad!"

She ignored Blaise's humor and sat down opposite him. "I want to talk about Harry's Parseltongue."

He snorted softly. "I think you mean Jim's Parseltongue. Harry doesn't talk to snakes, Hermione, he just wears them as insignia like the rest of our House."

"See, what's interesting, Blaise, is that your immediate response to a simple vague statement like '_I want to talk about Harry's Parseltongue_' is a categorical denial rather than just saying '_whatever do you mean, Hermione?_' You know, the way someone would respond if they had no idea that Harry was a Parselmouth. Very suggestive, that." Blaise frowned at her, but she continued before he could say anything. "But anyway, that's not important now. Whether Harry is a Parselmouth or not, he would never feel comfortable talking with me in part because he knows I'm not an Occlumens and anything he tells me might be gotten out of me with Legilimency. _So_, my font of all knowledge about Slytherin secret keeping, how do I become an Occlumens?"

He frowned even more deeply and set the latest book about Granny Weatherwax aside. "Hermione, becoming an Occlumens is potentially very dangerous. Harry and Jim are both trying to learn it because they've both learned secrets they shouldn't have and don't want to be memory-wiped. Your ... _suspicions_ about Harry being a Parselmouth – which probably half the school shares whether he is or not – are not a good reason for you to _rewire your brain_!"

"Really, Blaise? And what secrets did you have at the age of _eight _that led you to do that very thing?"

"Obviously," he said through gritted teeth, "I can't _tell you_ because they're personal enough to protect with Occlumency."

"Of course not. Because I'm not an Occlumens and you couldn't trust me to keep your secrets."

"No, because they're _personal_!"

"All of them, Blaise? You don't have any secrets you _would_ be willing to share with me if you knew my mind was protected?" He didn't answer. "Anyway, I've already had one Dark Lord rifling through my brain and I don't wish to repeat the experience whether I hold any of your or Harry's secrets or not. I do have my own secrets, you know."

He crooked an eyebrow at her.

"Well, _someday_ I'll have secrets that I want to keep at all costs. Probably."

Blaise crooked his eyebrow even higher. She sighed in exasperation.

"Look, I want to do this. If you think Occlumency is something I should avoid despite its obvious value, make your case. You may not think much of Gryffindors in general, but you know I'm reasonable."

He laughed. "For _some_ definitions of reasonable, I suppose." He took a deep breath and exhaled as he thought through the possible ramifications. Truth be told, Hermione was someone whose intelligence and rationality he respected, and it _would_ be nice to be able to confide in her at least a few of the things he couldn't share with anyone else.

"Alright, here's the basics. Occlumency is the art of organizing and controlling your own mind. The basic art involves the ability to detect intrusive psychic attacks and defend against them. Those who study the art generally organize it into a seven-level tree, and at each level there are ancillary powers and effects that branch of from the basic defensive power to provide other benefits. A level one Occlumens gains a photographic memory. A level two can suppress his emotions no matter what the trigger. A level three can choose what emotions to feel in response to any situation and can also recognize when he's acting out of emotion rather than rationality. The powers get more esoteric after that. It's not actually necessary to rise above level one if all you want to do is keep a Legilimens from reading you – you can just practice the level one exercises for a long time until they're completely ingrained and that will keep out all but the most skilled Legilimens. But mastering the higher level secondary powers will cause your psychic shields to grow more quickly _if_ you don't stumble into any of the pitfalls of the higher level powers. For example, level two lets you suppress your emotions, but you can misuse and abuse that power. Let's say you're deeply in love with someone who breaks your heart. You might make the spur-of-the-moment decision to simply never feel love again. And if you impulsively strip yourself of the ability to feel love, you will likely never turn that emotion back on again of your own free will. It would take a Mind Healer going in with Legilimency and performing psychic surgery to reactivate those emotional connections. And it's like that with all the emotions. Turn off your fear response and you become insanely reckless. Turn off your anger response and you become robotic in your interactions with others. It really can be terribly dangerous, Hermione, which is why I'm very glad I had multiple tutors. You probably won't have access to such tutoring and will be on your own. You know, like _Jim_ was when he almost let Rookwood's book turn him into a psychopath."

She nodded seriously. "But you will help me get started? I promise to be careful, and if you and Harry can help me find a tutor, I'll do whatever he or she says."

Blaise rubbed his forehead. "Alright. On your own head be it. Let me talk to Harry tonight, and I'll let you know what I've decided in a day or so."

She smiled eagerly.

* * *

_**Hogwarts  
Late that afternoon ...**_

Harry, Jim, and Neville stepped through the Floo back into the Headmaster's Office promptly at five o'clock, where Dumbledore was on hand to welcome them before sending them on their way to stash their luggage before the evening's feast.

"Oh, and Harry?" he called out just as the boys reached the door. "I am free to review your Occlumency shields this evening after dinner if that is acceptable."

"Yes sir," Harry replied. "I'm looking forward to it."

The Headmaster nodded. "Jim, Professor McGonagall will provide you with a weekly schedule for your Occlumency lessons with me."

Jim nodded with a smile, as he was looking forward to actual Occlumency tutoring instead of self-study (and particularly, self-study from a dark textbook). The three boys left the Headmaster's office, with Neville and Jim heading to Gryffindor Tower to put their luggage away. Happy to be away from the tension of Potter Manor, Jim's good mood lasted all the way to the second floor of the tower where their rooms were supposed to be. Then, he stopped suddenly on the landing in surprise. Where there had previously been a single door with a sign saying "Second Years," there were now two doors about fifteen feet apart. One had his and Neville's names on them while the others were for Dean, Seamus and Ron. Neville frowned and shook his head before walking past Jim into their new room. Once inside, it was clear that someone had simply rearranged the furniture and then conjured a large brick wall dividing the old dorm room in half before transfiguring a second door.

"Oh well," said Neville trying cheer the other boy up. "Look on the bright side. At least we won't have to listen to Ron snore all night."

* * *

_**Meanwhile in the Slytherin Dungeon**_

Harry had just dropped his trunk off in his dorm room when Theo and Marcus both entered.

"Harry, do you have a minute to talk?" Theo said. "Downstairs in ... the room?" Marcus simply stood behind Theo with his arms crossed.

"Of course," said Harry, intrigued by their demeanor. Minutes later, they were all three down in the Prince's Lair. Upon entering, Harry hissed a few words to the Hydra which to his disappointment still did not answer. He sighed and then turned to the other two.

"So, what's up?" he asked.

Theo and Marcus looked at one another. "First of all," the prefect began, "did you get our Christmas presents?"

"Two copies of **Beedle the Bard**? Yeah, I did. I have yet to figure out why it's so popular that each of you would send me one."

"Well," began Theo, "we didn't mean to each send you a copy. That was ... bad planning on our part. But that's not important now. Did you read the story that we both had bookmarked?"

"Yes. _The Tale of the Tree Brothers_. Very moving though a bit below my grade level. Now what's this about?"

"It's about Blaise Zabini," said Marcus abruptly. Harry stiffened his back.

"What about him?"

"Harry," Theo said quietly, "that day last term when you had the Occlumency seizure – how much do you remember about it?"

"Not much. I remember thinking that my Parseltongue was gone and then ... I dunno, everything went black."

"You had a seizure because your Occlumency shields buckled. And to help you restore them, Blaise used Legilimency on you to forge a temporary psychic link so that he could support your shields with his own. And when you came back out of it, you asked Blaise about '_the Deathly Hallows_' before passing out. Do you remember any of that?"

"Um, not really. What's a Deathly Hallow?"

Marcus huffed in annoyance. "The magical items that Death gave the Three Brothers in the story, Potter! Try to keep up!"

"Sorry!" he replied somewhat indignantly. "I didn't grow up reading wizarding fairy tales. Now kindly get to the point."

"Harry," Theo said firmly. "There are a lot of wizards and witches who think the Deathly Hallows are real. Some of those wizards and witches have ... weird ideas about the Deathly Hallows. And a few have _extremely_ weird ideas about them."

"What sort of ideas?" Harry replied in a cautious tone.

"Depends on which weirdo you're talking to," said Flint. "Worst case scenario? _Grindelwald_ was big on finding and mastering the Deathly Hallows." With that, he whipped out his wand and began drawing flaming marks in the air. A triangle, then a circle, then a vertical line.

"These marks make up the Sign of the Deathly Hallows. Sometimes, they're arranged differently. Maybe the triangle is outside the circle or inside it or maybe the line is horizontal instead of vertical. But it's always a line for the Elder Wand, a circle for the Resurrection Stone, and a triangle for the Cloak of Death." Marcus flicked his wand, and the three symbols merged with the triangle on the outside and the line bisecting the circle from top to bottom. "_This_ arrangement was the insignia of Grindelwald's armies."

Harry nodded. "Noted. So when do we get to the part where this is relevant to _me_?"

Theo frowned. "Man, Christmas at the Potters has made you_ cranky_! It's relevant because you're the Potter Heir, and if you stay the Potter Heir, you will eventually inherit, among other things, a certain invisibility cloak that is the only such cloak I know of that's lasted more than a century without losing its enchantments. In fact, according to _some_ stories, that same invisibility cloak has been in your family since the founding of the Wizengamot if not longer, whereas the typical invisibility cloak available for sale today will wear out after a decade or two at most."

Harry stood open-mouthed for several seconds. "You think the Potter Cloak – the one that my idiot father gave to my idiot brother so that he could use it for _pranks_, and that my idiot brother subsequently allowed to be _stolen_ – is the legendary Cloak of Death?!"

Theo and Marcus looked to one another, before Marcus spoke. "Let's just say it's _a possibility, _especially since it kinda widens up the list of suspects for who might have stolen the Cloak from Junior if it's, you know, an _object of worship_ for some people. And let's also say that Theo and I are ... concerned about how Blaise Zabini abruptly decided to glom onto you back when you were a firstie now that we know the Hallows are something he seems to think about a lot and especially connection with you. It's potentially ... sinister."

Before Harry could respond to Flint's odd conspiracy theory, the door to the Lair began to open. Marcus dispelled the flaming symbols he'd created just as Blaise Zabini himself stepped through. He stopped suddenly as the other three boys stared at him.

"Am I late for a meeting?" he asked coolly.

"Not at all," Harry said. "We were just comparing notes on what we each got for Christmas. How was _your_ holiday?"

Blaise smiled. "Magical, Harry. Absolutely magical."

* * *

_**Near the Great Hall  
Just before dinner**_

"_Pssst!_"

Amaryllis Wilkes looked around sharply at the sound until she noticed Jim Potter partially hidden behind a suit of armor. She looked around to make sure no one was watching before moving over to the nervous boy.

"What is it, Potter?" she asked warily.

Jim looked around as well and swallowed. "I, um... Listen, after what happened before the break, I ... I just wanted to say thanks... Again. And also, I wanted to give you this." He held out a small box wrapped in silver foil to the girl. "It's nothing much. Just a token of appreciation for how you helped me. And also a late 'Merry Christmas' I guess."

She gave the boy a dubious look and then carefully took the box and unwrapped it. Her eyes widened. It was a box of very fine chocolates from Honeydukes.

"Wow. Thanks, Potter. That was ... very thoughtful of you."

"You're welcome, Wilkes." The two looked at each other nervously, as if neither knew what to say next. Fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately), they were saved from making small talk by the arrival of someone else.

"Potter?!" exclaimed Cormac McLaggen. "You're hanging out with Junior Death Eaters now?!"

With McLaggen were several other Third and Fourth Year Gryffindors. Jim studied them, wondering with a mixture of fear and anger whether any of them were one of the pair that had jumped him before Christmas. Behind them, he also noticed Ron and several younger Gryffs holding back and watching.

"Who I hang out with is none of your concern, McLaggen," Jim said coldly while moving to position himself between Wilkes and his fellow Gryffindors.

McLaggen took a step forward. "I think it _is_ our concern if we've got the Heir of Slytherin lurking in our house _and_ he's consorting with the Toymaker's daughter!"

Several students gasped at the accusation. Jim's hand inched towards his wand, while McLaggen and his cronies bowed up aggressively. But before the spells could start to fly, another voice cried out.

"That's _quite_ enough!"said Miranda Bonneville, the Sixth Year Slytherin prefect as she stepped around a corner. Behind her were Cassius Warrington and the two Slytherin Beaters. "I'm sure I don't have to tell you fine upstanding Gryffindors that there's to be no fighting in the corridors. Supper is awaiting. _Run along_!_" _

McLaggen and the other Gryffindors glared back and forth between Miranda and Jim before departing for the Great Hall. Ron was the last to go. Oddly, he didn't look as angry towards Jim as the older Gryffinors, but there was a coldness to his expression that made Jim shiver a bit. He left without a word.

"Everything okay, Potter? Wilkes?"

"We're fine," mumbled the shaken boy as he watched his former friends stalk off without him.

Miranda moved closer to Potter and Wilkes and spoke quietly but firmly. "Potter, on behalf of Slytherin House, I thank you for being so protective of Miss Wilkes."

"It was nothing," Jim said blushing slightly.

"I disagree. Given Miss Wilkes's background, I don't think it should surprise you to know that she's been the victim of a great deal of unpleasantness since the school year started. Pranks. Hexes. Insults. The occasional threat of physical harm."

Jim stiffened and turned to look back at Amy, who looked away in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry to say," Miranda continued, "that much of this abuse has come from your House. So I assure you that it means a great deal for someone of your stature to be so tolerant and protective of her. Again, you have the gratitude of House Slytherin."

The boy nodded almost dumbly. _"The gratitude of House Slytherin_," he thought. "_That's something I never thought I'd hear ... or for that matter see any value in receiving!_"

With that Cassius Warrington stepped forward. "Mr. Potter, I don't think we've ever been formally introduced. I am Cassius Warrington. I believe you already know Peregrine Derrick and Lucien Bole from the Quidditch Team. From what I just saw, I am concerned that you yourself might be suffering from some level of threat from your own House. I know that you are quite skilled at Defense, but if you're interested, we and some of our friends have a small informal Defense study group. Currently, it's only five Slytherins and four Ravenclaws. We've never invited a Gryffindor before ... and honestly, never thought one would accept if we did invite him. But if you don't feel safe among the Gryffindors, you are more than welcome to join us for advanced Defense training. Several of our members are Newts-level Defense students and are on the Auror Academy career track. I think you could learn a lot with us."

Jim swallowed. "_Yeah, I bet I could. But __what__ exactly would I be learning in a Slytherin Defense class?!_" After a second, he gave a weak smile. "Your offer is very generous and kind, Mr. Warrington. I'll consider it carefully."

Warrington smiled. "I hope you do, Mr. Potter. Despite the differences in our Houses, I think you'll find that we have much to offer you."

With that, the Slytherins all nodded respectfully to the Boy-Who-Lived (who thought this was among the most surreal experiences of his life) before heading on to supper with Amy Wilkes in tow.

After they left, Jim exhaled and shook his head. "_At this rate, I'll get that Howler from Dad I've been expecting before the week is out!_"

* * *

_**The Headmaster's Office  
9:00 p.m.**_

After supper, Harry made his way to the Headmaster's Office, where he spent the better part of an hour staring into Albus Dumbledore's twinkling eyes while fending off his Legilimency attacks. Finally, the old man called it a night.

"My congratulations, Harry. Your skills are remarkably impressive for someone of your age. I am not entirely certain that you could block Voldemort himself for any extended length of time, but to be honest, if you came under his hand, it is likely that no amount of Occlumency could hold him at bay. It is for that reason that I must also ask you to take a secrecy vow which will make it impossible to coerce the secret from you and also prevent you from intentionally or unintentionally revealing the secret."

Harry cocked his head. "Does this mean you don't trust me, Headmaster?" Dumbledore started to respond when Harry laughed. "It's alright, sir. To be honest, I'd have been concerned if you'd been willing to just tell a twelve-year-old the secret without any additional precautions. What sort of oath do you propose?"

Secrecy oaths, of course, are not as stringent as Unbreakable Vows in that they don't impose a death sentence on violators. Harry himself was quite familiar with secrecy oaths having already sworn a few already. By swearing an oath never to reveal a particular fact to anyone who didn't already know it, the oathtaker actually devotes a portion of his own magic to preserving the secret. The oath's most basic function is to prevent the oathtaker from accidentally revealing the secret. If he gets too loose-lipped, the oath will nudge him and remind him of what he promised. If he's drugged or becomes intoxicated, then he will stop talking altogether rather than drunkenly reveal the truth. He will likewise become physically unable to speak about the secret when under the effects of Veritaserum or physical torture, and while the oath will not shield against Legilimency, its effects can augment the oathtaker's ability to resist having his mind read, even more so if he is also an Occlumens. The most powerful secrecy oaths provide even greater protections – the oathtaker will feel a strong intuitive reluctance to discuss the secret with someone who he _thinks_ knows it but who actually does not (including imposters) or even when there are hidden eavesdroppers nearby who might overhear. Finally, the oathtaker _can_ intentionally reveal the secret, but doing so will cause Magic itself to permanently brand him in some way, usually with a permanent disfigurement that mark him forever as an oathbreaker. In Britain, wizarding law forbids wizards and witches branded as oathbreakers from testifying in court cases, from entering into contracts that are not magically enforced, and even from some areas of employment for which trustworthiness is deemed paramount.

Harry furrowed his brow as he absorbed Dumbledore's explanation of how secrecy oaths applied in their situation. "Did they make Sirius Black swear a secrecy oath?" he asked abruptly.

"A very astute question, Harry. The answer is no. There is a necessary design flaw in the Fidelius Charm which ensures that no other type of secrecy oath could bind the Secret Keeper in any way. The spell makes it impossible for anyone to learn the secret by any means other than intentional revelation, including direct observation of the truth, and it also erases knowledge of the secret from people who knew it before the spell was cast. But Magic always demands a price for effects of such a global impact, and with the Fidelius, the price is that you must put absolute faith in the person you choose to keep the secret."

Harry nodded and swore the oath Dumbledore demanded. The boy saw the benefits of the oath, and anyway how could he complain? According to Dumbledore, Jim himself had been made to swear the same oath once his parents found out he knew the Prophecy in order to reduce the chance of him accidentally revealing it, and Peter Pettigrew had sworn an even more stringent Unbreakable Vow. When the oath was complete, Dumbledore rose and went to a cabinet from which he produced a pensieve and a small vial. Minutes later, the two emerged from Dumbledore's memory of Sybil Trelawney's ill-fated job interview. It was illuminating to Harry in many ways. For one thing, he'd never imagined that a True Seer could deliver a Prophecy despite being visibly intoxicated. Harry thought through the words of the Prophecy.

"'_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies..._" He looked up at the Headmaster. "How _did_ James and Lily Potter defy the Dark Lord three times?"

"That was indeed one of the more vexing questions raised by the Prophecy. After all, what level of oppositions counts as '_defiance_' for purposes of satisfying a prophecy? You know, I initially suspected that Neville Longbottom was more likely to be the Prophecy Child rather than your brother or you. Neville was a Pureblood, after all, which I'd have assumed someone like Voldemort would more likely consider a threat. But more importantly, Neville's parents were also both Aurors who had fought against Voldemort's forces repeatedly prior to their deaths, and each of them had killed several high-ranking Death Eaters in the course of their duties. Alice Longbottom was six months pregnant when she ended the life of Boruslav Lestrange, the father of Rabastan and Rodolphus and father-in-law to Bellatrix Black-Lestrange. As for your parents? Well, James was both an auror and a Lord of the Wizengamot, even as young as he was back then, and in both arenas, he had challenged Voldemort many times in ways that might constitute defiance. But your mother? Well, she wrote a very famous and much-admired Letter to the Editor of the Daily Prophet in which she denounced the Death Eaters and Voldemort and encouraged her fellow Muggleborns to take up arms and stand with the government against the forces of bigotry. She also fought Bellatrix Lestrange to a standstill in a duel in Diagon Alley during the December prior to your birth. But as for a third defiance, I've never been sure what it might have been. I finally concluded that it must have been her decision to marry a Pureblood like James despite the social stigma, but frankly, I've always found that ... unsatisfactory."

Harry considered that before continuing with the Prophecy. "'_And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not_.' I assume the mark is the V-scar on Jim's forehead. Do we have any idea what the mysterious power is?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "I am somewhat embarrassed to say that my best theory to date has been ... _love_."

Harry coughed. "... love, sir?"

"I admit it's not a well-reasoned theory. But I've never been able to detect anything magically unusual about Jim that's not explained simply by the fact that he's growing up to become a powerful wizard, though to be honest, he's no more powerful for his age than either you or Neville or even some of your peers such as Draco Malfoy or Hermione Granger. True, he somehow immolated the body of Quirinus Quirrell last May and so was able to drive Voldemort's shade away, but _how_ he was able to do so remains a mystery. So instead, I've tried to work backwards from the other part of that phrase. What could the power be that Voldemort _knows not_? His occult knowledge is vast, and I am not ashamed to say that his knowledge of the Dark Arts exceeds my own. But from his actions and conduct, it seemed clear that Voldemort suffers from profound psychosis, and he has continually exhibited overtly sadistic behavior, especially towards his own followers. During the war, he was notorious for inflicting the Cruciatus Curse as punishment for even the mildest transgressions. So I began to wonder if his apparent inability to experience or understand the emotion of love might represent the power he knows not."

"... love," Harry said again, still somewhat dubiously. Dumbledore sighed.

"While a weak theory, Harry, I assure you that it's not as far-fetched as you might think. Believe it or not, there is in fact a standing research group that has been in place for centuries within the Department of Mysteries that is devoted to studying the supernatural implications of love. There are a number of obscure esoteric spells that can only be cast by a wizard who possesses strong feelings of love for another. I understand you are presently studying the Patronus Charm, and for most wizards who can perform that spell, the happy memory which fuels it generally pertains to one's loved ones. Similarly, there are many dark spells which can only be cast by one who does not feel love or, worse, is willing to sacrifice the object of his true love for the sake of power."

Harry absorbed all that. The Headmaster was right, of course. While it offended Harry's cynicism, "_love_" was certainly as plausible as anything he could come up with. He decided to move on to the next part of the Prophecy.

"'_And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives_.'" He frowned. "Does that mean that literally no one can kill either Jim or Voldemort except the other? That they're both effectively immortal until one of them kills the other?"

"Yes and no. I believe that whatever mechanism Voldemort used to achieve functional immortality is one that only the Child of Prophecy can overcome. However, I do not think that the reverse is true. Jim, despite his being recognized as the Boy-Who-Lived, is only the most obvious candidate to fulfill the Prophecy. If he were to die at the hands of Voldemort or anyone else, the Prophecy would eventually reorient itself towards another viable candidate."

Harry swallowed. "Me. Or Neville, I suppose."

"Correct, my boy. Though I suspect that your metaphysical proximity to Jim makes you the stronger candidate, which is why I was willing to reveal all this to you. We already know that Voldemort believes your parents to have defied him three times. And I suppose, in a pinch, Fate might consider the scar you received from the blast of Voldemort's bodily destruction to be him 'marking' you, albeit in a roundabout way."

The boy was silent for a moment. Then, he shook it off and focused back on the last of the Prophecy.

"'_Neither can live while the other survives_.' That's an ... odd way of phrasing it, don't you think? Is there a difference between living and surviving that Fate would consider important?"

Dumbledore grinned rather broadly at that. "_Very good, _Harry. A very insightful question and one that I've grappled with for years. The answer is ... I've no idea. What I know of Divination tells me that every word is important, even if its import cannot be immediately understood. I am convinced that the very distinction you've drawn – living versus merely surviving – is important to fully understanding the rest of the Prophecy. Alas, I am no closer to understanding that distinction than I was when I first heard the Prophecy in 1980. After all, Voldemort survived for over a decade, during which time Jim enjoyed a life of considerable prosperity and comfort."

A barely perceptible wince flashed across Harry's face. Dumbledore noticed the reaction and suddenly realized what he'd just said. He deflated slightly. "A life that you were denied, Harry. I've said it before, but ... it cannot be said enough. For my role in wrongly declaring you a squib thereby leading you to your placement with the Dursleys, I humbly apologize."

"It's alright, sir. It's ... it's the past, and I'm not much for brooding. I know your intentions were good and that it wasn't your fault I was left there unattended. You have no cause to apologize to me."

From his perch nearby, Fawkes let out a soothing trill that lifted the spirits of Harry and Dumbledore both.

"That reminds me, Headmaster. You never did tell me who was the third person was who got a wand with one of Fawkes's feathers."

"Didn't I? Oh yes, I remember our earlier conversation now. It was a brilliant young man who overcame a tragic upbringing to become one of our very best students. He was sorted into Slytherin in 1938 and rose to become Head Boy. His name was Tom Marvolo Riddle."

Harry's eyes opened wide. "Tom Marvolo Riddle had a wand that was brother to mine and Jim's?"

The Headmaster was surprised at Harry's response. "You know the name, Harry?"

"Er, yes sir. After what happened last Halloween, the members of my study group were curious about that whole '_Heir of Slytherin_' business and did some research. His name came up. I gather he got a Special Services Award over it. I did think it odd, however, that no one seems to have heard much of him after his graduation."

Dumbledore shook his head almost fondly. "Indeed. _Tom Marvolo Riddle._ A name I haven't thought of in a very long time." He glanced up at the clock on the wall. "It's getting rather late, Harry, and you don't have much time before curfew. Let me escort you back to the entrance to the dungeons, and along the way, I'll tell you what I remember about the young Mr. Riddle."

* * *

_**Meanwhile in the Slytherin Dungeon...**_

Amy entered the dungeon with her bookbag over her shoulder. She'd spent a few hours studying alone in the Library while she thought about what had happened earlier with Jim Potter. As she crossed the Common Room, she noticed Ginny Weasley sitting on a divan chatting with Astoria Greengrass. Ginny looked up towards her as she passed, but Amy spared her a glance and no more. Instead, she made her way down a side corridor to the study where Warrington held court over his circle of Pureblood friends. She entered and closed the door behind her.

"Well, that went reasonably well. Although I think you overplayed it by inviting Potter to the Slytherin Dueling Society. We've got a ways to go before he'll be remotely comfortable in a room full of Slytherins shooting off hexes at him."

Warrington sniggered. "He'll come around. You just keep working on him."

"It might be helpful if I actually knew what your plans for him were. It's not like he can get resorted into Slytherin even if he does have dark tendencies."

"You just leave the planning to us, Wilkes. You're job is to give the Golden Hero someone towards whom he can feel protective. You lead him to us and we'll do the rest."

"The rest of _what_? You think you can turn Jim Potter into a Dark Lord and then, what, ride his coattails to glory?"

Warrington and the other Slytherins stiffened at that. "You forget who you're talking to, Wilkes," snapped Miranda Bonneville. "Just as you've forgotten that _you came to us_ to ask for protection for yourself." Miranda smirked. "Not to mention your little _blood traitor friend._"

Amaryllis' face hardened. She lifted her chin and took a step forward, her eyes flashing dangerously. "No, _Miranda_, I think it's all of _you_ lot who have forgotten who you're talking to! You with your schemes about turning Jim Potter dark. Warrington, Bonneville, Derrick, and Bole. All of you so proud of your mighty Pureblood families. _Don't make me laugh!_ You forget that my father sat at _Voldemort's _right hand!" The other Slytherins all gasped at her use of the forbidden name. "That my mother _chose_ to die in Azkaban rather than betray the Dark Lord! And all while _your_ families were as gray as last year's underpants! All of your families so eager to whisper your support for the Death Eaters but not a Dark Mark to be found on any of them."

Wilkes took a second to regain her composure while the older Slytherins looked at one another nervously. Then, Amaryllis continued more calmly.

"As for Ginny Weasley, I am seeking protection for that little _blood traitor_ for one reason and one reason only – because if anything bad happens to the Weaslette while I'm _sharing a dorm room with her_, I'll catch the blame for it. I need her and her miserable blood traitor family's golden reputation to rehabilitate the Wilkes name until I can marry well, have a child, and finally gain access to the birthright that would have been mine years ago if I'd only been a boy instead of a girl. Only then will Arthur Weasley's miserable brood get what's coming to them!"

She stepped back and crossed her arms defiantly. "So, do we have an understanding?"

Warrington licked his lips. "We ... do, Wilkes. On Miranda's behalf, I apologize for our lack of appreciation for your efforts ... as well as for your family's noble service to the cause. Please, pull up a chair. Now that you've proven yourself, not to mention explained satisfactorily your protective interest in the Weasley girl, we can tell you a bit more about what we hope to accomplish."

Amy nodded, pulled out a chair, and sat down, no longer an agent of Cassius Warrington's Pureblood conspiracy, but a full member.

* * *

_**Soon after in the hallways of Hogwarts...**_

"When I first met Tom Riddle in 1937," said Dumbledore as he led the boy on a leisurely walk through the darkened school, "he was an eleven-year-old London orphan. It was the eve of World War II, and he was an inmate at Wool's Orphanage, his mother having died there giving birth to him on New Year's Eve of 1926. To be honest, my first impression of Tom was rather negative. I was Deputy Headmaster at the time, and it was my job to deliver his Hogwarts letter and explain to him the nature of magic and of this school. He was quite traumatized by his upbringing, and he admitted a past history of stealing from other orphans. He implied that he had even hurt some of them deliberately with magic, although he maintained it was self-defense. At the time, I was quite concerned about whether the boy would fit in here."

"What changed?" asked Harry.

Dumbledore smiled. "You and he had something in common: a great appreciation for the value of both learning and advanced preparation. The school provided a small stipend for charity cases such as Tom's, and after purchasing all of his school books and supplies, there was enough left over to pay for several books about wizarding culture and etiquette. The boy who arrived on the Hogwarts Express was far more sophisticated and cultured than the sullen angry lad I'd met weeks before, much as your own immersive study of culture and etiquette gave you an edge when you first arrived here. Of course, etiquette and intellect alone would not have enabled him to succeed as a Slytherin, but Tom had a third advantage that he parlayed into tolerance from Slytherin House, if not exactly open-armed acceptance. An advantage that he shared with your brother, Jim. Can you guess what it was?"

Harry shrugged. "Was he a Quidditch star?"

The Headmaster laughed. "I don't know that Tom ever touched a broom after his First Year. No, I refer to the fact that Tom Riddle was a _Parselmouth_."

The boy's head jerked around in surprise. "A Parselmouth?! But he was Muggleborn, wasn't he? And how did a Parselmouth ever be accepted enough to become Head Boy?"

"Oh in those days, Harry, Parseltongue was a disfavored skill to be sure, but it was not yet something that provoked unreasoning fear in wizards and witches. _That_ only happened after Voldemort's rise to power. He was known for aggressively using Parseltongue as a tool for terrorism, such as by summoning entire generations of poisonous snakes and sending them en masse against his enemies. When Tom was here, Parseltongue was disfavored because it implied descent from Salazar Slytherin, but that was all. In fact, Tom's Parseltongue was apparently what eventually allowed him to discover his true heritage. His father was a Muggle, but his mother was Merope Gaunt, one of the last members of the Ancient and Noble House of Gaunt, a House known for carrying the Parseltongue inheritance."

Harry thought about the name. He recognized Gaunt as being descended from Slytherin according to Salazar's tapestry, but he certainly didn't recall it as an Ancient and Noble House. "Is House Gaunt extinct?"

"Yes. It was a patrilineal house with very stringent limitations on acceptable marital partners. Merope Gaunt was excluded from inheritance because of her gender, and even if she hadn't been, Tom would have been excluded for having a Muggle father. The last males who were eligible to serve as Lord Gaunt died during the 1940's, and the Wizengamot acknowledged line extinction soon after. I vaguely recall that there was some scandal in the Wizengamot involving Toms's grandfather from back in the 1920's. I also seem to recall Horace Slughorn mentioning that when Tom returned to school for his Sixth Year, he was wearing the Gaunt Lord's Ring, but it had no political significance by that point."

"Were you not there at the time, Headmaster?"

"No," the old man said with a grim expression. "In the summer of 1943, I took sabbatical to join the British Wizarding Expeditionary Force against Grindelwald in Germany. I didn't return until fall of 1945, by which time Tom had graduated. I wouldn't see Tom Riddle again until many years later."

"What happened to him?"

"A good question. Despite his remarkable NEWTs scores, Tom never sought a job with the Ministry or even with any private concerns. To my surprise, he got a job working in a highly disreputable antiques store in Knockturn Alley. Then, he simply disappeared. For years, I assumed he'd emigrated. So many of our more talented Muggleborns and Half-Bloods do, after all. But then, in 1957, Tom showed up out of the blue to apply for the position of Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts here at Hogwarts. I turned him down and he left. I never saw him again after that."

"Why did you turn him down for the job? It seems like he'd have been a natural at it."

Dumbledore stopped, and a look of mild confusion slipped over his face. "You know, Harry, now that you mention it, it is the _oddest thing_. I remember interviewing Tom for the job. I remember thinking he would be exceptionally qualified. And I remember thinking very firmly that he should _not_ be hired." The Headmaster looked down at Harry. "But for the life of me, I _can't remember why_."

* * *

_**The Slytherin Dungeon, 1**__**st**__** Year Girls' Dorm**_

When Amy finally entered her dorm room, Astoria and Drusilla weren't in yet, but Ginny Weasley was sitting on her bed as if waiting patiently. As Amy closed the door, Ginny stood and walked over to her with her arms crossed. Her expression was cool.

"So, _Death Eater_, are you done selling me out to Warrington and all his Pureblood friends for the night?"

Amy sneered at her. "Yeah, _blood traitor_. For tonight, anyway."

The two glared at each other for a moment ... before each of them burst into giggles.

"See, I _told you_ it would work," said Ginny.

"I _know_. But I still can't believe that Cassius Warrington _at the age of fourteen_ thinks he's some sort of evil mastermind!"

"Now then," said Ginny eagerly, "before Dru gets back from the loo, tell me _everything_ that happened!

* * *

_**Elsewhere in the castle ...**_

"So you left to fight Grindelwald right after the year the Chamber of Secrets was opened," Harry inquired.

Dumbledore looked down at Harry in surprise. "You are remarkably well-informed, Mr. Potter."

"I'm told I have an appreciation for both learning and advanced preparation. When somebody petrifies a cat and leaves a note about 'the Heir of Slytherin,' I take an interest."

"Indeed. Alas, I have few answers about the Chamber of Secrets affair. We never found the Chamber, if it in fact exists. We never discovered who the Heir of Slytherin was, though poor Hagrid was falsely accused of the crimes. We never even found out how the victims were petrified, whether by spell or by some sort of creature. There were, of course, tales about Slytherin's Monster, but that may have been misdirection."

"Well, what did the petrified students say when they were, um, depetrified? Unpetrified?"

"I believe '_unpetrified_' is the proper English word, though I think it's more clinically proper merely to say '_revived_.' And to answer your question, they had very little to say at all. Whatever effect caused the petrification also instilled a short term amnesia. None of the surviving victims upon revival could remember anything which happened within a minute or so prior to their petrifications except a strong recollection of '_big yellow eyes_,' which again points to some sort of creature, but not conclusively."

"Moaning Myrtle said something about '_big yellow eyes._' Which reminds me: Why do you think she was killed instead of just petrified?"

"To be honest, I believe that her death was unintentional. She was actually petrified like the other victims but was in motion at the time, perhaps trying to run from her attacker. From the positioning of her body, it appears that she was petrified and immediately tipped over, and as she fell, her temple struck the hard corner of a wash basin at just the right angle to kill her. It is telling, I believe, that there were no further attacks after her death. I believe the assailant feared that Myrtle's death would bring about an auror's investigation, and even an accidental killing would provoke a far harsher legal punishment than mere petrifications."

"How were the students ... revived?"

"Mandrake Restorative Draught. An extremely difficult to produce potion, seeing as it calls for prodigious quantities of an incredibly rare, expensive and difficult to raise plant. Hogwarts is the only place it's grown in Britain, and one of the few in Europe. One of the many potent potables that can be prepared using fully-matured Mandrake root is a restorative potion that can cancel out any transfigurative effect on the imbiber, including petrification."

"I'm guessing we don't have any on hand, since Mrs. Norris is still petrified over two months later."

"The Mandrakes being grown in the Greenhouse won't be fully matured for months to come," Dumbledore replied. "Actually, though, we do have a very small quantity of Mandrake extract provided by Professor Lockhart. We have held it in reserve in case the mysterious Heir of Slytherin were to attack a student. But as you say, it's been two months and there have been no further incidents, so I think it should be safe now to..."

As they turned a corner, Dumbledore froze, the words dying on his lips. He reached out with a firm hand and pushed Harry behind him while pulling out his wand with the other hand. For his part, Harry gasped in surprise and once more paid respects to Blaise's Gods of Irony, who obviously must have been listening to Dumbledore talk. For sure enough, the Heir of Slytherin had struck again. In the hallway up ahead lay the petrified body of Cormac McLaggen, his frozen face in a rictus of fear. And on the wall above him, written in what might well be blood, was a message for the entire school.

_**Behold the Fate That Awaits You  
Enemies of the Heir of Slytherin**_

* * *

**The next chapter will be posted sometime between March 8 and March 10, 2016. **

**AN 1: "Neither can live while the other survives" has never made much sense to me. My fanon explanation is as follows: "Living" within the meaning of the Prophecy means "having friends, experiencing happiness, and being able to pursue one's life goals," while "surviving" means "not dying." Voldemort endured as a shade, but so long as he did survive, it was necessary to hide canon-Harry away at the Dursleys. At the same time, Harry was trapped at the Dursleys where he experienced survival rather than life, but while he was hidden away, Voldemort couldn't get at him and use Harry to resurrect himself. It is telling then that when Harry comes to Hogwarts and finally experiences some true happiness, it coincides with Voldemort returning and aggressively pursuing his agenda once more after a decade of quiescence.  
**

**AN 2: Yes, Hermione basically ruined Marietta Edgecombe's life in canon. I love Hermione dearly, but it always troubled me that she apparently permanently disfigured a classmate and never paid any price for it.**

**AN 3: The revised Prologue (now renamed "The Meeting Begins") will be posted later today. Check it out and let me know if it fixes the problems of the original draft.**


	69. HP&TSE 35 - Petrifications, Patronuses &

**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY  
**

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

* * *

**CHAPTER 35: Petrifications, Patronuses &amp; Picnics**

_**14 February 1993**_

The petrification of Cormac McLaggen sent shockwaves through the school, and not just for the petrification itself. Everyone seemed to know that McLaggen had openly accused Jim Potter of being the Heir of Slytherin, and then, just hours later, the Heir of Slytherin (whoever that was) had petrified the young Gryffindor just like Mrs. Norris before him. Needless to say, nearly everyone assumed that Jim was responsible, particularly after it came out that he had no alibi for the time of the attack on McLaggen. Increasingly reluctant to spend time in Gryffindor Tower where most of his house-mates were suspicious and occasionally hostile, Jim had been up in the Astronomy Tower brooding by himself when the petrification took place.

It took Professor Snape about a week to convert the small vial of Mandrake extract provided by Gilderoy Lockhart into enough Restorative Draught to cure young Cormac. Upon awakening, Cormac could remember nothing about how he came to be petrified except a memory of "big yellow eyes." At dinner the first night after Cormac was released from the Infirmary (and during which, young McLaggen continually gave Jim a glare that somehow combined both fear and hatred), Dumbledore publicly thanked Lockhart for his extraordinarily generous contribution. As Neville explained to the other Gryffindors, Mandrakes are incredibly difficult to grow, as most of the Herbology students could attest. But even worse, while every part of the mature Mandrake was useful for potions, the Restorative Draught required fairly large quantities of distilled Essence of Mandrake, which required pulping the entire plant to produce. Some of the more expensive Mandrake-based curatives might require a few drops of the precious fluid, but most Mandrake-based potions just needed a pinch of powdered Mandrake leaf or a slice of Mandrake bulb. The specific formula used to revive McLaggen, however, required an astonishing five drams of purified Essence (a little less than four teaspoons) which would have required the complete distillation of a half-dozen adult Mandrakes at a cost of tens of thousands of galleons on the open market.

Indeed, the _reason_ Professor Sprout devoted so much class time to the cultivation of the dangerous and ill-tempered plants was that the Herbology class's annual Mandrake harvest provided almost five percent of the school's annual budget, as Hogwarts was the only site in Britain that could cultivate Mandrakes in any significant quantities. Raising Mandrakes to maturity was an exacting process that required regular repotting and careful soil adjustment all performed _without_ the use of magic (which would spoil the cultivation). Furthermore, the adjustments had to be made at regular intervals determined by complex astrological conjunctions. Professor Sprout consulted with Professor Sinestra, the Astronomy professor, almost weekly to ensure that every modification to the plants would be performed at the most auspicious time. It didn't help that the plants were so inherently dangerous due to their potentially lethal screams that by February only NEWTs level Herbology students were still allowed to handle the increasingly truculent humanoid plants.

After Cormac's revivification, McGonagal ordered that a prefect accompany Jim to and from all his classes, in part to ensure that he had an alibi if there were any further petrifications, but also for the boy's safety, as the number of hexes and jinxes directed towards the suspected Heir of Slytherin increased significantly. She also docked scores of points from her own house for the Lions' mistreatment of the boy, but Jim eventually stopped reporting harassment against himself because he felt guilty over costing the House so many points.

After Cormac, however, there were no further petrifications, or at least so far. The rest of January passed without incident, and by Valentines Day, the students were just beginning to relax. On the day in question, Lockhart, with the aid of some of his more adoring female students, had decorated the Great Hall with pink streamers and heart-shaped balloons as a way of cheering up the school. At breakfast, Professor Sprout had jokingly asked if he'd considered hiring dwarves to dress up as cherubs and deliver Valentine's messages. Lockhart replied mischievously that he'd looked into it but the dwarves charged too much and anyway the surly hirsute little creatures wouldn't be nearly as endearing in diapers with little wings on their backs as the depictions of Cupid might suggest.

"There are worse ways to celebrate the holiday, I suppose, Gilderoy" said Flitwick with twinkling eyes. "I still recall the chaos you unleashed on the school on Valentine's Day in 1980."

"Chaos, Filius?" he said in confusion. "I'm sure you exaggerate."

"Exaggerate, my boy?" the diminutive professor said with a laugh. "You sent 800 Valentine's messages to yourself! We had to cancel lunch because of all the owl droppings befouling the Great Hall!"

Lockhart stared at his fellow Ravenclaw as if trying to figure out if he was joking. Then, he laughed. "Ha-_ha_! You know I'd quite forgotten about that bit of foolishness! I don't remember if I apologized at the time for however many points I cost Ravenclaw, but if not, I eagerly do so now."

"Oh, water under the bridge, my boy. Water under the bridge." Flitwick laughed. On the other side of him, however, Snape observed the conversation silently and with an odd expression.

"How are your projects proceeding, Gilderoy?" he finally said. "I have yet to see anything that topped the spectacle of your dueling club, though frankly, I'm not sure I wish to."

"Well, since you asked, this afternoon, Team Protector will finally begin their efforts to produce a Patronus. I'll be sure to let you know how successful they are."

"Honestly, Gilderoy," said Flitwick, "do you really think students that young can produce a Patronus? It's auror level magic!"

Lockhart shrugged. "We learn through experimentation, Filius. The point of Team Protector is to determine if students with a certain psychological makeup might have greater facility with the Charm than the typical wizard. Even if the answer is 'no,' we've still learned more than we knew yesterday." He turned and looked towards Snape. "Did _you_ ever master the Patronus Charm, Severus?"

The Potions Master nodded. "I did so not long after graduation, though I have not had cause to cast the Charm in many years." Almost imperceptibly, he glanced down to the far end of the teacher's table. "I suppose I should at some point. I'm somewhat curious as to whether it's the same manifestation as it was back then."

If Lockhart noticed that it had been Lily Potter who had drawn Snape's gaze, he gave no sign.

Twenty minutes later, Snape was in his quarters with his wand in his hand and an oddly nervous expression on his face. He took a deep breath and extended his wand.

"_**EXPECTO PATRONUM!**_"

There was a blast of luminescent fog which erupted from the tip of his wand and resolved itself into the shape of a delicate silvery doe. Snape frowned and waved his wand, dispelling the Patronus.

"Dammit," he muttered to himself.

* * *

_**Later that afternoon...**_

The members of Team Protector were all quite excited. After months of experimenting with various esoteric charms and spells designed to prepare them for this day, they were finally ready for their first attempt at the Patronus Charm. After several weeks spent practicing the movements and the incantation (and meditating on how to imagine one's happiest memory and greatest fear simultaneously), it was time. Lockhart demonstrated the Charm one last time and summoned his own strange-looking Patronus. After considerable research, Emily Rosen had finally identified it as a thylacine, also known as the Tasmanian Wolf or the Tasmanian Tiger, an animal that had been driven to extinction some sixty years before. When she mentioned this to Lockhart, he laughed and responded cryptically: "As far as the Muggles know, anyway."

After that, Lockhart went around the room, with the students making their attempts one at a time. After each attempt, Lockhart critiqued the student's performance and gave advice, and each student had three attempts before he moved on to the next. Of the first six students, three produced nothing at all, two could produce a small wisp of silvery fog, and the last, Marcus Flint, was able to produce a silvery ball about almost two feet in diameter at the tip of his wand, the best performance so far. Indeed, Lockhart congratulated the prefect as he was, so far, the only student to produce a Patronus that might actually ward off a Dementor. With the bar set high by his friend and fellow Slytherin, Harry took a deep breath and attempted to cast the spell. Nothing happened. Even after coaching from Lockhart, Harry remained unable to produce any sign of his Patronus after his second or third attempts. Understandably, he was disappointed.

Finally, Lockhart moved on to the last team member: Neville Longbottom, who swallowed nervously at Harry's lack of success. The thought that he might succeed at something where Harry had failed seemed unthinkable to the young Gryffindor. Then, he looked over towards Harry who despite his own failure was still smiling and offering words of encouragement. Neville pointed his wand towards the center of the room. Then ... he stopped and shook his head. Pulling his wand back in to his chest, Neville closed his eyes. Everyone else looked to one another in surprise and amusement, but Neville ignored them. Instead, he focused inwardly on his own memories. The smell of salt air. The taste of seawater forcing its way down his throat. The bitter cold of the Irish Sea. The crushing terror that came with the knowledge that he was about to die. And then ... he remembered the feeling of being lifted up, up towards the heavens, and the absolute certainty that he had magic and that magic would always be there to protect him. His uncle might have stolen that memory from him, but Neville had it back now, and he would never again let it go.

Neville smiled and opened his eyes. Then, he pointed his wand with confidence. "_**EXPECTO PATRONUM!**_" Out of his wand came a _blast_ of silvery light that created a fog covering a ten-foot radius in the center of the room. It only lasted a few seconds, and Neville's knees nearly buckled when the spell dissipated, but he had done it. Neville Longbottom, at the age of twelve, had just created an incorporeal Patronus. The amazed team members gathered around to congratulate the boy and pat him on the back.

"Congratulations, Longbottom, on making history," said Lockhart. "You are, as far as I've been able to research, the youngest person to have ever successfully cast the Patronus Charm. _But_ I don't want you to rest on your laurels, young man. We have four months left before the end of term, and I won't rest until the rest of you can match Longbottom's feat, nor until you, Longbottom, can cast a _corporeal_ Patronus!"

Encouraged by Neville's achievement, the rest of the team went back to work with renewed vigor.

* * *

Hours later, Harry accompanied Neville to the Owlery, as he wanted to send a letter to his grandmother about his success. As Neville finished tying the letter to the school owl before sending it on its way, Harry stood by quietly. He had, in fact, been unusually quiet since the duo had left the DADA classroom, a fact that Neville had noticed. Finally, after a brief hesitation, the Gryffindor took a deep breath and addressed the elephant in the room.

"Harry, don't take this the wrong way, but ... are you ... _jealous_ that I'm so much farther ahead with the Patronus that you are?"

Harry scoffed. "Nonsense, Neville, don't be ridiculous. It's great that you've taken to the spell so quickly. I only wish I was doing as well... or that I was doing anything at all, that is. But anyway, I'm sure I'll get it eventually. But that doesn't ... I mean ... it's ..." Harry's voice trailed away somewhat awkwardly. Then, he sighed loudly and closed his eyes. After several seconds, a confused Neville spoke up.

"Um, Harry?" Harry gave out a soft "shh!" and held up a hand to stop Neville from speaking again. After another fifteen seconds or so, Harry's eyes popped open in obvious surprise.

"Huh. Well I'll be damned. I _am_ jealous." Harry looked at Neville contritely. "Sorry about that, mate. I'll try to be more self-aware about that in the future."

"Um, sure," Neville replied before adding "What?!"

"Occlumency exercises. Level two was all about suppressing emotions. Level three is about being self-aware of how emotions influence actions and choosing to feel emotions that are valid and helpful instead of self-defeating. I've been working on these exercises for a few weeks, but this is the first time I've actually caught myself feeling something that I didn't want to feel. _Weird_ _experience_, let me tell you!"

"Uh-huh. So then ... you _are_ jealous?"

"Well ... I _was_. But now that I consciously realize it, I can choose to stop feeling that way. It's silly to be angry with you because you can do something I can't. I should be focusing instead on why I _can't_ do it as well as you. Because how well _you_ can cast the spell has no bearing on why I can or can't."

Neville nodded, once again glad that the Heir's ring on his finger made it unnecessary to jump his minds through the hoops that Harry seemed to think were necessary. "So, any thoughts on what might be holding you back?"

"No. I mean, I've got a happy memory, I think. It makes _me_ happy anyway."

Neville thought about that for a second and then crooked his head. "Um, Harry. Your happy memory? Just between us – does it involve something bad happening to Jim or your parents?"

Harry blushed slightly. "No... Maybe... Okay, yeah. Anyway, so what if it did?" In point of fact, the memory he'd been using during that afternoon's exercises was the look on Jim's face at the dueling club meeting where he'd been outed as a Parselmouth in front of all his friends.

Neville sighed. "Harry, the Patronus is fueled by genuine happiness, and preferably by outright joy. For me, it was realizing that I wasn't a squib and that my magic was actually powerful enough to save me from dying. However satisfying you think it might be to see Jim and your parents pay for how your were treated, I don't think that's actually the right kind of happiness to fuel a Patronus."

"Well, what would you suggest, Neville? I don't want to sound like a whiner, but the fact is ... I don't _have_ a lot of happy memories."

Neville thought for a moment. "Jim said after the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match that you were actually laughing while that crazy spiked Bludger was after you. '_Giggling insanely_' was the phrase he used. Was that true?"

Harry cleared his throat in embarrassment. "I suppose. Why?"

Neville shrugged and smiled. "Maybe the rush you got from flying on a broom while fighting for your life is closer to a 'happy memory' than just taking pleasure in Jim having a bad day."

Harry gave his friend a sour expression before considering his words more seriously. Then, he closed his eyes and used his Occlumency to pull up the memory of the Quidditch match, specifically that wonderful moment just _before_ he got knocked out of the sky when he passed through the ring of the Quidditch goal. The feeling of weightlessness when he released his broom for those few precious seconds. The satisfying crunch of the spiked Bludger as it hit the ring and became trapped. The elation of victory, not just in the Quidditch match, but in his fight for his life. Harry pulled out his wand once more. "_**EXPECTO PATRONUM.**_"

Around him, there was a flurry of excited hooting from the owls as the light from Harry's wand lit up the Owlery. The silver ball of mist wasn't nearly as big as Neville's Patronus, nor even quite as big as the sphere produced by Marcus, but it was there. Harry grinned at Neville who affectionately punched his brother-in-all-but-blood in the arm.

It had been a good day after all.

* * *

_**15 February 1993 **_

It had been a terrible, terrible day, and Jim hadn't even started his breakfast yet. The day he'd been dreading ever since he'd revealed his Parseltongue ability had finally arrived – the _Daily Prophet_ had the story. The byline wasn't by Rita Skeeter for once, but rather one of her chief rivals at the paper, a muckracking investigative journalist named Andrew Smudgley who had reported on the successful break-in at Gringotts in the summer of 1991. And now, he had the story about Jim Potter.

_**BOY-WHO-LIVED TALKS TO SNAKES!  
CARRIER OF SLYTHERIN'S NOTORIOUS LEGACY!**_

_By Andrew Smudgley for the Daily Prophet_

_Since October 31__st__ of 1981, this nation has venerated a young boy for his role in saving us all from the Evil of Our Time. We have all cheerfully accepted a fairy tale resolution to the war that had torn this nation apart. After all, how could a fairy tale like that possibly end except with You-Know-Who being destroyed through the innocence and purity of a tiny babe? That babe was Jim Potter, and he has been the hero of this nation ever since. But what kind of hero is Jim Potter? How exactly did Jim Potter defeat You-Know-Who, if that is, in fact, what happened? And most importantly, what does it mean for us all that Jim Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived is a__** Parselmouth**__, the inheritor of a gift as synonymous with Salazar Slytherin as it is with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named._

_Yes, readers, it's true. Jim Potter is indeed a Parselmouth, a fact made known to most of his peers at Hogwarts after a magical anomaly unleashed by Young Jim himself at a dueling club meeting manifested as a giant fire-breathing snake. Was this deliberate on the part of Jim Potter? Who can say? While some witnesses claim that Jim may have used his unholy powers to restrain what some witnesses described as "a demon snake," others claim he appeared to be egging the beast on to attack his innocent classmates until the creature was dispelled by the quick thinking of Jim's older brother, Harry Potter, himself an up-and-coming member of Slytherin House. Witnesses say that after dispelling the demon snake, Harry Potter immediately rushed to make certain that none of the other mostly Gryffindor students were harmed in the fracas while Jim merely stood by and watched, seemingly without concern. One wonders if it is possible that the Potter Twins might have been mis-Sorted. _

_Story continues on page 5._

Next to the inflammatory article was a picture of Jim Potter looking off into the distance with what might have been cold expression or perhaps simply one of boredom. Beneath the photo was a byline: "Photo courtesy of Colin Creevey." When Jim read that, he turned to glare at the First Year Gryffindor, who paled and looked as if he might cry. Then, Jim shook his head and stormed out of the Great Hall angrily.

* * *

_**20 February 1993**_

Harry entered the mostly empty classroom right on time. The rest of the school was in the Great Hall for lunch, but Harry had been invited by Hermione Grange to "a picnic" of all things which was to be held in the seldom used first-floor CoMC classroom, the one with the picture of Esme the Ashwinder who continued to ignore Harry like all the other snake paintings in the school. Intrigued by the invitation, he only became more so when he entered the room and saw that Granger was joined by Ginny Weasley, Luna Lovegood, and Penelope Clearwater. Immediately, he deduced what Hermione's cryptic invitation was really about.

The four girls had cleared a space in the middle of the floor and spread out a blanket. There was a plate of sandwiches and a large pitcher of pumpkin juice with plates and glasses for everyone. Harry smiled politely and took his place on the floor with the others. Inwardly, he was somewhat worried. He had told Hermione about his condition in confidence. If she'd shared the information with the rest of Team Mysterioso ...

"Well, Hermione, thank you for inviting me. I must say, the demographics of the group are a little daunting. If I'd known there would be four lovely young ladies, I'd have brought Neville, Theo and Blaise along with me. Or maybe Percy." With that last comment, he wriggled his eyes significantly in Penelope's direction.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean, Potter?" she asked somewhat anxiously.

"It's alright, Penelope," said Ginny. "The fact that you and Percy have been seeing one another is probably the worst kept secret in school. The only reason the Twins haven't been harassing Percy since last summer is that I threatened to wash their underpants with deep heating ointment if they said anything."

"Oh, well ... thanks?" said Penelope uncertainly.

"So, let's cut to the chase, shall we?" said Harry. "What exactly does Team Mysterioso want with little old me?"

Hermione spoke up. "Well, as we discussed last Christmas, Luna here thinks that there's something ... anomalous about you that she can sense. Or more accurately, that she can't rightly sense but can detect by its absence. I haven't told Luna or anyone else about the other matters you and I discussed that night, but Luna would like to ask you some questions, and the rest of us would like to observe. If that's alright with you, of course."

"Certainly," said Harry easily. "Though I reserve the right to not answer or even to lie if it suits me. I'm a Slytherin, after all."

"_Lying, the telling of beautiful untrue things, is the proper aim of Art._" Luna recited in a serious voice.

Harry smiled. "Oscar Wilde! You're the second person in as many months to quote Oscar Wilde at me! Anyway, if we're all exchanging life stories, I'd like to hear each of yours first. Fair is fair, after all."

The girls all looked at one another somewhat nervously before Ginny shrugged casually.

"Fine. I'm Ginny Weasley, First Year Slytherin. I'm the youngest of seven and the first girl born to the Weasley family since the late 1700's. Apparently, that little fact may have something to do with my family's blood feud with the Malfoy's. My family has always treated me like a little princess to be protected and pampered, and it's always driven me crazy, so I generally rebelled by sneaking out on the sly and doing things my parents wouldn't approve of, like teaching myself to fly a broom or learning to pick locks. I also illegally learned the Bat-Bogey Hex at the age of 9 by stealing my brother Bill's wand at night when he came home to visit that Christmas. Despite generations of Gryffindor Weasleys, my family has been very supportive of me being a Slytherin ... with one notable exception. Any questions?"

"How bad has Ron been about that?" asked Harry.

She took a deep breath. "Surprisingly not that bad. We've ... pretty much avoided each other since the day after my Sorting. I'm kind of dreading next summer when we'll be stuck in a house together and our mother will notice and get upset if we never speak to one another."

No one had any additional questions for Ginny, so it was Hermione's turn. She hesitated for a moment. Then, she looked at Harry and decided to go with total honesty. "I'm a Muggle-born who grew up in London. Belgravia to be exact. My family on my mother's side was upper-middle class, while my father's side was relatively wealthy. My parents met in dentistry school. Today, they own a private practice specializing in cosmetic dentistry." She frowned slightly. "They don't take NHS patients. It's all private practice and very lucrative. I was the obligatory child who was only born because the grandparents were insistent. After I was born, my mother took the compulsory two weeks off before going right back to work. I was essentially raised by a succession of nannies and au pairs, a surprising number of whom were Swedish for some reason. The only significant time I ever spent with my parents was during family vacations, and even then, the nanny came along. Although last summer, they brought along a tutor instead. I guess I'm too old for a nanny now, and Mother insists that I pass my A Level with my age group in case '_this whole magic thing_' doesn't work out."

Harry's eyes widened slightly at how forthright Hermione was. His Slytherin side was at once impressed by and annoyed with his friend – by being so honest about personal matters, she successfully put emotional pressure on him to do the same when it was his turn. He declined to ask Hermione any questions, though Luna had a few about what a "cosmetic dentist" was. Penelope Clearwater also asked if she could talk with Hermione later on the topic of "A Levels." Harry turned his attention to the Ravenclaw prefect, about whom he knew very little.

"Um, okay," she began tentatively. "My name's Penelope Clearwater. My father was Muggle-born and my mother was a Half-blood, so I'm considered a Half-Blood despite having two wizarding parents. I was raised in Appleby in Lincolnshire. Actually, if you want to be precise, I was raised in _Upper_ Appleby, which is a magical community of about 150 wizards and witches that's hidden inside Appleby proper, a village of about 600 muggles that's three miles from Scunthorpe, a pretty large Muggle town of about 70,000. So I guess you could say I was both wizard-raised _and_ Muggle-raised. My parents insisted that I get a Muggle education, so as soon as I was old enough to get my accidental magic under control, so I went to a Muggle primary school in Scunthorpe. My mother was a teacher there, and she pushed me to excel at my studies which is what got me into Ravenclaw." She paused somewhat nervously. "And yes, I am _sort of_ dating Percy Weasley, though we're keeping it quiet for now. He's worried that his brothers will pick on him and, well, to be honest about it, I don't want to get serious with anyone until I know where I'm going after graduation. You see, my parents want me to move overseas once I've passed my NEWTs. They both wanted me to get a Hogwarts education, but after that, they say there's no point in trying to make a living here in Britain if you're not a Pureblood. Honestly, I've always suspected that I was ... _unplanned_ and that Mum and Dad would have left for America back in 1976 if I hadn't come along."

"Still though?" Harry asked somewhat incredulously. "It's been almost twelve years since You-Know-Who was destroyed, and they're still considering emigrating?"

She shrugged lamely. "Not enough has changed since then. The British system of government is still based on the idea that a few dozen families that have been around since before William the Conqueror should run everything. The only elected office is Minister of Magic, and you can't even run for that unless the Wizengamot approves you as a candidate, which means that it's nearly impossible for Half-Bloods to get it, and there's only ever been one Muggle-born. Every other position of authority is appointed. I don't know for sure if things are better in America where it's actually _illegal_ to marry another witch or wizard if neither of you have any Muggle great-grandparents, but I wouldn't feel like my ancestry put a black mark on my record that's been there since before I was born."

Harry nodded at that and then finally turned his attention to Luna, the girl whose story he _really_ wanted to hear. The girl looked at him dreamily before beginning her story.

"I'm glad my mother and father didn't move to America, I suppose, because I might never have been born if they had. Both my parents were from old families that were Pureblooded for generations, though neither of them was from a Noble family. Xenophilius Lovegood and Pandora Lovegood née Croaker. Daddy runs _The Quibbler_, which is the only privately owned newspaper in the country. When I was a little girl, he ran it as a sort of joke, but after Mummy died, he started taking it more seriously, only ... without actually changing what he wrote. I guess you could say he's more serious about his jokes now. Mummy worked for the Ministry before I was born. I never knew what department, and Daddy didn't like to talk about it. After I was born, she worked from home while taking care of me."

Luna smiled wistfully. "As far back as I can remember, I've always been able to see ... things. I used to worry that there was something wrong with me when I realized other people _couldn't _see what I saw. But Mummy assured me that the things I saw were real but that other people couldn't see them and that I should keep what I saw to myself. I tried to do that until she died ... after that, I suppose I stopped worrying about what other people thought. She was the one who told me what nargles were. And wrackspurts and fury-flies and all the rest, though I've seen a few things since then that she never described that I had to make up my own names for."

"Like Blibbering Humdingers, perhaps?" asked Hermione with a smile.

"Oh no, Hermione. She told me about those the same time she told me about the Crumple-Horned Snorkack."

Harry spoke up. "Do you have a name for whatever you see in me, Luna?"

She shook her head. "That's just it. I _don't_ see anything in you. It's like ... like I can see the shadow of something that's hiding from me. It's very strange."

"Stranger than nargles and wrackspurts and all the rest?"

"Very much so. I've seen all those things for as long as I can remember. I've _never_ seen anything like you, Harry."

He snorted. "Story of my life, I suppose. The Uncanny Harry Potter." Then, he hesitated. "Luna, I hate to ask this but ... how did you mother die?"

"Harry!" exclaimed Ginny at his apparent insensitivity.

"It's okay, Ginny. You've got a reason for asking, don't you, Harry?" Luna gave him an odd look, as though she weren't looking at him but around him.

"Possibly. Just an idea I'd had."

Luna nodded. "It was when I was eight. Mummy was working as some sort of freelance spell designer out of a laboratory she'd set up in the basement of our home. I was sitting off to one side playing with some toys while she worked on one of her spell projects. Suddenly, she ... she screamed very loudly. And then ... she was gone." Luna rubbed her arms as if suddenly cold. "My father rushed in right as it happened. I think must have thrown himself across me to shield me from whatever happened to my mother." She looked away. "He was never the same after that. I suppose I wasn't either."

"I'm sorry, Luna. Thank you for telling me." Harry took a deep breath and addressed the entire group. "Okay, my turn. I doubt I have much to say that you don't already know. I'm the Heir to House Potter and am older than the Boy-Who-Lived by about eight minutes. When You-Know-Who attacked and was destroyed by Jim, a piece of falling masonry gave me this scar which isn't nearly as famous or impressive as his. I was misidentified as a squib and sent to live with Muggle relatives. They were awful, utterly and completely awful. And that's all I care to say about _that_. I was eventually revealed as a wizard, came to Hogwarts, and sorted into Slytherin, which caused _all kinds_ of unpleasantness in the Potter household which I am _still_ sorting through. I like Quidditch and Potions and, for a twelve-year-old, I'm an excellent cook. Any questions?"

"What was your education like?" Luna asked before anyone else could respond. Harry was surprised by the question.

"Um, substandard, I suppose. I went to a primary school in Surrey and," he paused and cleared his throat, "my guardians didn't like it very much when I outperformed my cousin, and since he was quite proud of his willful ignorance, that pretty much meant that I never pushed myself academically before getting to Hogwarts."

"Did you enjoy reading as a child?"

He crooked an eyebrow. "Not particularly. Until I started Hogwarts, I never had the time. And even after, it's mainly been study work. I've never been the sort of person who read for pleasure. Why do you ask?"

Luna ignored the question, and a strange intensity overtook her normally dreamy expression. "How is your Occlumency coming along?"

"How did you ...?"

"The pattern of your nargles is very similar to what I've seen from other people who I know practice it. Almost identical to the pattern of Professor Snape's nargles, actually. And you rarely show signs of wrackspurts. Do you have an eidetic memory yet?"

Harry stiffened in response to how the young girl was interrogating him in a way very different from her normal patterns of speech. He sensed that she was deliberately trying to throw him off balance with her rapid-fire questions, but he didn't know why. "It's not automatic. I have to actively think about trying to remember something before I can recall it, but at that point I can remember it perfectly."

"Luna, what's going on?" asked Ginny with a slight concern. Luna ignored her and kept her gaze fixed on Harry. When she spoke, it sounded almost as if she were springing a trap.

"Harry, do you _remember_ when your first heard that quote earlier that you identified as Oscar Wilde? The one about lying being the art of telling beautiful untrue things?"

Harry opened his mouth ... and then slammed it shut as his eyes widened in surprise. He looked away as he thought about the Wilde quote. He remembered it was from an essay Wilde had written called _The Decay of Lying_. But for the life of him, he couldn't remember ever actually reading it, or even hearing someone else quote from it. Come to think of it, he wasn't sure he'd ever heard of Oscar Wilde before Lady Augusta had mentioned him at Christmas.

"Here's something easier, perhaps. How old were you when you learned what the word _demographics_ meant? Or _daunting_ or _uncanny_? Do you remember learning those words in school well enough to use them conversationally?"

Harry didn't answer, mainly because he couldn't. Noticing her friend's distress no matter how well he concealed it, Hermione interrupted.

"Luna, why is this important?"

"I don't know that it is," she replied. "But it's strange enough that it might be connected to Harry's other ... issue."

"What?" Harry said with an edge in his voice. "What's _strange enough_ about me not remembering those things?"

"Harry," Luna said, "it's one thing for you to be smart, a genius even. But you're _awfully well-spoken_ for someone who says he had a substandard education, who didn't really try in primary because he'd be punished if he'd gotten good grades, and who never took up the habit of reading for pleasure. Most of the students here at Hogwarts are wizarding children who had Educational Potions. Most of the Muggle-raised children who _haven't _had Educational Potions either had strong primary school educations, like Hermione or Penelope or Justin Finch-Fletchley. Or else they're more like Dean Thomas or Colin Creevey, neither of whom is known for his vocabulary. But you, Harry? For someone who was actively prevented from getting a good primary education, you _know lots of things_. Do you know _how_ you know them?"

Harry sat stunned by Luna's questions. Somehow, since coming to Hogwarts, he'd just _accepted_ the fact that he was extremely clever and never stopped to think about how he was also fairly erudite. "_Come to think of it,_" he thought to himself in a daze, "_how did I know what __erudite__ meant?!_" Then, he noticed that Luna was now leaning slightly back from him with a somewhat fearful expression on his face.

"Luna..."

"Harry," she interrupted, "be honest with me. This is important. Are you angry with me right now?"

Once again, the question caught him by surprise. Instinctively, he focused his Occlumency on self-analysis, which revealed that his dominant emotions were surprise, concern and fear without a trace of anger. "No, not at all. Why?"

She swallowed. "Well, I didn't _think_ you were angry at me ... but I'm suddenly feeling a strong anger _coming from you_ that's directed towards ..." She paused abruptly. "Okay, and just like that, the feeling's gone. Very strange."

"Uh-huh," he replied with mild sarcasm. "And you think that whatever it is that you ... can't see is for some reason improving my vocabulary without my knowledge _and_ also gets angry with you whenever it forgets to hide itself?"

She shrugged. "Strange phenomena that surround a singular individual are likely to be connected, one would think." She leaned forward. "Harry, I promise. If you can help us to find out what's so strange about me and why, I'll do everything I can to do the same for you. Deal?"

Harry laughed and rubbed his hands across his face. Honestly, he had not set out to have such a weird day. He looked up a the odd girl. "Are you willing to do whatever it takes to solve our ... respective strangeness?" She nodded.

He took a deep breath and studied the other three confused girls. "Okay," he said. "I've got one idea off the bat, but we probably need to consult with Professor Lockhart first, since he's in charge of this team of yours."

Penelope scoffed. "Really? Just like that? You think you've got an idea we haven't thought of?"

"What I've got, Penelope, is an idea I _know _you haven't thought of because you're all basically nice kind people who are very fond of Luna and would never do anything that you feared might hurt her feelings."

Ginny narrowed her eyes. "And that _doesn't_ apply to you?"

"Well, I _am_ fond of Luna and I _don't_ want to hurt her feelings. _But_ I am also ruthless enough to not recoil from an idea for something that might hurt her feelings in the short term until I've considered its long term benefits."

"What do you have in mind?" asked Hermione with a hint of suspicion.

He took a deep breath and exhaled, favoring Luna with a mildly sad expression. It was clear that he _didn't_ want to hurt the girls, but he also thought that she should know what was on his mind.

"Okay. We know Luna can see all these ... things. And we know that she learned names for most of these things from her late mother. So the way I see it, there's only two possibilities. Option one: Whatever erased all knowledge of nargles and wrackspurts etcetera etcetera from almost the entire world is _completely unrelated_ to Luna Lovegood and it's just a fluke she remembers it all, in which case you'll never figure out what caused it because you just don't have enough information. Option two: Whatever erased all that knowledge _is_ connected to Luna, in which case it probably has something to do with the second most interesting thing about her."

Hermione blinked in confusion. "The _second_ most interesting thing?"

He nodded. "The _most _interesting thing is that she can see invisible creatures that no one else can detect. The _second_ most interesting thing is the circumstances surrounding her mother's death."

"How is that ... _interesting_?" Penelope said somewhat angrily. "Probably a third of the kids in this school are missing at least one parent. There was a civil war going on for over a decade."

"Yes, but Pandora Lovegood didn't die in the War. She died years after it was over in a freak spell design accident." He turned to his best friend.

"Hermione, after our little mishap last spring where we blew out a set of windows while trying to make enchanted paper telephones, I did some research to see if there were laws governing magical experimentation that we might be in danger of violating. As it turns out, we were fine, because there's almost no regulation that governs enchanting objects with preexisting spells so long as they aren't inherently dangerous and don't violate the Statute of Secrecy. _Experimental spell design_, on the other hand, is regulated to hell and back. Most wizards and witches who design new spells work directly for the Ministry in some capacity and do all their work at remote research installations. The ones who work in the private sector are required to work in custom labs that are subject to constant and rigorous Ministry oversight. In other words, it is _decidedly odd_ that Pandora Lovegood chose to work on some kind of experimental spell _in the basement of her house with her eight-year-old daughter in the room_."

He turned to look at Luna. "I'm sorry, Luna. I know this may be difficult for you. But as a clever person once told me, '_strange phenomena that surround a singular individual are likely to be connected_.' If you want to know the secret behind your mysterious powers, I think the first step is to figure out exactly how your mother died, and more importantly, exactly what sort of spell she was working on that killed her."

* * *

The meeting continued for another fifteen minutes. It was resolved that the girls would discuss the matter with Lockhart and see if he could obtain a pensieve. Harry had one, of course, but that was not a fact he wanted spread around, so he would wait and see if Lockhart could acquire one before donating his own to the cause. Assuming that Lockhart was amenable, they would meet again at some point in the future to review Luna's memory of her mother's death.

Shortly before one o'clock, Team Mysterio _plus one_ finished both their discussions and their lunch and left the classroom. Once outside, the five were surprised to see pandemonium in the hallways with students running in every direction. Harry was even more surprised to notice that down the hallway near the front doors to the school were two aurors directing traffic. Before he could react though, everyone heard the voice of Minerva McGongall echo through the school.

"**All students report to their dormitory Common Rooms immediately for a headcount. Prefects, once you have taken roll, report any missing students to me via Floo. Curfew is now in effect, and students found in violation of it will have two weeks detention with Mr. Filch. That is all."**

Harry and the four girls looked at one another in confusion. Then, Ginny noticed Astoria Greengrass running past. The girl was crying.

"Tori! Hold up! What's going on?!"

Astoria turned towards the group with a stricken expression. "Oh Ginny! It's ... it's _COLIN_!"

* * *

_**Meanwhile in the Owlery...**_

Colin Creevey lay on the floor of the Owlery, petrified, his unblinking eyes staring up at the ceiling. There was a crumpled letter still clenched in one unmoving hand, and the boy's prized camera lay smashed to bits on the ground nearby. Perversely, there was a splatter of white owl droppings on his forehead that almost seemed to insult him. Standing in a circle around him were Albus Dumbledore, James Potter, and Rufus Scrimgeour. And written on the wall nearby was yet another threatening message.

**THE HEIR OF SLYTHERIN  
WILL NOT BE MOCKED  
MUDBLOODS BE WARNED**

"Well, Albus?" Scrimgeour asked sarcastically. "_Now_ do you agree that this is a matter for the DMLE?"

* * *

**The next chapter will be posted sometime between Monday, March 14 and Wednesday, March 16.  
**

**AN 1: Hermione's description of her home life is reworked slightly from a similar paragraph in Chapter 23 of "A Well-Groomed Mind" (sadly abandoned, it seems) by Lady Khali. This was always one of my favorite depictions of Hermione's home life, which is usually shown as incredibly dull Muggle domesticity, and Lady Khali's alternative vision of a pair of upper class snobs who treated Hermione with benign neglect was, IMO, much more interesting and casts an alternative light on things like Hermione's frequent decision not to go home at Christmas and eventually her decision to erase her parents memories of her.**

**AN 2: In a similar but lighter vein, Luna's fondness for Oscar Wilde is an oblique shout-out to "Oh God Not Again!" by Sarah1281. **

**AN 3: The bit about the high cost and relative scarcity of Mandrakes is my attempt to write around the oft-asked question "Why didn't they just go to Diagon Alley and BUY Mandrake Potions rather than just let those kids stay petrified for half a year!?" One of the jokes in the aforementioned "Oh God Not Again!" is that the time-tossed Harry who is reliving his Hogwarts years shows up for second year with gallons of the stuff that he passes out like Kool-Aid whenever anyone gets petrified.**

**AN 4: In a related not, why DIDN'T anyone ever call the aurors when students started getting petrified by persons unknown?**

**AN 5: New summary up at the top. Let me know if it's more inviting to new readers.**


	70. HP&TSE 36 - Investigations into Dark Mat

**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY  
**

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

* * *

**CHAPTER 36: Investigations Into Dark Matters**

_**21 February 1993  
The Hogwarts Owlery**_

"_Well, Albus?" Scrimgeour asked sarcastically. "Now do you agree that this is a matter for the DMLE?"_

Dumbledore sighed. "Honestly, Rufus! I apprised the DMLE of these matter _from the start _after the incident on Halloween. For that matter, I have been in favor of an official DMLE investigation of this 'Heir of Slytherin' business since _1943_! Unfortunately, you know as well as I what factors thwart both our desires."

"Factors, sir?" inquired James Potter which earned him a glare from his superior.

"It has to do with the respective charters of both Hogwarts and the Wizengamot, James," said the Headmaster. "Of the two, Hogwarts was founded five centuries earlier by an alliance the four most powerful wizards and witches of that era, and they were quite intent that what passed for wizarding government at the time should have no say in how their school was to be run. Centuries later, both the Wizengamot and the Ministry of Magic were able to obtain some influence over Hogwarts as a result of magical treaties agreed to by former Headmasters, but _every _Headmaster upon obtaining the position is obliged to swear an Unbreakable Oath to maintain Hogwarts independence from the government as much as possible. The Founders _also _built magical defenses into the castle to protect against sieges and invasions. These defenses cannot be updated to understand our more civilized modern climate and so cannot tell the difference between a squad of aurors and an invading army. Unless they are acting pursuant to an official arrest warrant, the castle will identify aurors acting in their official capacities as a hostile invading force and respond accordingly. The only way you, Rufus, and the other aurors downstairs can even perform your investigative duties today is because I am actively suppressing the school's very strong desire to attack you all violently, which I will only be able to do for another few hours at most. And the only way to allow the DMLE _unfettered_ access to the school is if I exercise my authority as Headmaster to _shut Hogwarts down_ for a period of no less than two years, an extreme step only taken twice before in Hogwarts history, and one I am unwilling to take at this point."

"And if a student dies from these petrifications, Albus, like what happened the last time?" Scrimgeour said grimly.

"Then, like the last time, I will likely spend years wondering if I could have done something differently, even though realistically the most probable answer is '_no, I could not_.'"

Scrimgeour shook his head in irritation and then carefully knelt down to examine Colin Creevey's petrified form. He tugged gently on the letter clutched in the boy's frozen hand, and when it would not move, he gestured at it with his wand and summoned it directly into his hand without tearing it. To his surprise, it was addressed to the _Daily Prophet_. Then, something else attracted the leonine auror's attention, and he lifted up the bottom of the boy's robe. There was a five-inch long jagged rip starting at the hem. He held the tear up for the others to see.

"Albus, how long could the boy have gotten around with a robe like this without getting docked points?"

The Headmaster closed his eyes, and the other two men could feel the magical ambiance of the castle thicken as he communed with it. "Mr. Creevey hasn't had any points taken for any reason at all in over a month, let alone for improper attire. The Gryffindor prefects are quite diligent. Most likely, they would have noticed and repaired that tear for him if he'd gotten it more than a day ago."

Scrimgeour nodded and started clumsily to stand back up, grunting in pain from the leg that had been crippled the previous summer. Potter moved to help him stand, but when the older man practically snarled at him, he quickly stepped back. Once standing, the Chief Auror waved his wand again. "_**SCRUTIMINIUS LOOSE BLACK THREADS.**_" A tiny light emanated from the tip of his wand, accompanied by soft humming noise that grew louder as he moved around the room. Eventually, the Detection Charm led him down the stairs. Finally, on a piece of railing at the edge of the landing just below the Owlery, he found what he was looking for: several black threads that had been caught on a loose nail about three feet above the floor as the boy's robe was snagged and ripped.

"Hmm," he said as he considered the evidence. "Obviously, this is quite suggestive, wouldn't you agree, Auror Potter?" he asked with deceptive politeness. James stared back and forth between his boss and the threads caught on the nail. He opened his mouth as if to speak, and then closed it again. After a few seconds, Dumbledore finally rescued him.

"I believe what Rufus wishes us to note is that while the tear was at the hem of young Creevey's robes, the rip was caused by a nail at waist-height. I assume that Rufus wants us to follow his deduction that Creevey's attacker levitated him up the stairs and that he was actually petrified elsewhere."

"Indeed," said the Chief Auror. "But the question is ... why?"

Dumbledore considered the question. "Because if we knew where the petrification actually occurred, it would be a vital clue as to who was doing it and how."

Scrimgeour nodded sagely. "What do you think we should do with the boy, Albus? Take him to St. Mungo's? Or keep him here?"

Dumbledore sighed. "We might as well keep him in the Infirmary. I've already made inquiries at St. Mungo's, and they assure me that do not have sufficient reserves of refined Essence of Mandrake to make a Restorative Draught for any sum of money." He frowned. "And certainly not for a Muggleborn from a family of modest means," he muttered with a hint of anger under his breath.

He shook his head and pushed that thought aside. "In any case, if we are unable to secure Essence of Mandrake from some other source, the Mandrakes we're growing in the greenhouse here at Hogwarts will be fully grown in just a few months, though it pains me to see a young student deprived of almost half his First Year's schooling."

"Hmph. Personally, _I'll_ be happy if that's _all_ the pain we suffer from this nonsense. Albus, if we only have a few hours, we'd best get to it. May we use your office for interviews?"

"Of course," he replied.

James stiffened slightly. "Who will we be interviewing, sir," he said, his voice betraying his nervousness.

"Your _sons_, obviously, for a start. Jim first and then Harry. While you and I are doing that, the others will interview the Creevey boy's classmates to find out who saw him last and when."

"Sir, surely you don't think ..."

"Don't presume to tell me what I think, Potter! We'll interview the Potter Twins first to hopefully _eliminate them as suspects_. Or would you prefer to see a _Prophet_ article in the morning about how the Ministry is trying to engage in a cover-up?"

James Potter sighed and then gave a salute before leaving. Scrimgeour watched him leave warily. "Not that we won't get that anyway what with a Senior Auror investigating crimes in which his own son is a suspect! Honestly, I'm almost looking forward to leaving the Auror Corps before any other Potter-related disasters crop up in my life."

"Yes, I read the formal announcement last week. Do you have any retirement plans yet, Rufus?"

Scrimgeour looked at Dumbledore speculatively. "I had a few ideas. I'd like to discuss one of them with you later, if it's convenient."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "I look forward to it."

* * *

_**Later ...**_

When Jim Potter arrived at the gargoyle entrance to the Headmaster's Office (accompanied by Percy Weasley), his father was waiting for him bearing a grim expression.

"Dad?" the boy asked nervously.

"It's alright, son. Chief Auror Scrimgeour just wants to ask you a few questions. Just be honest with him and everything will be fine."

"Dad?" the boy started again. "You _know_ I didn't have anything to do with this, right?"

"Of course, I know that, Jim," his father replied in a way Jim found completely unconvincing. "But you'll still have to answer these questions. That's just ... part of the process."

Jim stared intently at his father and then nodded before following him up the stairs. Once inside, he looked around the Headmaster's office anxiously. He'd had a few Occlumency lessons with Dumbledore including some training in calming his emotions, but mainly, he'd spent his time with the Headmaster _undoing_ the damage wrought by Rookwood's cursed training manual. Despite the drama that accompanied his exposure as a Parselmouth, Jim felt better recently than he had in months, but all that progress seemed undone now by the fact that his father and his father's _boss _were interrogating him under suspicion of him being a dark wizard. He sat in the empty chair as Scrimgeour began to question him.

"Tell me, Mr. Potter, what were your feelings when you saw Mr. Creevey's picture in the _Prophet_ yesterday," inquired Rufus Scrimgeour.

Jim considered giving a neutral response, but decided against it because (a) he felt like he had nothing to hide and (b) he knew enough about Scrimgeour to realize that he'd never be able to lie convincingly anyway.

"I ... was a bit upset. Actually, disappointed and hurt mainly, but also upset. Colin had been someone who really seemed to look up to me. Honestly, he looked up to me a bit too much, I think. Always following me around and taking my picture. And asking me questions about 'adventures' that I'd never actually had. But when I realized he'd sent a picture of me in to the _Prophet_ to go along with that hatchet piece, it hurt my feelings to think that someone who'd called himself my 'biggest fan' had turned on me. But certainly not enough to where I'd try to hurt Colin. I haven't tried to hurt anyone, even though quite a few Gryffindors have tried to start fights with me in recent months."

"Do you count Cormac McLaggen among that group?" Scrimgeour asked.

"Cormac has been a jerk lately, but no more or less than half my house. But if I were really that mad at people calling me a 'dark wizard,' surely the last thing I'd do is use dark magic to attack them."

The interview continued for another five minutes with questions about Jim's movements during the time that McLaggen and Creevey were petrified. He'd had a partial alibi for the Creevey attack – there were brief periods where he was alone, and, after all, no one actually knew how the petrifications were accomplished or how long it would take. He had no alibi at all for the McLaggen attack. Finally, Jim was allowed to leave. But as he reached for the door, Scrimgeour called out to him.

"Oh, Mr. Potter, before you go, I did want to share one bit of news with you." He held up a crumpled letter, now opened, and waved it. "At the time of his attack, Mr. Creevey was on his way to post a letter to the _Daily Prophet_. You might wish to know that it was a letter of complaint. It seems that Mr. Creevey did _not_ give the newspaper permission to use any of his pictures, that he did not know how the paper came into possession of one of his photographs, and that he was very angry that the paper would use one of those photographs as part of a piece attacking you. It seems young Mr. Creevey was quite certain of your innocence."

Jim's eyes widened, and he gave a weak smile. "Thank you for sharing that, sir." He glanced over to James to see how his father reacted to that news, but the man's face was impassive. Then, he turned and made his way out of the room. At the base of the stairs, Percy Weasley was waiting to escort him back to Gryffindor Tower. Harry was with him.

"What are you doing here?" Jim asked his brother.

Harry shrugged. "Apparently, after you, I'm the second most likely person to be the Heir of Slytherin. If the villain isn't the Boy-Who-Lived gone bad, then it must be his evil Slytherin twin trying to frame him."

"Are you?" Jim asked warily. "Trying to frame me, that is?"

Harry laughed at how direct his brother was, as if that were the sort of thing he'd admit in front of a prefect. "Jim, for once I'm _not_ your enemy. But I do agree that whoever is trying to frame you has done so very effectively."

"So you think I'm innocent," Jim said almost in relief.

"Yes, though I also think innocence isn't enough to keep someone out of Azkaban. I recommend you don't go anywhere without a reliable witness until ... well, possibly for the rest of your life."

Jim went very pale and swallowed painfully. Then, he left with Percy while an amused Harry ascended the staircase to Dumbledore's office. There, he was briefly interrogated by Scrimgeour, James Potter, and Dumbledore. He answered every question about his own movements efficiently but thoroughly, making it absolutely clear that he had a solid alibi for all of the petrification attacks.

"You know, Mr. Potter," Scrimgeour drawled, "some people might think that having a perfect alibi for multiple attacks is itself suspicious."

"Yes sir," Harry replied easily. "Mainly people who've read too many Muggle mystery novels. In the real world, an ironclad alibi is usually pretty strong evidence of innocence."

Scrimgeour barked out a laugh while James tensed, as if nervous over his Heir's impertinence in front of his superior.

"I suppose so. Anyway, since Dumbledore himself supports your alibi for the McLaggen attack, I concede the point. Moving on, what do you think about the possibility of your brother being the one responsible for the petrifications?"

"I think that's nonsense. Obviously, he's being framed."

"And on what evidence do you base that assumption, Mr. Potter?" the Chief Auror asked. "It's not as though you could really know your brother that well. I am aware of your upbringing." Behind him, James straightened up, and he shot his boss an angry glare. Harry pretended not to notice.

"I base it on my observations that Jim Potter is a twelve-year-old boy of only average intelligence and cunning," he replied with a smile.

"Harry!" Dumbledore said in a reproving tone.

"I didn't mean it as an insult, sir, but as evidence. If Jim Potter were the Heir of Slytherin and also _an idiot_, he might punish people who had publicly annoyed him with petrification and then leave an 'Heir of Slytherin' calling card to draw attention to it. Similarly, if Jim were _exceptionally clever_, he might do the exact same thing, thinking that leaving an 'Heir of Slytherin' calling card was so over the top that it would be more likely to prove him innocent than incriminate him – although if that were the case, he _seriously_ overestimated the intelligence of most of the students here." He glanced at Dumbledore. "Again, no offense intended, sir."

"None taken," Dumbledore replied with mild asperity.

Harry turned back to Scrimgeour. "I can imagine scenarios under which Jim was the Heir of Slytherin and was secretly the villain running around petrifying students. But I cannot imagine any scenario under which he would commit these crimes _the manner they've been taking place_. All of which tells me that _someone else_ is trying to frame Jim..." Harry stopped in mid-sentence, and then his eyes narrowed. "But then, of course, you already _knew that_, didn't you, Chief Auror Scrimgeour?"

"Did I?" the man said with a faint smile. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean, young man?"

"You reputation proceeds you, Chief Auror. Before you rose to a mainly political and administrative office, you were known as a very brilliant and effective investigator. You know perfectly well that Jim's innocent and that someone's framing him. _But_ you also dislike our father, and pretending that Jim's a viable suspect allows you to jerk James Potter around a bit."

There was dead silence in the room for several seconds. James looked back and forth from Harry to Scrimgeour as if he couldn't decide which one to be angry with. Finally, the Chief Auror laughed loudly and slapped his knee.

"Tell me, Mr. Potter. Have you considered the Auror Academy yourself? We need more clever people in the service. There's about to be a shortage of that, I think." After a few seconds, James realized he'd been insulted by his boss and turned red.

"Sir...!" he said angrily, but before he could continue, Scrimgeour silenced him with a glare and an upraised hand.

"Cool your burners, Potter. The boy's right. After interviewing them both, I am inclined to issue a public statement that our preliminary investigation indicates someone is attempting to frame Jim Potter as a way of damaging the reputation of the Boy-Who-Lived. That won't stop imbeciles from thinking that he's guilty anyway and that we're covering it up, but it's a start." He turned back to Harry. "So having concluded that it's a frame-job, who do _you_ think is responsible?"

Harry shrugged. "No idea. But if I might offer a suggestion, it would be to find out what happened to Tom Riddle, Jr. and see if he had any descendants who might be at school now. I'm pretty sure he was the one behind the original Heir of Slytherin attacks back in 1943, and obviously someone must know how he did it to copy his style."

At that comment, Dumbledore very nearly choked on a lemon drop. "You think ... _Tom Riddle_ was the Heir of Slytherin?! The victims were all his friends, including the one who _died!_"

"Well, you yourself said that the death of Myrtle Warren was probably accidental, sir. The intention was merely to petrify her like all the other targeted Muggle-borns. And while it might have sucked to be petrified and miss months of class, the _practical effect_ of the whole thing was to make the Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs rally around their Muggle-born students while isolating the Slytherins, especially those from the more bigoted Pure-Blood families."

Dumbledore seemed genuinely amazed by the theory, which was itself amazing to the young Slytherin. Once again, Harry was forced to acknowledge that Snakes and Lions simply didn't think the same way.

"You're suggesting that the whole thing was done for the purpose of generating sympathy and support for other Muggle-born?" Dumbledore said.

Harry nodded. "Yes. Only the plan went wrong when Myrtle was accidentally killed. Tom panicked, especially when it seemed likely that the school would be shut down and he'd have to go back to a Muggle orphanage in London at the height of the Blitz, so he framed Hagrid because he knew that Headmaster Dippet would readily accept him as guilty."

"He _was _guilty!" interjected an elderly man in one of the paintings who Harry assumed was the aforementioned Armando Dippet. "Guilty of being an unspeakable _abomination!_"

"Armando, be silent!" Dumbledore said with unusual force. Harry was mildly surprised. He'd never actually seen the man angry, but then, he was known to have little truck with bigotry. Meanwhile, Scrimgeour considered what Harry had said.

"Tom Riddle, eh? Interesting. It's certainly worth looking into." Scrimgeour smiled broadly. "Seriously, Mr. Potter, _have_ you considered the Auror Academy after graduation?"

Harry coughed. "I'm ... twelve, sir. It's a bit early for me to think about careers advice. But I will definitely keep it in mind."

"See that you do. I think that's all."

Harry stood and nodded at the three men before leaving without a word to his father.

* * *

Hours later, Harry made his way up to the Astronomy Tower. Despite the warning he'd given Jim earlier, the foolish boy had left Gryffindor Tower without an escort, thereby sending half the school into a panic over who "the Heir of Slytherin" would target next. Harry considered the matter for about twelve seconds and then knew immediately where his brother had gone and why. Once again, he was at the top of the Astronomy Tower, his favorite place for brooding.

"Honestly, Jim, _what did I say_? Don't go anywhere without a reliable witness as to your whereabouts! Are you just daring your enemy to strike again or what?"

Jim looked at his brother in surprise but then turned back to look out the window at the fading sunset. "It doesn't matter. I can't have a chaperone every second of my life. If nothing else, the Heir can strike while I'm in the dorm asleep, and I'll still get blamed. And even if nobody else gets petrified, all it proves is that I wasn't able to petrify anyone while I was under guard so I _still_ look guilty. If I'm gonna be treated like a monster whatever I do, I might as well get some peace and quiet whenever I can without people staring at me and whispering behind my back."

"Really?" said Harry sarcastically. "Is the Boy-Who-Lived so thin-skinned that he can't bear the thought of his groupies turning on him? I've been called a _freak_ by the only family I ever knew since I was old enough to walk, and I haven't let it break me the way insults from the likes of Cormac McLaggen and Ron Weasley have you."

"Harry," Jim interrupted. "I know your life with the Dursleys was awful. I know that, and I'm sorry. But even when you were with them, did you ever have to deal with the idea that _everyone _hated you?"

Harry started to respond, but the words died on his lips. He knew _exactly_ what it was like for everyone to hate him, but it wasn't exactly something over which he could bond with his twin. When he didn't respond, Jim resumed his forlorn survey of the school grounds. Harry moved over to the open window and looked out. It was a long way down.

"Jim? You're not planning on doing something ... _foolish_ up here, are you?"

Jim snorted. "I'm not going to kill myself if that's what you mean. I'm not that pathetic."

"I never said you were _pathetic_, Jim. But you're ... in a dark place right now." The other boy didn't respond, so Harry continued. "Anyway, I don't know if anyone's mentioned it to you, but Scrimgeour said he plans to announce that you're not a suspect and that the DMLE believes someone's trying to frame you. Maybe that will help."

Jim looked up with a small measure of excitement, but then the light in his eyes died as quickly as it had arisen. "Maybe," he said doubtfully before turning back to the window.

Harry signed and headed for the exit. But just before he could leave the room, Jim spoke again.

"Harry? As bad as your childhood with the Dursleys was, did you ever think maybe it ... made you stronger? And that the way I was raised was what made me ... weak?"

Harry hesitated before finally responding. "I think _strong_ and _weak _are both just states of mind, Jim. You choose who and what you want to be. And if you don't like who and what you are, just choose again." Jim looked back at him in genuine surprise at his brother's philosophy. The two brothers made steady eye contact for several seconds before Harry finally turned and left the tower. At the base of the stairs sat Neville and Hermione who had come here at his request and were sitting on the floor of the corridor reviewing Transfiguration notes together. He thanked them both for staying near his brother before heading back to the dungeon, his thoughts still churning.

* * *

Later that night in the Lair, Harry handed Theo a draft of a letter addressed to an extremely unexpected recipient. The other boy reviewed the letter before glaring at Harry in consternation.

"Why?" he asked almost angrily.

"Why would I write to Peter Pettigrew with suggestions on how to spin the fact that Jim is a Parselmouth? What reasons occur to you?" Harry smiled, and Theo narrowed his eyes in response.

"Hopefully _not_ out of some thus far concealed brotherly affection," he said sarcastically, "but other than that, I'm drawing a complete blank." He paused before fixing Harry with a speculative gaze. "Do _you_ know the real reason yourself? Have you examined your actions under Occlumency to determine whether you are acting out of reason or emotion?"

Harry had. He knew exactly what emotions were driving him to do this, and he had decided to do it anyway. Not that he'd share that realization with anyone else when he had a perfectly good pretext.

"Let's just say I'm running an experiment," Harry replied smugly.

"An ... experiment?"

"Yeah. You see, Muggles have this saying: What happens when an irresistible force meets an immovable object? I've decided to put it to the test. In this case, the irresistible force is Wizarding Britain's love of the Boy-Who-Lived, while the immovable object is over four centuries of bigotry towards Parselmouths."

Theo thought about that for a second, and then his eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You're trying to use Jim to rehabilitate Parseltongue into social respectability?!"

Harry nodded proudly. "There's no way I can conceal my own Parseltongue forever. And since our good friend Peter Pettigrew is already set up to control Jim's public image, we might as well put him to use."

"Just be careful, Harry. We know how dangerous Pettigrew can be."

"Relax, Theo," said Harry confidently. "For once, Pettigrew will be on our side."

* * *

The day after Colin was petrified, the story appeared in the _Daily Prophet_, along with an official interview with Rufus Scrimgeour in which he stated that they had no official suspects at this time, including Jim Potter who was asked about specifically. As he'd promised, Scrimgeour stated the DMLE's preliminary assessment that Jim was not responsible and was in fact the target of a deliberate effort at false incrimination. For the next several days, the Letters to the Editor page of the _Prophet_ was full of comments from all across the political spectrum, some attacking Jim and accusing the DMLE of a coverup, others praising the boy and denouncing his detractors. The following week, the _Prophet_ put out a "special edition" with a four-page insert containing an analysis of Jim's own personal history cast in glowing terms; the history of Parseltongue, at least as far as it was known in Britain; the gift's apparent positive benefits when used for healing purposes; and arguments from "noted experts" claiming that, as Harry had suggested, Jim had acquired the gift from You-Know-Who through "right of magical conquest" and that it was a sign of his victory over the Dark Lord rather than a negative consequence of it. Letters attacking Jim continued, but going forward, they were offset by an equal number in his favor, and in the Wizengamot, the proposal to add Parselmouths to the Conscription List was quietly withdrawn ... at least for the time being.

* * *

_**1 March 1993  
The Gryffindor Common Room**_

"What's this supposed to be?" Ron asked quietly but angrily. He was holding up a book and glaring at Jim Potter.

"It's a copy of **Quidditch Through the Ages**, Ron," Jim replied. "By the way, happy birthday."

"What's your game, Potter? After everything we've been through, you expect me to believe that this is just a birthday present?"

Jim sighed and responded in a tired voice. "Alright, you've got me. That's how I've been petrifying people – by sending them cursed birthday presents. Even though it wasn't Cormac or Colin's birthday when they got petrified."

"Very funny," Ron replied angrily.

"It was just a birthday present, Ron. Nothing more and nothing sinister. A birthday present ... and also, I guess, my way of saying _sorry_."

Ron looked startled at that. "Sorry for what? For being a Parselmouth? For lying to us all?"

Jim studied Ron's face with a sad expression. "For lying to _you _in particular, Ron. You were my best friend, and I kept something important about myself from you because I was ashamed of it and afraid of how you'd react if you knew. I should have trusted you with the truth last summer. I'm sorry and ... and I miss my friend."

Unreadable emotions clouded Ron's face for several seconds before finally resolving themselves into a cold sneer. "Tough," he said before dropping the book at Jim's feet and storming off. Jim shook his head and picked the birthday present up off the floor.

* * *

_**18 April 1993  
The Defense Classroom  
8:00 p.m.**_

Due to an extremely busy schedule with his other research groups and the Dueling Club (which still met every other week), Lockhart was unable to schedule a meeting with Team Mysterio until mid-April. During the intervening two months, there were no more petrifications, and the school's anger at and fear of Jim Potter had settled down to a general disdain. Even Ron stopped openly accusing the Boy-Who-Lived of being the Heir of Slytherin in favor of vague insinuations that he was "going dark."

Harry and Ginny entered the classroom to find that Lockhart and the rest of Team Mysterioso were already there. Once everyone was present, the professor sealed the room with a truly impressive number of privacy and locking spells as everyone took a seat around the table. While Lockhart was casting his spells, Penelope at his direction was retrieving his pensieve from a cabinet. Harry had been surprised to learn that the pensieve Lockhart used in many of his lectures (most notably in the one about werewolves) belonged to his family. He knew little about pensieves but was well aware of how rare and expensive they were. Unlike Harry's black one, Lockhart's pensieve was a pearly white and apparently lacked shrinking charms. Halfway over, the cumbersome thing slipped from Penelope's hands and fell to the floor. She looked up at the Professor with a mortified expression.

"Please do be careful, Miss Clearwater," Lockhart said mildly.

"I am _sooo_ sorry, Professor," she said apologetically.

"My dear Miss Clearwater, a pensieve is nearly indestructible. Your best Blasting Hex wouldn't even chip it in the slightest. I was worried mainly about you dropping it on your foot, which I think would hurt like the blazes. I don't think I'm insured for that sort of mishap, _ha-Ha_!" The embarrassed prefect picked up the dish and brought it over to the table.

"Welcome, team," Lockhart said addressing the group. "Now before we begin, I'd like to make some things clear. I have already extracted Miss Lovegood's memory of her mother's unfortunate demise, but at her request I have not reviewed it myself yet. Miss Lovegood was ... insistent that the rest of Team Mysterioso plus Mr. Potter should all review the scene together. _However_, I'm afraid I must insist on a condition of my own – namely, that each of you swear an Unbreakable Vow that you will not reveal anything you see in the memory or that we discuss in our subsequent debriefing without Miss Lovegood's consent."

"An _Unbreakable Vow_?" exclaimed a scandalized Penelope Clearwater. "That's a bit extreme, isn't it?"

"Miss Clearwater, we do not know what we're about to witness beyond the fact that it represents the final moments in the life of Pandora Lovegood, an event we suspect might be related to Miss Lovegood's apparently unique supernatural perception. It is not beyond the realm of possibility that we are about to witness the commission of one or more _crimes_. As such, I feel that I have an obligation to protect Miss Lovegood from any negative consequences that might arise from our viewing this memory. If it turns out that the memory is innocuous, she can always release you from the Vow immediately after our meeting ends. If it is _not_ innocuous, it's quite possible that you may one day be thankful for the protections that the Vow will afford _you_ against anyone who seeks to recover that information from your minds." He hesitated. "And also, I must confess that the Vow is for my own protection as well. To be honest, I don't think the Headmaster would approve _at all_ of my allowing students to review a memory in which someone _dies_. We're nearing the end of my contract, and I have no wish to be sacked with just a few months to go."

The five students all considered that carefully. "Oh well," Penelope said with a shrug, "being a Ravenclaw is all about the quest for knowledge I guess." The others for whatever reasons of their own also agreed, and so with Gilderoy Lockhart as the bonder, everyone swore an oath to Luna on their magic and lives that they would never reveal whatever they learned from reviewing her memory without her consent. Then, after Lockhart told them how, the four students (Luna herself had no wish to see the memory again) followed him into the pensieve.

* * *

The basement was moderately-sized and had been retrofitted to serve as a laboratory. Crude hand-drawn protective runes covered the walls and door. Near the door there was a large table upon which lay pages and pages of rune sequences, arithmancy equations, and various other writings. Nearby, there was an eight-year-old Luna sitting peacefully on the floor playing with her dolls. A large open space had been cleared away, leaving an open area where Pandora Lovegood was painstakingly carving still more runes into the wooden floor with a strange curved blade, muttering softly to herself as she worked. Penelope identified the language with a whisper as being mostly Elder Futhark.

"There's no need to whisper, Miss Clearwater," said Lockhart, though his own voice was softer than his usual bombast. "Being nothing but the shades of times past, they cannot hear us talk."

Hermione and Ginny moved over to examine the desk. Both of them felt a pang of sadness at the sight of the little girl who played happily with no idea of how her life was about to change for the worse. Then, Hermione noticed the various papers on the desk. She could not move them for they were ephemeral to her touch, but she could read the ones on top. She frowned.

"Professor, how accurate are these memories? Surely Luna can't remember with perfect recall everything that's written here."

"Pensieves, Miss Granger, are peculiar things. We don't rightly know how they work, as there's only one magical village in Africa where they're produced ... at a rate of one every _ten years_, which is why they're not more common. The village in question, naturally, guards the secrets of its techniques zealously. What we _do_ know is that pensieves somehow operate at the intersection of mind-magic and time-magic. The pensieve uses the inserted memory to track its way back through time to create a highly accurate vision of the place and period depicted therein, one which is in many ways more accurate than the original memory. For example, it is possible to review the memories of a deaf man and actually hear words uttered in his presence that he himself could not have heard. It is also possible to review the memories of someone who was blindfolded and see things that he himself was prevented from actually seeing, and, of course, it's no problem at all to examine someone's memory and review people and events that the person wasn't even paying attention to at the time. The only exception is when the donor's memories have been altered through Obliviation or Occlumency, though in the former situation, the alterations are readily apparent in a pensieve. For the purposes of this excursion, you may assume that everything you see is exactly as it was at the time in question."

Hermione absorbed that before resuming her study of the desk and its contents. Meanwhile, Harry and Penelope moved over to where Pandora Lovegood was working.

"Penelope," Harry asked, "is this ... _normal_ runeworking?"

"No, it's not," she answered. "Honestly, I've never _heard_ of someone combining runes like this. And certainly never just carving them into the floor like this! It's ... bizarre!"

"I'm not surprised," said Harry. "Look at her!" As Harry pointed out, Pandora Lovegood seemed in obvious distress as she worked. Her hair was disheveled, she looked as though she hadn't slept in days, and it was obvious that she'd been crying. Indeed, as they watched, she looked up and over at her daughter who was still playing quietly and then she sniffled and wiped away tears with a sleeve. In all honesty, Harry thought the woman's demeanor hinted at some form of insanity. Lockhart also noted the woman's appearance before turning his attention to the runs on the floor. They seemed to be in a crude circular pattern, with room for Pandora herself to sit in the center. Suddenly, Lockhart felt extremely uneasy about the scene they were all witnessing.

"Miss Clearwater, what can you tell me about these runes? I must confess that I dropped the class after OWLs. It wasn't my cup of tea."

The girl shook her head. "I don't know _what_ she's trying to accomplish here, sir. There's not any obvious thematic link tying the runes together. Just what appear to be random repetitions of Ansuz, Naudiz, Sowilo, and Ear from the Elder Futhark rune chart, along with a few other symbols from entirely different languages that I haven't studied thrown in for good measure."

"Any ideas on what they all might mean together?"

She studied the runes for a few seconds before shaking her head. "Not in this context, Professor. If I had to guess, I'd say the Futhark runes were meant to invoke the concepts of the World, Need, Power ... and Death. But that's _just_ a guess."

"Professor, we found something," said Ginny in a shaky voice. She was pointing at a letter off to the side of the desk partially buried under pages of Arithmancy which had been scrawled in a nervous chicken-scratch handwriting. Most of the letter was covered up, but what _was _visible was the letterhead at the top which said "_From the Desk of Saul Croaker, Voice of the Unspeakables_."

"I've heard of the Unspeakables," said Harry. "Though I'm still not clear on who they are or what they do."

"They're, um, a division of the Ministry," said Ginny who was obviously nervous to discuss the issue. "They run the Department of Mysteries and do research into areas of magic that are forbidden for normal witches and wizards. My father talked about them some, although Mum got mad at him whenever he mentioned the topic in front of any of us kids. He left the impression that they were ... scary." She swallowed and looked around at the group. "Also, and I hope this is just a coincidence, but Croaker was Pandora Lovegood's maiden name."

"That _is indeed_ interesting, Miss Weasley. It might also interest you all to know that the Voice of the Unspeakable is the only member of that organization whose name is publicly known, as he is the public spokesman for the group as his title implies. The rest all undergo rituals to occlude their identities from both memory and history. Or so the the rumors say, at least."

Lockhart glanced back towards Pandora Croaker Lovegood and saw that whatever runework she was doing would be done in just a few minutes. After considering the matter, Lockhart seemed to come to a decision, as he drew his wand and placed it over the papers covering the letter from Saul Croaker.

"It's a good thing you've all taken an Unbreakable Vow," he said, "because I'm _not_ supposed to be able to do this. _**OBLIVIATE.**_" To everyone's surprise, the spell caused the obscuring papers to vanish.

"Did you just erase some of Luna's memories?!" Harry asked somewhat testily.

"Technically and only temporarily. The memory will revert to its default condition when we leave. It's a cheat of sorts that lets you see things in pensieve memories that would normally be hidden by other objects. Now quickly, let us examine Croaker's missive." And the five investigators crowded around the desk to do just that.

_**FROM THE DESK OF SAUL CROAKER, VOICE OF THE UNSPEAKABLES**_

_My dearest Pandora,_

_Sending you this letter pains me more than I can say, but the signs are unmistakable. It is now clear that your daughter, my granddaughter, shares your mother's gift, the one which mercifully skipped your generation. Luna is a Heliopath, both blessed and cursed with the power to see into the astral realms and perceive that which dwells in those strange domains which rest both atop and within our own. I would give anything to conceal Luna's status, my child. You know that. But you also know that I am an Unspeakable, and I have oaths that I must fulfill. Moreover, Luna is not __just__ a Heliopath. Since your mother's death, she is also the __only__ Heliopath known to exist in Wizarding Britain today. Her powers represent a matter of national security, and it is simply not possible for me to cover for you or her any further._

_I will come for Luna on the first of the month. Please take the time between now and then to prepare Luna for what's to come and to enjoy the remaining time you have together . Once she has entered training with the Unspeakables, you will not see her again for a long time, if ever. I wish it could be some other way, but my hands are bound in this matter. Please forgive me._

_Your loving father_

"What's a Heliopath?" asked Harry in confusion.

"Well, according to Luna," said Hermione, "it's an equine fire spirit that burns everything it touches. She says Minister Fudge has an army of them at his disposal. I'm guessing she's wrong about that."

"Indeed," said Lockhart in a grim voice.

"Sir?" asked Harry.

The man hesitated. Then, he glanced back towards Pandora Lovegood, who seemed nearly done with her carving. "Students, I haven't been _completely_ honest with you or Miss Lovegood about the goal of this team. You see, there was one piece of information in my old CoMC text that I didn't share. The book described nargles and wrackspurts in general terms, but it also said that if you encounter someone who claims to be able to see such creatures, you should immediately report them to the Ministry, as such individuals are referred to as Heliopaths and are on the Conscription List."

"The _what_?" asked Ginny.

"The Conscription List," explained Harry. "It's a list of magical talents that don't require either a wand or a spell to use. If you have one of the talents on the list, and usually you're born with them, then ... you basically get drafted to work for the Ministry whether you want to or not. My tutor, Nymphadora Tonks, is a metamorphmagus who had to register when she was a child. It helped her get into the Auror Academy, but she never really had a choice about working for the Ministry in some capacity." He turned to Lockhart somewhat angrily. "So what is a Heliopath and why is it so important that it leads to conscription for someone as young as _eight_?"

"To be honest, I'm still not completely certain, Mr. Potter. If I ever knew before this year, my memories were erased along with everyone else's. What little I know comes from a few paragraphs in an old textbook and what I just read from Croaker's letter. I know that the term has nothing to do with the sun or with flames. Rather, it comes from Dmitri Helios, a Greek wizard who documented the phenomenon in the 14th century and somewhat fatuously named it after himself. I _deduce_ that Heliopathy allows one to perceive the Astral Plane and the creatures which exist there, creatures which apparently are superimposed over our dimension and which interact with us by reacting to our emotional states. As for why that's so useful for the Ministry, my _conjecture _is that if Miss Lovegood can accurately perceive how our emotions affect the astral creatures that only she can see, then probably no amount of Occlumency could prevent her from reading emotions and telling truth from lie."

Harry's eyes widened. That _would_ be incredibly useful for the Ministry by itself, though he personally suspected there might be _a lot_ more Luna would be able to do with her powers once she understood them. Which just left the question – why did everyone forget all about the matter? And as if in answer to that question, Harry and the others suddenly noticed that Pandora Lovegood had stopped inscribing runes and was now chanting softly. The group moved closer so as to hear her words.

"As I will it, so mote it be," she said in a ragged voice. "As I will it, so mote it be. As I will it, so mote it be."

Harry looked over at his fellow students, all of whom were as nonplussed as he. While the ritual phrase "so mote it be" was often incorporated into vows and oaths, this was _not_ how spells were supposed to be performed according to everything Hogwarts had taught them about magic. The boy was surprised by how ... _unnatural_ he found the scene.

"Let Heliopathy be forgotten. So mote it be. Let the _word_ Heliopath be forgotten. So mote it be. Let all who knew of the powers of the Heliopath _forget_. So mote it be. Let all evidence of the Heliopaths be stricken and erased. So mote it be."

As the woman droned on and on, Harry looked around the room wildly. His sensation of unease had blossomed into one of mounting dread and fear despite his best efforts to Occlude. All of his mental barriers were being overcome by a new and frightening certainty that _something was coming_ in response to Pandora Lovegood's call. Something _alien_ and _taboo _and _wrong_. But above all, something with power completely beyond Harry's understanding. And with every word the witch uttered, that something drew ever nearer.

"Let the Unspeakables forget about Heliopathy and about my Luna's gifts. So mote it be. Let the Ministry forget about Heliopathy and my Luna's gifts. So mote it be. Let my Luna grow up free from those who would fear her and use her. So mote it be."

Harry felt a sudden sharp pain in his hand. He looked down and realized that Hermione had grabbed his hand and now held it in a death-grip, her face now unnaturally pale. Ginny was transfixed by the scene and stared unblinkingly at Pandora as her voice rose ever louder and harsher. Penelope kept looking about the room as if afraid something blasphemous would crawl through the walls. And gradually, all of them became aware of a discordant humming sound that grew louder and louder with each word Pandora Lovegood spoke. From outside the door, Harry could hear a banging noise and the sound of Xenophilius Lovegood yelling for his wife, but that was soon barely audible over the fiendish humming.

"Give me what I ask for, and in return, take my magic! Every drop!" The woman hesitated and her voice broke slightly when she continued. "And if that be not enough ... _then take what you will! _So mote it be!"

With those words, Harry struggled not to panic. The humming was now painfully loud, and the feeling that something inconceivable was coming had been replaced with the certainty that it was here all around them. He turned to ask Lockhart what was going on and did a double-take. For Gilderoy Lockhart – Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, Defeater of the Bandon Banshee, the man who had hunted the Wagga Wagga Werewolves to extinction – _was rigid with terror!_

"Let our bargain be struck!" Pandora shouted over the deafening angry hum that to Harry was like a _million_ doxies swarming all around him. "So mote it be! So mote it be! SO MOTE IT BE!" As she cried out, Harry watched in horror as teardrops of blood began to pour from her eyes. Finally, she took a painfully deep breathe and screamed. "_**IMAGO DEI!**_"

With that, Lockhart matched her scream with one of his own. "_NOOOOOOOO!" _Simultaneously, he pulled his wand and whirled it wildly overhead. Instantly, Harry and the other students felt a powerful force pick them up off the ground, even as Pandora Lovegood began to scream in agony. The next thing any of them knew, they were skidding across the floor of the DADA classroom away from the pensieve. But despite the change of circumstance, the alien humming was still growing in power. Instantly, Lockhart jumped back up to his feet and pointed his wand at the pensieve which was violently shaking in response to the awful sound that was emanating from within it. "_**PROTEGO MAXIMUS!**_" he cried out.

A powerful radiant shield manifested around the table and the pensieve sitting on it. Immediately, Lockhart cried out in pain, and after a few seconds, a small rivulet of blood trickled out of his left nostril. "Potter!" he cried out. Shaking off his surprise, Harry popped his own wand and added his own Protego to Lockhart's. He too cried out in pain from whatever unearthly force it was that wanted to burst its way out of Luna's memory and into the real world. Seconds later, Hermione and Penelope each added their own Protego shields to the first two, while Ginny protectively hugged a terrified Luna. Finally, after what seemed like forever but was actually no more than ten seconds, the humming subsided. Harry and the others allowed their shields to lapse, and then all of them gasped in shock. There, on the table, were the remains of Lockhart's supposedly indestructible pensieve, now shattered into a half-dozen fragments. The man sighed and wiped the blood from under his nose.

"Well, it's a good thing Mother wasn't here to see this. She'd have a conniption!"

* * *

Five minutes later, the members of Team Mysterioso were back around the table which had been cleared of pensieve fragments and which now held several mugs of hot chocolate and a bowl of candy bars which the Professor had been urging his students to eat in order to revive their spirits.

"We will discuss these matters now, and then we will not discuss them again," he said firmly. "Team Mysterioso is done. You will each earn a perfect 100% for your efforts on this team and will be excused from writing a paper at the end of term. That does not apply to you, Mr. Potter, as you will still be expected to write a paper on the Patronus Charm unless you succeed in manifesting a corporeal one, in which case you too will be excused. I assure you, however, that your paper will be graded leniently in light of your assistance tonight. But after you leave this room, _you will not even __think about__ that you saw in the memory_, not if you know what's good for you. I would never have allowed you to witness the memory if I'd known that Miss Lovegood's mother was going to use" he hesitated and grimaced "_that spell_."

"Professor," inquired Hermione, "just what is ... Imago Dei. I mean, I know it literally means '_Image of God_,' but why does that mean?"

Lockhart rubbed his forehead in frustration. "First of all, please refer to _that spell_ as _that spell _and not by its given name. _That spell's_ name is dangerous, students. Say those two words in front of the wrong people, and you risk being deemed to dangerous even to be allowed to rot in Azkaban!"

"You make ... _that spell_ sound worse than an Unforgivable, sir," said Penelope in surprise.

"To our government, Miss Clearwater, it is," he replied after taking a sip of hot chocolate.

"_Those even suspected of summoning Wild Magic are simply flung through the Veil of Death_," Harry said softly as he remembered the Countess Zabini's words about the dangers of discussing forbidden magic. Lockhart's head jerked in his direction, and the older man frowned in annoyance.

"Has anyone ever told you, Mr. Potter, that you are _dangerously_ well-informed?" he said irritably.

"Not ... in those particular words, but I take your meaning," Harry replied.

"So once again, what is ... _that spell_?" asked Ginny with some irritation. "Is it like a Memory Charm only with a global reach?"

Lockhart laughed as if with a mild delirium. "Oh no, Miss Weasley, it's not a Memory Charm."

"Well then," Luna asked with a sob, "what _does_ it do? What could it possibly do that was worth my mother's life?"

He sighed as if mentally drained. "It does ... _whatever you want it to_, Miss Lovegood."

"I don't understand," said Penelope. "Every spell has a design matrix that sets its parameters. Every Charm does one thing. Sometimes, that one thing can be pretty broadly defined, but ultimately every Charm does one thing and one thing only. What do you mean Imago Dei does '_whatever you want_?'"

"I meant what I said, Miss Clearwater. Imago Dei ... has no limiting parameters. You describe as clearly as possible the outcome you want. You articulate what you're willing to sacrifice to get it. And apparently, you say '_so mote it be_' a lot. And if Magic judges your proposed sacrifice worthy of what you've demanded, then the spell will _reorder Reality itself_ according to your specified outcome. _If not_, then the spell will fail ... or possibly it will take something else it considers sufficient and grant your request anyway. Or perhaps provide a suitably ironic variation on your request. The legends vary."

Hermione was confused. "But why is it such a secret? If there's a spell so versatile that it can do potentially anything, why is the Ministry, according to you, willing to kill to conceal it?"

Lockhart took a deep breath and exhaled. "Miss Granger, I'm not a devotee of Muggle fiction, but are there not Muggle stories in which a character is gifted with one or more magical wishes or the equivalent only to destroy himself when he uses that gift unwisely?"

She thought for an instant and then nodded. "I know there's a short story about a cursed monkey's paw. It give you three wishes, but it would always twist your intentions so that your wish is granted in a way you didn't want. Wish for money, and it comes in the form of a death benefit after your son is brutally killed in a workplace accident. That sort of thing."

"Precisely. Now imagine that story except that the monkey's paw doesn't stop at three wishes. Instead, you can potentially make an infinite number of wishes until one finally kills you due to bad phrasing on your part. Imagine _also_ that in addition to yourself, there are thousands, possibly millions of people who each have monkey paws of their own."

The students sat aghast at Lockhart's description. "It would tear the world apart," said Harry in a horrified awe.

"Quite so," said Lockhart. "Imago Dei is one of a very small number of spells which are considered to be so dangerous to the entire world that anyone believed capable of casting them is marked for death. You may recall that last term during my rather infamous rant about dark and light magic, I mentioned in passing the Anathema Codex. Imago Dei is one of the forbidden spells listed therein. _Never mention what you know about that spell!_"

Shaken by their experiences and by Lockhart's intensity, the students all acquiesced.

* * *

After answering a few final questions, Lockhart sent the students to their dorms for the night. Troubled by their experiences, each of them had difficulty falling asleep. Hermione had the greatest difficulty, for there was something tickling her brain, some detail which she knew was important but failed to notice when it mattered. Finally, as sleep overtook her, she let the thought go and would not remember it again for quite some time – the image of the Sowilo rune which was thoroughly integrated into Pandora Lovegood's forbidden ritual, along with the haunting, nagging feeling that she'd seen the lightning-shaped rune of power somewhere else before.

* * *

**The next chapter will be posted sometime between Monday, March 21 and Wednesday, March 23. **

**AN 1: I'm almost starting to feel bad for James Potter's seemingly neverending Humiliation Conga. And it's going to get worse before it ever gets better. Speaking of James, I've decided to recast the role because none of the three actors who played him at any stage of his life in the movies look the least bit like they could be the father of Daniel Radcliffe. Adrian Rawlins, in particular, couldn't pass for Harry Potter's dad if you saw him in a dark alley while wearing a ski mask. It doesn't help that he's at least ten years too old for the part, but then again, everyone who supposedly went to school in 1971 looks at least ten years to old for the part, so I guess that fits. Anyway, henceforth, the part of James Potter will be played by Jamie Dornan from "Fifty Shades of Grey," an actor who is good-lucking, has Potter hair, and somehow projects both charisma and complete obnoxiousness at the same time. **

**AN 2: There were at least half a dozen times when law enforcement officials _should_ have been summoned to the castle, and yet they never showed up prior to OotP, when they were only there as part of an ill-fated coup attempt. In fact, compare the number of people at a Hogwarts Quidditch match to the typical American Friday night football game where a dozen local cops will typically be posted for crowd control and to break up fights and hooliganism. Since the PoS-verse assumes that characters are not dumb unless they have good reason to be, I assume there is at least a semi-intelligent reason to never have the aurors show up - namely, four god-wizards set it up that way a thousand years ago, and no one's been able to fix it. Plus, it ties in with that tension that's always been there between Hogwarts and the Ministry (for example, they can arbitrarily strip Dumbledore of both his major political offices but can't force him out of Hogwarts until events conspire to make him confess to treason). This also explains how there could be any meaningful student resistance in Year 7 - although Voldemort effectively controlled Hogwarts, his _actual_ control was limited to just three faculty members (one of whom was Snape who was secretly against him) plus students loyal to his cause.  
**

**AN 3: In a similar vein, why did McGonagall talk about "closing down Hogwart" in such apocalyptic terms unless it would have to be shut down for a lengthy period of time. The sensible thing would have been to send every student home for Easter break and then let the aurors scour the castle, but obviously that wasn't possible. Why not?  
**

**AN 4: You didn't think I'd drop a wonderful title like "Anathema Codex" (first mentioned back in Chapter 23 of TSE) and never pick it up again, did you?**

**AN 5: UPDATED on 5/2/17 to tweak some dialogue and fix the "Lockhart's pensieve" plot hole that roughly 50 people have pointed out in reviews.**


	71. HP&TSE 37 - Slouching Towards Endgame

**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY **

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

* * *

**CHAPTER 71: Slouching Towards the Endgame, Pt. 1  
**

* * *

_**27 April 1993  
Team Protector Meeting**_

Marcus Flint had been justifiably proud of his first attempt at the Patronus Charm. The glowing sphere of silvery light he'd created was the best of anyone in the group ... until Neville Longbottom had blown him out of the water.

"_And the worst thing of all was – he didn't even gloat!" _thought Flint to himself ruefully. Truthfully, Neville was humble, conscientious, and dedicated, and Flint wondered how the _hell_ he'd gotten into Gryffindor. Obviously, Longbottom would never have been Slytherin material, but Flint wished that he'd ended up in Hufflepuff instead of with the Lions. They might well have become friends.

The Slytherin prefect shook his head and turned his attention away from the other side of the DADA classroom, where Longbottom was once again wowing everyone with his giant silvery fog bank. However, the boy was still unable to take the next step and form a true corporeal Patronus. Since that first night, Marcus had been practicing the Charm like mad and was bent on completely mastering it before the precocious Gryffindor.

"_Keep your grades up and after you've passed your NEWTs come see me,_" Rufus Scrimgeour had said at Harry's birthday. "_Your great-grandfather – Caractacus Flint, Old Ironside we used to call him – was a great mentor to me when I was just starting out. I should be honored to return the favor to his descendant._"

That (so far) was the single happiest memory of Marcus Flint's young life. It was the moment he realized that everything Harry had told him about his great-grandfather was true_ ... _and also the moment when he first truly believed in the possibility of a future for himself beyond following his father's footsteps into drunkenness, thuggery, and most likely an early grave. He focused his mind on what Scrimgeour had said and on what the Chief Auror's words might mean for him. The Auror Academy. An honorable and well-respected position in the Ministry. A chance to make Great-Grandpa Ironside, in whatever afterlife he might have found, feel proud of his family name again. All of these things Marcus Flint focused on as he pointed his wand at the floor.

"_**EXPECTO PATRONUM!**_" A silvery fog flowed out of Flint's wand to cover an area only slightly smaller than Neville's. But Marcus wasn't satisfied. Instead, he pushed more and more of himself into the spell and focused harder on his memory of Scrimgeour's words. Beads of sweat popped on his forehead, and there was a soft crack as he grit his teeth hard enough to hurt. The fog expanded more and more before abruptly collapsing in on itself. And suddenly, to Marcus's amazement, there was a glowing silvery animal in front of him. Specifically, there was a medium-sized boar standing almost three-feet-tall at the shoulder and displaying sizeable tusks. Immediately, the others stopped what they were doing and stared in awe until Harry and Neville finally started clapping and whistling. The others quickly joined in.

"Congratulations, Mr. Flint!" exclaimed Lockhart who was nearly bursting with pride. "And a boar, I see. Quite interesting. A symbol of courage and fierceness in battle, you know. They say boars pulled the chariots of the Norse gods Freyr and Freya, while in Greek myth, they were terrible monsters sent by the gods against champions like Hercules and Atalanta and allow them to prove their bravery. The Muggle King Richard III had a boar as his standard," Lockhart stopped and thought, "although perhaps he's not the best example to follow, _ha-Ha!_"

"Uh-huh," Flint said absently while he continued to stare at the Patronus as if afraid it would disappear.

"Have you thought of a name for it?" Lockhart asked.

The young man blinked. "A name, sir?"

"It's something of a tradition among those of us who can cast the complete spell. If you successfully produce a corporeal Patronus, you give it a name. One that speaks to the emotions that allowed you to summon it into existence."

Marcus studied the boar which looked as though it was studying him right back. The look it gave seemed to suggest that the boar was judging him for his act of summoning it into existence. While the final verdict wasn't in yet, it conditionally approved.

"Ironside," he said confidently. "His name is Ironside." With that pronouncement, Marcus suddenly noticed that he's knees were shaking, and as they started to buckle, Lockhart reached out to catch him. As Marcus lost focus, Ironside shimmered out of existence.

"Quite alright, Mr. Flint. That's to be expected." He turned to the rest of the group. "The Patronus Charm, like all esoteric spells, is in many ways like a muscle. It is not enough merely to learn the spell and perform it properly to achieve mastery. You must constantly work to maintain the proper mindset so that you can sustain the Patronus for longer and longer intervals before recasting. According to my research, no one has ever produced a Patronus under documented circumstances for longer than two minutes on a single casting, though there are tales of wizards and witches maintaining a Patronus for longer periods of time while in extreme danger such as when confronted by multiple Dementors or lethifolds."

Then, the man turned back towards Marcus, who was mopping sweat off is forehead. "And of course, summoning the Patronus is only the first step. There's also learning how to effectively send it into battle and how to use it to convey messages. So rest up for a few minutes, Mr. Flint, and then get back to work stretching those muscles! _ha-Ha!_"

Lockhart clapped Marcus on the shoulder. Marcus nodded and smiled, simultaneously exhausted and delirious at the thought of being one step closer to his future.

* * *

_**29 April 1993**_

Jim Potter sat alone (as usual, these days) at a table on the second floor of the Library as he reviewed his Potions notes for the next day's class. Lavender had stopped running tutoring sessions for him, supposedly because she was too busy with her work for Lockhart. Jim suspected, however, she just didn't want to associate with him now that his dark secret was out. He had known from the start that she was only interested in him because of the possibility that he'd provide a beneficial marriage prospect, something that was obviously was no longer the case. In retrospect, though, Jim realized that he'd been using her as well, offering her the role of Girlfriend-of-The-Boy-Who-Lived in exchange for her dropping out of Harry's study group and all simply as a way to annoy his brother. It was amazing now to think how petty he'd been as a firstie and no longer at all surprising to see karma coming back once again to bite him.

There was a soft cough from nearby, and Jim turned to see Cassius Warrington walking up. Jim pasted on a sincere-looking smile. Something about Warrington rubbed Jim the wrong way, but he had resolved to try being more open-minded towards the Snakes, and thus far Warrington had been nothing but civil to him.

"Good afternoon, Potter," he said. "I just wanted to let you know that our little dueling group is meeting tonight in the old ballroom on the third floor. We'd be delighted if you could join us."

"Thank you, Warrington, it's really kind of you to invite me. It's just ... well to be honest, with all this Heir of Slytherin business going on, I don't think it's wise to be seen with a group of upper year Slytherins studying advanced combat spells. I think it would probably just make people more suspicious of me. And likely more suspicious of your group as well."

"I understand," Warrington said with apparent sadness. "In times like these, a wise wizard keeps to his own counsel." Then, he nodded significantly.

Jim nodded back hesitantly as he did not, in fact, know what message Warrington's nod was meant to convey. Then, he had a sudden epiphany that both amazed and horrified him. "_Does Warrington think I'm the Heir of Slytherin?! And if so, is that why he and his buddies have been acting so ... nice to me?!"_

"So, um," he said aloud and with some trepidation. "If you don't mind me asking ... who do the Slytherins think the Heir really is?"

The other boy laughed softly and then sat down next to Jim. "We have a diversity of opinions," he said pompously. "Some people think it's you. Others think it's your brother, and he's just trying to frame you. Still others think it's Draco Malfoy and that his current ... association with that Mu ... Muggleborn from Hufflepuff is meant to serve as both a distraction and an alibi."

Ignoring the slur that Warrington had narrowly avoided making, Jim turned and looked across the Library to the table where Draco Malfoy was sitting with Justin Finch-Fletchley. The Hufflepuff was pointing out things to Malfoy in what appeared to be a Muggle newspaper called _The Financial Times_. Draco looked up and made eye contact with him before frowning disdainfully and then turning his attention back to the paper.

"Why Malfoy?" Jim asked out of curiosity.

"There is, shall we say, some suspicion that his grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy, might have been the original Heir of Slytherin. Granted, there's no known connection between the House of Malfoy and the Founder's line, but some people think he found the Chamber of Secrets and simply called himself the Heir of Slytherin for philosophical reasons or perhaps simply as a diversion for some more subtle scheme. Certainly, Old Abraxas was a more likely Heir than _the groundskeeper_."

Jim did a double-take. "The ... groundskeeper?!"

"Oh, you didn't know?" Warrington said with a smile. "Well, let me fill you in on the whole story ... or at least as much of it as I've heard."

Warrington and the Boy-Who-Lived talked for quite some time about the Heir of Slytherin, as well as other matters. And before they were done, Jim finally decided that he might just join the Slytherin dueling group after all.

* * *

_**2 May 1993**_

"Oh come on, Lavender, help a guy out!" Jim pleaded.

"For the last time, Jim. NO, I WILL NOT HELP YOU!" Lavender shouted in Jim's face loud enough for the whole Common Room to hear. As a dozen or more Gryffindors turned to stare at them, Jim started to blush.

"Fine, Lavender, forget I asked," he said irritably before heading up the stairs to his dorm room. Lavender looked after him as he departed, her anger fading into the rather sad expression she'd been wearing for weeks now. Among the Gryffindors, only Parvati knew that it was because her family's matriarch had written to her and forbade her from having any further dealings with "_that damnable Parselmouth._" And only Luna Lovegood knew how truly upset Lavender was over the matter and how much she'd come to genuinely care for Jim as a friend rather than as both a national icon and a profitable marriage prospect. Or at least that's what the older girl's nargles had indicated. Lavender sighed and walked across the room to drop down onto a couch next to Parvati and Hermione.

"What was that all about?" Parvati asked.

Lavender exhaled loudly. "Jim's just being ... stupid. Again."

"How so?" Hermione inquired.

"Well, he says he's been talking to Hagrid and '_some other people_' – though he won't say who – and he's now convinced that Draco Malfoy is the Heir of Slytherin. He says Draco's grandfather must have been the Heir who attacked all those Muggleborns back in 1943, and now Draco is just following in grandpa's footsteps."

"That's ridiculous," Hermione said dismissively. "The Malfoys aren't descended from Salazar Slytherin."

"I _know_, Hermione. I did _say_ that Jim was being stupid!"

"Be that as it may," said Parvati, "what sort of help does he want from you because of it?"

Lavender looked around the room, but no one else was nearby except for Ron Weasley, who seemed engrossed in his reading. She gestured for the other two girls to lean in so she could whisper. "Well, you know that I've been working on Team Chameleon for Lockhart all year, right? Do either of you know what it is?"

"Something to do with potions, right?" Parvati responded. "I mean, you're on it, so it must be potions-related. And also chameleon-related, I suppose."

Lavender made a face at her friend's poor joke. "You could say that, I guess. He has us researching ways to identify someone under the effects of Polyjuice Potion. Well, by us, I mean the NEWT-level Potions students. The rest of us are spending all our time brewing the potion so that the upper years can have plenty of samples to experiment with."

"Polyjuice Potion!" exclaimed Hermione. "But that's a restricted potion!"

"SHHH!" hissed Lavender. She looked around the room, but no one seemed to notice, not even Ron who never looked up from his notebook. "He says he has Ministry approval, and anyway he keeps whatever we brew under lock and key."

"Still," said Hermione, "it's an incredibly difficult potion, isn't it? I can hardly imagine a Second Year even being able to brew it."

Lavender sniffed. "I'll have you know, Hermione, that Lockhart has said that my Polyjuice Potions are the best of anyone Fifth Year or below." At that, Hermione was suitably impressed with her fellow Gryffindor's skill.

"I'm sure that's totally wicked, Lav," Parvati jumped in, "but what does it have to do with Jim?"

Lavender sighed again. "He wants me to get him a vial or two of Polyjuice Potion so he can disguise himself as a Slytherin, slip into their Common Room, and get evidence that Draco Malfoy is the one who's been petrifying people."

The other two girls gaped. "That _is_ stupid!" Parvati exclaimed.

"Yes, Parvati. That's why I said that. Twice."

With that, the three girls rose and left the Common Room for the supper. Behind them, only Ron remained in that corner of the room, still reading from his black notebook. After a few minutes, he began to rub his temples as if he were suffering from a migraine. Finally, he put the notebook away and headed upstairs.

* * *

_**Later that night ...**_

Ron had just finished brushing his teeth when things went odd. He was alone in the dormitory bathroom already in his pajamas and robe and almost ready for bed. The boy leaned over the sink to spit and then straightened up ... and gasped. The reflection that looked back out at him from inside the mirror _wasn't his_. Granted, it _looked_ like Ron's reflection, but the eyes were sharper and craftier and far more intense. And that _smile_. So much more charming and likeable than Ron's own smile, and yet something about it made the boy want to recoil from the sight of his own face. He stepped back ... and then froze as thoughts which were not his thoughts slithered effortlessly through his mind.

***_Be calm. You are not afraid but curious. You trust me.***_

Immediately, Ron's face relaxed and he waited to see what the face in the mirror would do. In the corridors and alleyways of his mind, those foreign thoughts sought out memories of Jim Potter and of Slytherins, and whenever it found one, feelings of paranoia and dislike blossomed around them like a black rose. The Mirror-Ron studied his counterpart and then shook his head as if disappointed.

"I don't know why you're fighting me on this, Ron. You _know_ what's at stake. You _know_ Jim is the Heir of Slytherin. If you do this and pull it off, he'll be _gone._ Expelled from Hogwarts. He won't be able to hurt anyone again. And _you_ will be the hero that saved everyone from him! What are you waiting for?"

Ron waved his hand in front of his face as if trying to bat away an insect that was harrying him. "I know he's the Heir ... probably. But ... this? I might get caught and get into real trouble. And even if it works and Jim gets expelled... What if he's innocent?"

"How could you possible think that the way he _lied_ to us, Ron?"

***_You feel betrayed. You feel jealous. You feel alone and unloved... except by me__.***_

Mirror-Ron paused and studied his counterpart silently for a few seconds. There was ... an obstacle, one that was interfering with the ongoing refinement of the boy's emotional connections. Then, a memory rose to the forefront of Ron's mind, and Mirror-Ron suddenly grew angry.

"Really, Ronald?!" the reflection said angrily. "He gave you a present on your birthday and now you've gone all weak?! This is a future Dark Lord we're talking about! Perhaps Voldemort himself reborn!"

Ron didn't respond. Instead, he closed his eyes and tried to look away from his own reflection. Mirror-Ron calmed down and studied the boy speculatively.

"No, it wasn't _just_ the present, was it? But it did make you remember something else. Show me!"

The boy shook his head furiously and kept his eyes shut. Then, he _felt _it. The cold sensation of a snake slithering around _inside his brain_. The sudden nausea as his thoughts and emotions were poisoned and violated by psychic venom. The terrible obscene _hissing_ that echoed down the corridors of his memories.

_***Show. Me.***_

A second older memory surface. "Oh, yes," said Mirror-Ron contemptuously. "I see it now. It was last summer when you first went to Jim's house. When he praised you for being so _brave_ and _loyal_ and what a wonderful little Gryffindor your were! When you, _a mere boy_, actually promised to help Jim Potter _kill Voldemort_!" Mirror-Ron laughed cruelly and then grew serious. "Look at me, Ronald," he commanded in a harsh voice that didn't sound at all like Ron's own.

Ron shook his head and squeezed his eyes harder shut. The mind-snake hissed again.

***_Look. At. Me.***_

Instantly and uncontrollably, Ron's eyes popped open. He gasped in terror. His reflection was no longer smiling but was instead a mask of hatred with eyes the color of fire. "_No_," Ron thought. "_The color of blood!_"

Mirror-Ron smiled again, but there was not even a pretense of warmth in it, just sheer malice. "So, you've finally gained a measure of resistance, have you, Ronald? No matter. I have my own ways of doing things now, little boy, and your assistance is no longer required. Now, forget about all this. It's only a bad dream. Forget it, and go back to sleep."

"No ... you're ... what _are you?!" _Ron gasped in disgust.

Mirror-Ron's face hardened, and the snake hissed again.

***_Sleep._***

The boy's eyes fluttered, and his knees buckled and gave way causing him to fall backwards towards the bathroom floor.

* * *

_**3 May 1993  
Just before dawn...**_

Ron's eyes jerked open suddenly. His heart was racing, and he realized he must have been having a nightmare, though he couldn't really remember what it was about. Something to do with a mirror perhaps? "_Probably that stupid Mirror of Erised, I bet. That was pretty scary." _Then, he looked down and saw to his surprise that he was lying on top of the covers of his bed, still with his robe and slippers on. "_Huh. I must have been more tired than I thought last night._" He glanced over saw that the first glimmer of sunrise was creeping in through the window. He sighed, kicked his slippers off, and crawled back under his covers.

"_Weird_," he thought sleepily, "_to have slept the whole night through and still feel so tired_."

* * *

_**Later at breakfast...**_

Jim had just bitten into a sausage when the Head Boy came to inform him that his presence was required in the Headmaster's Office. "_Merlin, what __now__?!"_ he thought to himself. Upon arrival, he saw that Dumbledore, McGongall, Snape, and Lockhart were waiting for him with grim expressions. Idly, he wondered why his mother had not been invited. Perhaps he was finally in so much trouble for something that not even they could help him.

"Please have a seat, Jim," said Dumbledore in a tired voice.

"_Of course, he's tired,_" thought Jim miserably. "_It's got to be exhausting having to put up with all my screw-ups for a whole year._"

"I'll get right to the point, Jim. Can you account for yourself between the hours of midnight and four a.m. this morning?"

He blinked in confusion and shook his head. "I only have one person who shares a room with me, sir, and Neville's a pretty heavy sleeper. Sir, what's this about...?" He froze and his eyes widened. "Was someone else _petrified_?!" he asked in a fearful voice.

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "No, Jim. While serious, the matter is not as dire as that. Do you recall a conversation you had yesterday afternoon with Miss Lavender Brown? One held in front of several witnesses and during which you asked her to _steal_ one or more vials of Polyjuice Potion from Professor Lockhart's classroom?"

Jim felt his stomach clench. He knew Lavender had been indignant about his request, but for her to have ratted him out?! "Well, I hadn't actually thought we were in front of _witnesses_..." he said lamely.

"_Potter!_" exclaimed Professor McGongall "This is _serious_!" Beside her Snape snorted contemptuously. Jim thought about the Headmaster's previous question.

"Sir? Was ... was some of the Polyjuice stolen from Team Chameleon's lab?" he asked nervously.

"Several vials, Potter," Snape said harshly. "Luckily, I suspect the culprit will be quickly found since we have a prime suspect with motive, opportunity, and a past history of thievery!"

Jim quailed at the reminder of the dark magic book he'd "stolen" from Borgin &amp; Burkes the previous summer. Or more accurately, the fake memory of stealing the book his godfather had implanted with his consent the previous November. All that trouble, and no one had ever even bothered to check his memories after he'd simply presented a confession! And _naturally_, Snape was ready and willing to use that confession to brand him a thief now.

"I didn't take any of the Polyjuice, Professor Snape!"

"_Of course_ you did," the Potions Master spat. "That's _exactly_ the sort of chicanery I'd expect from a Potter."

"Oh come now, Severus," interjected Lockhart in a cheerful voice. "You'd hardly expect this sort of thing from the Slytherin Potter, would you?"

"He doesn't count!" Snape growled, and Lockhart laughed in response.

"Severus," Dumbledore said in a chiding voice. "You are here for your potions expertise, not to antagonize the boy because of his parentage. Please proceed."

"Proceed?" Jim practically squeaked. "Proceed with what?"

"There is a very simple spell, Potter," said Snape, "one that any competent potioneer would know. It will allow me to detect any trace elements of residual potions ingredients on you for up to twelve hours." Snape grinned evilly. "Now, _show me your hands!_"

Jim gulped and looked towards McGonagall, but there was no support to be found there. Slowly, he pulled out his hands and held them out. Snape pulled out his wands and waved them over the boy's hands in a complex pattern, and in response, Jim's hands lit up with a kaleidoscope of multi-colored lights. Snape studied the lights eagerly but then frowned.

"Well, Severus?" McGonagall asked tartly.

"There ... are no signs of any of the most important components of the Polyjuice Potion," he said with obvious disappointment. Then, he whirled around to face Dumbledore. "But that is not conclusive. After all, he may not have handled the potion directly yet, and if it had been bottled properly, there would have been no chance for contamination. I recommend another search of his quarters, Headmaster."

Lockhart sighed loudly in obvious annoyance. "Or we could just get it over with here and now. Show me your wand, Potter,"

Surprised, Jim did as ordered, while Lockhart pulled out his own wand before touching the two tips together. "_**PRIOR INCANTATO.**_" There was a flash of light accompanied by what sounded like someone far away casting a Jelly-Legs Jinx followed by a succession of additional lights and the sounds of other curses and hexes and jinxes being cast. A few of them were upper-level and potentially dangerous spells, and Lockhart frowned in response while Jim licked his lips nervously. More spells followed out of Jim's wand, but none of them were nearly as troubling as those first few dozen. Finally, after nearly a minute, the display ended.

"Well, Headmaster," said the DADA instructor somewhat grimly. "While Mr. Potter seems to have been unusually _aggressive _last night, I am confident he was not involved in the theft. Or at least, not personally involved."

McGonagall looked relieved. "What was that spell, Gilderoy?" she asked curiously.

"Prior Incantato, Minerva," Dumbledore answered. "The Reverse-Spell Charm. It was added to the auror training program several years after you left Ministry service. It can usually force a wand to reveal what spells have been cast with it within the last hour. It is quite impressive, Gilderoy, that you were able to use it to reveal what spells Jim had cast within the last _day_."

Lockhart smiled almost bashfully. "You flatter me, Headmaster. Just a little something I picked up in my travels."

"I should like to hear the story of how you did so, my boy," Dumbledore said with twinkling eyes, "since I was given to understand that the improved version of the spell is _only_ taught to aurors."

"Well, Headmaster," Lockhart replied with a mischievous smile, "I actually _did _learn it from an auror, a Romanian auror to be precise. Lovely lass. I helped her out with a case, and in exchange, she taught me that spell ... and a few other skills that have been of use to me over the years." At that, the DADA professor stared off into the distance with an odd but fond expression on his face. Snape and McGonagall both looked mildly disgusted for reasons that Jim couldn't fathom on account of him only being twelve and not yet fully aware of the virtues of the opposite sex.

"If we could return to the matter at hand, Gilderoy," said Snape with obvious contempt, "what exactly was that display meant to prove?!"

"Merely that the boy could not possibly have been the one to abscond with the potions early this morning. I've been quite conscientious about Team Chameleon's output. Whoever stole the potions had to get through Colloportus Locking Charms placed on the door to the DADA classroom, the door to the side room where Team Chameleon was doing its potions work, and the doors to the cabinet where the potions were stored. Except for myself, anyone who tried to reach those potions would have needed either an extremely high level lock-picking Charm which only a curse-breaker would likely know _or_ an overpowered Alohomora. Now I suppose Jim could have done the last one – he's probably powerful enough despite his youth – but he could _not_ have done so without whatever spell he used showing up under the Reverse-Spell Charm. Ergo, Jim Potter was not the one who stole the potions."

Jim relaxed at that ... until Lockhart turned back to him with a more pointed look. "And so, with that out of the way, we can turn to the unrelated but equally provocative question of _what exactly_ Mr. Potter was doing last night that required the use of so many combat-related spells, at least three of which are so dangerous that they would be presumed dark magic in a court of law."

"Jim Potter!" McGonagall, who had finally started to relax for the first time since Jim had entered, practically shrieked in response to Lockhart's announcement. Snape looked predatory once again. Dumbledore merely gazed at the boy with a mild expression and his usual twinkling eyes.

Jim looked back and forth at the four teachers before he took a deep breath. "I wasn't fighting with anyone. Last night I was ... getting some dueling lessons."

"With spells like that, Potter?" spat Snape. "Who in this school would be so reckless as to teach a Second Year those?!"

The corner of Jim's mouth twitched. "It was mostly some of the upper year Slytherins, sir." Snape's eyes nearly bugged out of his head. "They were concerned that I might need to be able to defend myself if attacked and offered me some extra coaching. They were all very helpful, Professor Snape. I'm quite grateful for the concern and assistance your House has shown to me."

And while Jim was still only a novice Occlumens, he was very relieved that what little skill he had was enough to keep him from smirking at the look on Severus Snape's face.

* * *

_**That afternoon after Fourth Year DADA...**_

"Mr. Weasley, a word?" Lockhart called out. As the other students filed out, George Weasley made his way to the instructor's desk. "Your wand, please?"

Nonplussed, George pulled out his wand, and Lockhart cast Prior Incantato on it, revealing all the spells the boy had cast within the last day, none of which were at all surprising or controversial.

"Sir?" he asked out of concern.

"As you might have heard, someone stole several vials of Polyjuice Potion last night. I was merely confirming that you have not cast any of the spells that could have been used to facilitate the theft.

George's eyes flashed angrily. "You thought it was _me_, sir?!"

"On the contrary, Mr. Weasley. I was supremely confident in your innocence. But I cannot look back farther than one day with Prior Incantato, so if I wished to serve as your alibi, I needed to cast it upon your wand as soon as possible." Lockhart put his wand away. "So now that we've established your shining innocence, tell me - how is Ancient Runes treating you?" he asked, changing the topic. George hesitated.

"It's ... frustrating. Professor Babbling insists that I stick to '_acceptable standards of runic arrays_' which are, well, _boring_. I don't understand why I'm stuck using traditional arrays when the ones I've been using work better."

"Hmm. Ask me that again after you've graduated, Mr. Weasley. The answer might surprise you. Anyway, the goal now is to learn what you can from Professor Babbling and get good grades. Runic magic doesn't set off the Trace, so you can always experiment during the summer." Lockhart chuckled softly. "Right, _ha-ha!_ As if you weren't going to do that anyway!" He turned more serious. "How is your brother Fred doing?"

"We owl each other regularly. He's still a bit down but working hard on his studies. He's hoping that he can pass his exams with self-study so he won't be held back a year."

"Well, send him my best regards. Now, before you go, I have something for you." Lockhart handed George a rolled up scroll. "This rune sequence is outside of the area you've been working on for the last few months – excellent work so far, by the way – but it might be something you can incorporate into it and so improve the effectiveness of your own ward-piercing scheme. Take a look and tell me what you think. _Please_ be careful not to activate it as it's potentially," Lockhart coughed, "explosive."

George's eyes widened in surprise at the level of trust Lockhart was placing in him. "I'll be careful, sir. And thanks ... for everything."

"Don't mention it, Mr. Weasley," he replied before looking down at the exploding runes he'd just handed off to a notorious prankster. "_Please_ don't mention it."

* * *

_**4 May 1993  
Just after lunch...**_

As the Second Years left the Great Hall, Jim happened to walk out into the corridor alongside Justin Finch-Fletchley who did a double-take and swallowed hard. Almost immediately, Susan Bones, who was from an old Pureblooded family, moved in between the two as if to shield the Muggle-born. Jim noticed and shook his head.

"For Merlin's sake, guys, I'm not the Heir and I'm not going to petrify Justin or do anything else to him or anyone else."

"I know you won't, Jim," said Susan with a serious expression. "Because we Hufflepuffs look out for one another."

Jim rolled his eyes. "Whatever, Bones. Besides I thought Justin had Malfoy to watch out for him. He's more likely to be the Heir than I am."

"That's slander, Potter," Draco drawled from behind them. "Be careful. My family's lawyers are better than yours."

The group stopped in front of a painting of St. Patrick driving the snakes out of Ireland. "Typical, Malfoy. Always hiding behind your family's riches," Jim said.

Draco laughed. "I wasn't aware the Potters had been toiling away in poverty all these years. How many bedrooms does your manor house have again?"

"Say Potter," Susan interrupted. "You say you're not the Heir of Slytherin despite the fact that you _are_ a Parselmouth. Why don't you use your Parseltongue to find out who _is_ the Heir?"

Jim folded his arms. "And how am I supposed to do that, Bones?"

"Well, there are snakes in paintings all over this school, Potter. Why don't you talk with them and ask them what they know about the topic?" Next to Susan, Draco's eyes widened slightly. From Potter's reaction, it appeared that he'd never even tried talking to any artificial snakes, any one of which could have informed him that Harry was also a Parselmouth.

"Really, Miss Bones," Draco said with a deceptively easy laugh, "just because Potty here can talk to snakes doesn't mean that he can communicate with a _picture_ of a snake! That would be ludicrous!"

"Yeah, Bones," Jim said. "I _highly_ doubt that every single thing that looks like a snake can carry on a conversation in Parseltongue."

"Well," Susan replied defensively, "you'll never know if you don't even try."

"Fine, fine!" said Jim. He pushed his way past the other students to face the nearby painting. In the back of the group, an anxious Draco looked around for Harry or anyone else who might aid in causing a distraction. As Jim studied the painting, it seemed that most of the snakes depicted were too small and far away to focus on, but there was a large adder hanging from a tree near Saint Patrick's head. Jim studied the snake for a few seconds before looking around at the crowd that had gathered. Suddenly, he felt oddly exposed as so many classmates who had been fearful of him for months now regarded him with curiosity.

The boy took a deep breath and focused his attention on the adder. Then, he _hissed_. Instantly, most of the students around him took a reflexive step away. The adder, however, was not impressed and did not respond or even move. Jim turned back towards the crowd.

"There. Satisfied?" Jim said irritably. He turned and headed on to class. As he left, Draco watched after him with an intense expression.

"I'll catch you up, Justin," said Draco. "I left something in my dorm room." With that, Draco turned and quickly left the scene, nearly bumping into Ron Weasley as he passed.

Just a few minutes later, Draco found Harry Potter in another corridor. "A word, Potter?" he whispered urgently to the surprised boy who followed him into a nearby boys' toilet.

"So, what's so important, Drake?" Harry said amiably.

Draco wrinkled his nose at the nickname. He was still ambivalent if not actively offended by it, but "Drake" had taken hold among the other Slytherin Quidditch players, and he feared he was stuck with it for the foreseeable future. Before responding, Draco set up privacy wards with a shaky hand.

"Harry," he said. "I just watched Jim Potter try to talk with that snake in the painting of the Muggle saint hanging in the main corridor near the east wing."

Harry was visibly concerned. "What, Proinsias?" he asked relating the Irish snake's proper name.

"If you say so," Draco replied irritably. "What's more important than the wretched thing's _name _is that _it wouldn't respond_. Harry, is there some ... trick to getting painting-snakes to respond to you?"

Harry shook his head. "No, they react just like living snakes once you begin paying proper attention to them." Then, his eyes widened in shock.

"What?" Draco asked in response to his reaction.

"There's nothing wrong with _me_," Harry said in wonderment. "My Parseltongue works _fine_. The problem is with the snakes of Hogwarts! Something is _preventing_ them from responding!"

"But what could do that?!"

Harry drew a long shaky breath before responding. "Only one person I could think of," he said. "The Heir of Slytherin!"

"What?!" Draco exclaimed.

Harry shook his head. "We don't have time to explore this now. Get word to the others. We'll meet up in the Lair tonight and start brainstorming. The Heir of Slytherin now has my undivided attention!"

Draco nodded and headed for the door before Harry called out to him.

"Drake! Thanks for ... well, for letting me know about this so fast. I owe you."

Draco sniffed. "Don't worry, Potter. I'm sure I'll find some way for you to pay me back."

Unfortunately, when that night's meeting of Harry's Slytherin entourage was called to order, Draco was not there. Nor was Missy Bulstrode at first, and when she finally arrived, she was pale and visibly upset.

"Potter," she said in a breathless voice. "I'm afraid Malfoy won't be joining us."

* * *

Draco Malfoy's petrified form lay on the ground, just a few feet away from that of Justin Finch-Fletchley. On the wall behind them was another message from the Heir.

**MUDBLOODS AND BLOOD TRAITORS ALIKE  
****SHALL FEEL THE HEIR'S TERRIBLE VENGEANCE**

Nearby, several teachers were taking in the scene with horrified expressions, and McGonagall was consoling a weeping Pomona Sprout. Dumbledore, Lockhart and Snape were examining the petrified bodies together.

"Well," Lockhart said brightly, "on the bright side, I guess now we can eliminate Mr. Malfoy as a suspect."

Snape was not amused.

* * *

**The next chapter will be posted sometime between Monday, March 28, 2016 and Wednesday, March 30, 2016. Draco is petrified... and Lucius is pissed. This update was both late and fairly short, for which I apologize, but real life intruded. I'm pleased to get it in at all within my self-imposed deadline.  
**

**AN 1: The dialogue between Lavender and Hermione was just a small joke. In this continuity, Hermione considers Jim to be a casual friend and housemate instead of someone she's devoted to. At the same time, Hermione is less suspicious of Slytherins in general and Draco in particular. Accordingly, she never even once considered brewing Polyjuice in a disused lavatory in order to investigate the Slytherin Common Room, let alone going so far as to acquire the recipe and the ingredients through larcenous means. Lacking any reason to brew the potion herself, she concludes that the formula is _way too hard _for a Second Year.**

**AN 2: I always thought that CoS and the canon-series in general really did Ginny a disservice by not showing any meaningful parts of her possession or any meaningful aftereffects so that we'd have an opportunity to see her as something other than a "silly little girl." Being possessed should be horrifying for the character and the reader alike.  
**

**AN 3:This chapter was updated on 3/24/2016 (a) to remove the word "memetic" which, to my great surprise, did not actually exist in 1993 (hat tip to "SomeGuyFawkes" for that correction) and (b) to strike the previous AN 3 in which I thoughtlessly maligned the noble and beloved otter thereby incurring the wrath of a surprisingly large number of otter fans. UPDATED AGAIN on 3/29/2016 to modify the diary's mental assault on Ron to make it seem less like a computer voice. Let me know in reviews if you like the improvements.  
**


	72. HP&TSE 38 - Slouching Towards End pt2

**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY **

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

* * *

**CHAPTER 38: Slouching Towards the Endgame Pt 2  
**

* * *

_**4 May 1993  
8:30 p.m. in the Headmaster's Office**_

"So what you are saying, Headmaster," Lucius Malfoy said in a voice that was equal measures of silk and steel, "if I understand you correctly, is that you have no idea who is responsible for petrifying my son nor even how it was accomplished?"

The Lord of House Malfoy and the Chairman of the Hogwarts Board of Governors sat in Dumbledore's office and regarded the older wizard calmly, speaking in the dulcet measured tone that only the best of Slytherin House could master. It was a tone that conveyed cold menace to the person being spoken to while generally sounding mild and polite to any non-Slytherins observing. In this case, that included the Minister of Magic who sat next to Malfoy and who was oblivious to the lethal fury masked by the calm demeanor of his most trusted advisor.

Also present in the room were Profs. Lockhart, Snape, and McGonagall, Chief Auror Scrimgeour, and Senior Auror Potter. Of those five, Snape and Scrimgeour were Slytherins and knew how to read Malfoy's subtext, while McGonagall and Potter simply knew the man's history well enough to assume malicious intent. For his part, Gilderoy Lockhart bore a smile of bland amusement that gave away nothing of what he thought of Malfoy's words.

"Lucius," Dumbledore said with an equally deceptive calm, "let me assure you that we are investigating every avenue and considering every reasonable suspect."

"Is the Boy-Who-Lived among your 'reasonable suspects,' Dumbledore? I have followed his recent exploits in the _Prophet_ with great interest." Fudge seemed scandalized by that suggestion, while James was incensed.

"Now see here...!" he started.

"No, Lord Malfoy, he is not a suspect," Scrimgeour interrupted testily while shooting a glare at his subordinate. "Or at least no more than anyone else. I personally interviewed Jim Potter last February, and I was of the opinion then and remain convinced now that someone has been trying to frame him. As for your son and the Hufflepuff boy who was petrified alongside him, Jim has an alibi for most of the period from the time they were last seen until their petrified bodies were discovered. Of course, Jim doesn't have an alibi for that _entire_ period, but while we don't know how the petrifications are being accomplished, I find it unlikely that it's something that can be done in mere moments by someone located on the other side of the school. On the other hand, we can't rule out the possibility that the petrifications are being done by some means that could be set in motion in advance while the perpetrator goes off to create an alibi, but if that's the case, any alibi would be meaningless and the perpetrator could be essentially anyone in the school." He smiled at Malfoy. "Excepting, naturally, those who have been petrified. At least _they're_ in the clear."

"Do you know something, Chief Auror?" interjected Lockhart cheerfully. "I said _the exact same thing _when young Malfoy was discovered! Great minds and all that, what? _ha-Ha!_" Everyone simply stared at the man for several seconds until he coughed softly and adjusted his cravat. Lucius in particular gave Lockhart a withering look before turning his attention back to Dumbledore.

"Tell me, Headmaster. Are there at least prospects for _unpetrifying_ _my son_? And the two Muggle-borns also petrified, I suppose?"

"Alas, Lucius. I am informed that there is simply no Essence of Mandrake to be had anywhere in Europe for any sum of money."

"We shall certainly see if that is true, Dumbledore. In the meantime, I expect this matter to be resolved immediately. Or else I shall bring it to the Board at the meeting scheduled for next week. I must say that in light of your complete lack of progress in this '_Heir of Slytherin_' business that has been percolating since _last November_, I'm beginning to wonder if you've ... lost your touch. I suspect a majority of the Board might well agree with me. Perhaps it's time for some ... new blood, as they say?"

"If you remove the Headmaster, the Muggle-borns at Hogwarts won't stand a chance!" exclaimed James Potter.

"Yes, that would be simply awful," Malfoy said blandly before turning to Minister Fudge. "Minister, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll take this opportunity to check in on my son. Hopefully, the infirmary is better run than the administrative offices."

"I quite understand, Lucius," Fudge stammered. "I... I'm sure young Draco will be alright. Just as I assure you I'll do everything I can to procure that Essence of ... whatever as soon as possible. You have my word!"

"I am indeed grateful, Minister Fudge." Lucius bowed deeply and respectfully before taking one last glance at the others in the room. He did not bow (respectfully or otherwise) towards any of them before making his exit.

After the man left, Fudge exhaled and turned to the others. "Honestly, Albus, you must admit that this situation is intolerable. Why can't we just send in a few auror squads to search the castle from top to bottom and find out what's causing this?"

Dumbledore sighed. "Because, Cornelius, the school's inherent magic will not allow any significant number of Ministry personnel to remain on the grounds for more than a few hours per week to perform such a search."

"But _why_?!" the man asked in frustration.

"It's because of a magical treaty between Hogwarts and the Ministry dating back more than four centuries that guarantees the school's independence, Minister," said Scrimgeour. "One you should be cautious about challenging since, as Minister of Magic, you would bear the brunt of any assault if the castle decided we were intruders and you were present at the time."

The man sighed in irritation. "But surely there are exceptions for legitimate law enforcement operations?"

"I did find one possible exception," James Potter suddenly spoke up. "Murder investigations. If someone is killed on Hogwarts grounds, we're allowed to enter the grounds to investigate. Likewise, if there is a warrant for the arrest of someone on suspicion of murder who's hiding out here, we're allowed to come onto the grounds in force to arrest them."

"And are either of those two exceptions remotely relevant to our current circumstances, Senior Auror Potter?" drawled Snape with obvious disdain.

Potter's lip twitched slightly. "Not at this time, Professor Snape. But you never know what's going to happen in the future."

"Indeed." Snape turned to face Dumbledore. "Headmaster, is my presence required any further? I have potions brewing."

Dumbledore gave the Potions Master leave to depart, while the others continued to review their options.

* * *

Malfoy made his way towards the school's infirmary at a leisurely pace, mentally reviewing what he'd learned from the Headmaster. En route, he passed by the Library just as Jim Potter exited. Jim froze instantly upon seeing the man who he'd been told was a member of Voldemort's inner circle. Malfoy likewise paused upon seeing the Boy-Who-Lived before sauntering over to him.

"Well, well, well. Jim Potter, we meet at last. Your reputation proceeds you."

"As does yours, Mr. Malfoy," Jim said quietly.

Malfoy smiled and reached up with one gloved hand to brush aside Jim's messy hair revealing the distinctive V-shaped scar on his temple. Jim, refusing to show any fear of the Death Eater, fought down the urge to flinch away from his touch.

"Do forgive me," the man drawled. "Your scar is legendary. As was the wizard who gave it to you."

"Voldemort was nothing more than a murderer," Jim said through gritted teeth as he stared unflinchingly into Malfoy's eyes. The man twitched nearly imperceptibly at the mention of Voldemort's name, but then he smiled again.

"You must be very brave to mention his name. Or very foolish." Then, the smile melted away. "But hopefully not so foolish as to have harmed my son, Potter! For that crime, should you be found guilty of it, _boy_, the vengeance of the Dark Lord would be as nothing compared to _mine!_"

With one last sneer, Malfoy spun on his heels and strode away from Jim, who was left shocked by the realization that Lucius Malfoy suspected _him_ instead of the other way round. Shaken, the boy headed off in the opposite direction. As Lucius rounded the nearby corner, he stopped short once again. Sitting on the bottom step of a nearby staircase was another boy he recognized, one so very much like Jim Potter yet so obviously different in bearing that the man knew he'd never mistake one for the other.

"I do apologize for eavesdropping, Mr. Malfoy," Harry said calmly, "but I didn't want to intrude. I must say though – it is _wise_ to bodily threaten the Boy-Who-Lived?"

"Are you presenting yourself as a witness against me, Mr. Potter? I believe your father is still upstairs in the Headmaster's office if you wish to run and find him."

Harry shrugged. "I'm sure if Jim plans to report you, he can relay all the important details without my help." He turned and looked down the corridor. "Were you headed to the Infirmary to check on Draco, sir? I was headed that way myself to ask Madam Pomfrey if there was any change."

"I doubt that very much, Mr. Potter," Malfoy said bluntly. "However, if that is the excuse you wish to offer as cover for your obvious desire to speak with me, I shall do you the courtesy of pretending that it is true." With that, the wizard turned and headed off towards the Infirmary, his serpent-headed cane clicking along the stone floor. Harry fell easily into step beside him.

"My son has mentioned you, Harry Potter. He has described you as being one of his ... _friends_."

"I'm glad to hear it, Mr. Malfoy. While we both got off to a rocky start, I've grown quite fond of your son."

"Have you indeed, Mr. Potter? Obviously, you've come to know Draco quite well. Have you any thoughts on who is responsible for his condition?"

"I do. That's why I wanted to speak to you. I've already brought my suspicions to the attention of both the Headmaster and Chief Auror Scrimgeour, but I'm not sure they take the suggestions of a Second Year seriously. I had thought that someone with your resources – to say nothing of your personal interest in this matter – might pursue my theory more diligently than the Auror Corps."

Malfoy nodded, as if absorbing that. To Harry's surprise, the man seemed to be taking him seriously despite his youth. He was curious as to how exactly Draco had described him when talking to his parents.

"I am listening, Mr. Potter. Who is your suspect that your elders see fit to ignore?"

"By any chance, sir, are you familiar with the name _Tom Marvolo Riddle_?"

Lucius stopped in his tracks and looked down at Harry, his eyebrows rising fractionally. To most people, his actions would have reflected interest, perhaps even curiosity. But Harry Potter had spent most of the last two years studying under a master Occlumens and most his free time in the company of Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott. Moreover, while Lord Malfoy was himself an Occlumens of considerable skill, he had just been caught by surprise, allowing Harry to read volumes in his face. And what he read alarmed him, so much so that he reflexively employed a skill that he had been practicing but had not yet had call to use under a high pressure situation.

He dilated his perception and fixed his mind's gaze betwixt the beats of his heart.

_**Thump ... Thump.**_

As he activated the obscure skill he'd been trying to master since Christmas, Harry's internal thought processes suddenly sped up to a superhuman rate. Everything around the boy seemed to slow to a crawl, and instantly, he became preternaturally aware of the beating of his own heart, which from Harry's dilated perspective seemed to have slowed to a fraction of its normal rate.

"_A relatively __large__ fraction, though_," he thought to himself. "_So I'd better get on with it. Obviously, Lucius Malfoy does know the name 'Tom Marvolo Riddle,' __but__ he was not clearly expecting me to know it and is quite angry that I do. So tread __very__ carefully, Harry Potter, and maybe we'll see where this goes without making the Big Bad Death Eater decide to kill us._"

_**Thump ... Thump.**_ Harry's heart beat once more as Malfoy opened his mouth to speak (still unnaturally slowly from the boy's perspective). Harry allowed his technique to lapse slightly so that he could hear what the man had to say and respond appropriately.

"Tom ... Riddle, you say? The name sounds ... vaguely familiar, Mr. Potter, but I cannot say for certain that I recall it. What connection does this ... Riddle person have to the petrifications?"

_**Thump ... Thump. **_"He was a Slytherin back in the 1930's and 40's. A prefect who became Head Boy his last year." Harry hesitated for emphasis. "And I have reason to believe that he might have been the so-called Heir of Slytherin who was responsible for the petrifications that took place in 1943. I also suspect that the current Heir of Slytherin is someone connected to him, his offspring perhaps. But definitely someone who learned how he did it and is following in his footsteps."

Lucius crooked his head slightly, and his shoulders slumped the tiniest amount. _**Thump ... Thump.**_ Time slowed down again as Harry thought about the man's reaction. "_Wow. Visible surprise. He was definitely __not__ expecting that response. So he knows something about Tom Riddle that he considers a dangerous secret, and it's __not__ the fact that he was the Heir of Slytherin. I wish Luna was here. I wonder what his nargles look like._" _**Thump ... Thump.**_

Malfoy nodded slowly. "An intriguing supposition, Mr. Potter. Very well, I shall make some inquiries regarding this ... Tom Riddle. Thank you for bringing him to my attention. It may well prove to be _invaluable_ information." He paused. "Do you still wish to visit Draco in the Infirmary? I have already seen through your pretense, after all."

Harry smiled politely while ending his dilation after the fifth heartbeat. "It is late, I suppose. Perhaps it would be best if I turned in. I wouldn't want to be out after curfew."

"Indeed. Do be careful, Mr. Potter, as you head back to the dungeons. There _is_ a petrifying lunatic about, after all."

They both laughed though neither was sincere and neither was fooled by the other. Malfoy proceeded on towards the infirmary, while Harry headed off in the direction of his dorm. As soon as he was out of the older man's sight, though, he stumbled and clutched the wall with one hand for support. The other went to his forehead, and he fought down the urge to hiss in pain. He had only used perceptual dilation a few times before, and this was the first time in which he'd done anything remotely as complicated as carrying on a conversation with someone obviously cleverer than himself while dilating as hard as possible. The resulting mental stress was roughly equivalent to an ice cream headache multiplied by a hundred.

Harry laughed, sincerely this time. "_And it was with Lucius Malfoy of all people!_" he thought to himself dizzily. "_I'm swimming with __sharks__!_" He shook his head to clear it. After a few seconds, the sudden migraine his dilation efforts had caused began to fade, and the boy made his way back to his dorm.

* * *

"You will not find any Essence of Mandrake, Lucius. Not even with your great wealth."

Lucius was nearly at the infirmary door when he stopped suddenly and turned around at the sound of Professor Snape's voice. "Did the Headmaster send you to follow me, Severus? Perhaps to be sure that I didn't injure any of his pets while en route?"

"I am here of my own volition, Lucius. I always check in with Madam Pomfrey before retiring for the evening to see if she requires any of her potions stocks refilled in the coming days."

"Ah, of course," Lucius said with mild sarcasm. "How conscientious of you. Almost Hufflepuffian. As for the Essence of Mandrake, you seem rather certain that I cannot obtain it. You forget, Severus, that I am accustomed to getting what I want out of life."

Snape snorted softly. "We both know you are accustomed to no such thing, Lucius."

Malfoy regarded the other Slytherin with a grim expression. "Touché," he finally said.

"As the Headmaster indicated, you will not obtain Mandrake because there is none to obtain. The harvesting time for fresh Mandrake will be in less than one month's time. Once harvested, adult Mandrakes cannot be preserved for more than a year. At this point in the growing season, any remaining preserved Mandrakes will have already been converted into raw potions ingredients, and _no one_ distills entire Mandrakes down into pure Essence this late in the season, not in the quantities we need. It would be uneconomical, almost frivolous to do so. Fresh Mandrakes may be harvested beginning on the 29th of this month at precisely 4:47 a.m. local time when Jupiter enters Libra and not one second earlier. Until then, there is _literally_ no place in the world from which to procure them."

Malfoy laughed bitterly. "Ah, Severus, how I've missed your pedantry." Then, his face sobered. "If you learn anything about who is responsible for what happened to my son, you will inform me immediately, yes? I think you owe me that much at least."

Lucius moved to stand directly in front of the other man, close enough for Snape to feel breath upon his face. It smelled faintly of crème de cassis.

"You will do this for me, Severus, because even though I had many opportunities, I never told the Dark Lord _that you were Dumbledore's spy_."

Severus said nothing in response. After a moment, Lucius turned back towards the infirmary door only to pause once again with his hand on the knob. "One last thing, Severus. _Harry Potter._ Is he ... truly Slytherin?" Lucius asked without turning around.

Snape tilted his head at the odd question. "Yes," he finally said. "Certainly more so than I was at his age. Perhaps even as much as you."

Lucius absorbed that silently before entering the infirmary without another word.

* * *

Once inside, Lucius found Narcissa, as expected, in a chair next to Draco's bed with her needlepoint in hand. Snape spoke briefly with Madame Pomfrey before departing for the night. Then, the matron came over to the Malfoys to answer Lucius's many questions. Is Draco in any pain? No. Is he aware of what's happening around him? No. Will this condition cause any lasting side effects? No. Is it possibly bad for his vision that his eyes are affixed open and unable to blink? No. Through it all, Lucius Malfoy never took his eyes off of his son and heir, while his wife never took her eyes off of her needlepoint. Finally, after Pomfrey had answered every question Lucius could think to ask, she returned to her office and left the Malfoys alone with their stricken child. There was silence in the room for a time before Lucius spoke again.

"Narcissa, my love?"

"Yes, dearest?"

"It goes without saying, my love, that if you had anything to do with our son's condition... I will slit your pretty little throat while you sleep."

She smiled without looking up from her needlework. "You are certainly welcome to try, dearest."

They did not speak again. After an hour-long silent vigil, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy rose, exited the infirmary, and made their way out of the school.

* * *

_**5 May 1993  
Percy Weasley's study room in Gryffindor Tower  
7:30 p.m.**_

"But _why_?" asked Ron in utter confusion.

"Why what, Ronnikins?" George replied without looking up the parchments scraps laid out in front of him that he was trying to rearrange into a functional configuration. The Gryffindor prefects didn't have private rooms, but they _were_ each entitled to a small private room with a table and chairs for private study. Ron and George had taken to studying with Percy in his private room ever since Fred's suspension, an event which surprisingly seemed to have brought the three of them closer together. That said, at a time when both George and Percy were struggling with their final papers for Lockhart's DADA projects, Ron's somewhat persistent questioning strained their new closeness.

"Why can't they get the stuff they need to unstiffen the petrified students? I mean, I thought it was just the expense, but the Malfoys are loaded. And I hear that Finch-Fletchley's family is rich too. Surely they can afford the Mandrake stuff to unstiffen their sons."

"The problem, Ronald," said Percy, "is that there is simply not enough of the _Mandrake stuff_ as you call it to be had for any price, and there won't be until the end of the month. It's bad enough that the school will have to sacrifice fifteen or so Mandrakes out of a harvest of only fifty plants just to undo the effects of the petrifications. I heard they were going to buy new school brooms for the first time in ten years with that money, but those plans have been postponed indefinitely even though the current school brooms are a serious safety hazard. And it's not _unstiffen_. It's _revive_."

With that, the prefect returned to his Polyjuice Potion thesis which would be due the following Monday. Despite his outwardly calm demeanor, Percy was in a state of quiet panic over his paper on account of how busy this weekend would be for him. Percy's roommate and best friend, Oliver Wood, had twisted his arm into filling in for Fred as Beater in Saturday's Quiddich match against Hufflepuff. At this point, the Lions were playing just for pride. They'd already been crushed by the Slytherins the previous November and then lost almost as badly to Ravenclaw in March when they were forced to play with only one Beater. Cormac McLaggen, who had been subbing for Fred, quit the team after his brief petrification rather than be anywhere around Jim Potter, and no one else was interested in taking his place for the same reason. And while Percy wasn't as Quidditch-mad as his siblings, he was fairly handy on a broom which seemed to be a skill ingrained from birth among the entire Weasley family. Unfortunately, last minute practice plus a game on Saturday left Percy desperately short of time to finish his thesis. Secretly, he was rather hoping that some unexpected event would lead to the game getting canceled, a sentiment for which he would later feel profoundly guilty.

His curiosity satisfied for the moment, Ron looked across the small table towards George's project. There was a large sheet of parchment with thirty or so runic markings carefully arranged in an interlocking pattern. George had copied each of the individual runes onto smaller scraps of paper which he was now rearranging into new patterns. Curious, Ron reached out to turn the larger parchment around so he could see it better, but before he could even touched it, George slapped his hand away rather forcefully.

"No touchies, Ronnikins!" he said.

"Oww!" said the boy exclaimed. "What was that for?"

George pointed towards the parchment Ron had just been about to grab. "That there, brother-of-mine, is a genuine authentic _explosive rune_. Touch it wrong, and it's just possible you could set it off ... which would not be a pleasant experience for me, you, Percy, and whoever was charged with scrubbing our blood off the walls."

Ron's eyes widened while Percy just shook his head. "I still cannot _believe_ Professor Lockhart gave you a sheet of explosive runes to play with," he said.

"I'm being careful, Percy," George replied irritably.

"That's not the point, George. I can't believe he'd give that to _any_ student! How is it possible that something like explosive runes _isn't _dark magic?"

George shrugged. "They have perfectly proper purposes, Perfect Prefect Percy. Excavation. Construction work. I'll wager Bill uses these for his tomb-raiding."

"Curse-breaking, George, not ... _tomb-raiding_. You make the Heir Apparent of the House of Weasley sound like some sort of ... professional grave-robber."

"And you make him sound like he might claim our Wizengamot seat again someday," George replied with a grin. "We both know that's not likely to happen, now is it?"

Percy sniffed and resumed his writing. "It's the principle of the thing," he finally said quietly. "Anyway," he said changing the subject, "I still don't see what explosive runes, whatever their legality or utility, have to do with modifying Portkeys."

"Well, see, these particular runes in this particular arrangement work by taking the _idea_ of wanton destruction and making it into an actual thing. Lockhart wants to know if its possible to tweak that idea so as to focus all that destructive potential on a different target. His theory is that you can take a bunch of runes that _should_ result is a lovely ka-boom and instead rearrange them somehow so that all of the damage is inflicted on nearby magical wards while physical things in the way are left completely untouched."

"Is that possible?" Percy asked.

"Dunno," George replied while rearranging three of the scraps of paper onto which he'd copied individual runes into new positions. "I _think_ it is, but so far I can't rightly see how."

Percy nodded. "You'll get it, assuming it's possible to get. Also, while we're on the subject, can I just say that the intense pride I have for you in finally working up to your potential is offset by my intense jealousy over the fact that you understand Ancient Runes better from being _self-taught_ than I do from slogging through Professor Babbling's class for four years!"

George grinned. "Why Percy! That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me!"

Ron looked back and forth between his older brothers and their banter before shrugging and returning to his own homework.

* * *

_**Much later that night...**_

The door to the Fourth Year Gryffindor boys' dorm room opened in complete silence ... and then closed seemingly by itself. In the room were only four beds, as Fred and George's starting class had been rather small. Three of the beds were occupied by sleeping boys snoring softly away in the night. Fred's empty bed was just a simple frame and mattress stripped bare of sheets. Out thin air, a hand appeared holding a wand. A soft whisper intoned the word Somnium three times, and each time a flash of light struck one of the three sleeping Gryffindors ensuring that none of them would wake before morning. Satisfied, the intruder threw off the Cloak of Invisibility and abandoned stealth for speed.

"_**SCRUTIMINIUS EXPLODING RUNES PARCHMENT.**_" A tiny ball of light appeared at the end of Ron Weasley's wand accompanied by a soft hum that grew louder as he moved across the room towards the foot of George's bed. The boy's backpack rested on top of it. Swiftly, the intruder opened up the bag and _very carefully_ removed the sheet of parchment bearing the explosive rune sequence that George had shown Ron earlier.

"_**GEMINO.**_" There was a soft flash, and suddenly the intruder was holding _two_ sheets of identical parchment. He replaced the original back within George's bag and arranged it just as it had been before he arrived. Then, he pulled out a second parchment from one of his pockets and unfolded it to reveal a map of the school ... and everyone in it. After a few seconds, he confirmed that no one was up and about in the hallway or in the room he shared with Dean and Seamus, both of whom were sleeping as soundly as the Fourth Years were and for the same reason. "_Mischief managed_," the intruder whispered, and the map quickly faded away, leaving the parchment seemingly blank. He stowed the map, donned his stolen invisibility cloak once more, and left the room.

The map was, of course, _The Map_, the same one that had been stolen from the Weasley Twins back in November and which the intruder had found to be invaluable in his extracurricular activities ever since. Originally, those activities had been limited mostly to pranks and jokes, though always with a hidden purpose that Ron Weasley himself didn't even understand. Ron was not a naturally malicious child and certainly not a stupid one, even if he'd often _felt _stupid when comparing himself to his older brothers, each of whom was brilliant in his own way. But like so many children of his age and circumstances, he _was_ terribly insecure, jealous, short-sighted and _oh so easy _to manipulate. Best of all, his parents, brothers, and former best friend had all worked together to instill in him a wonderfully useful fear and paranoia regarding all things Slytherin. Heighten those emotions to an uncontrollable degree at just the right instant and accompany them with a suggested course of action disguised as "a brilliant idea," and Little Ronald was off like a wind-up toy soldier that marched resolutely in whatever direction he was pointed.

Framing those brilliant ideas as "pranks" only made it easier to manipulate the boy who had always been desperate for approval from George and Fred, no matter how much repressed anger towards them the boy also carried. A little Mandrake dust in Longbottom's gloves. That hilarious suggestion to the Twins for Jim's "King of the Leprechauns" crown. The dung bombs that Ron had provided for Jim which the Boy-Who-Lived had invisibly planted on unsuspecting Slytherins. He'd even arranged to play a prank on Jim and himself both, changing their hair to Slytherin colors so that he wouldn't be suspected as the instigator. And all of it mere preparation for the grandest pranks of all – stealing the Potter Cloak and the Marauders' Map while convincing Jim and the Twins that either Harry or someone else in Slytherin House was the actual thief. George's Portkey notes were an unexpected bonus, one that opened up other doors through which that cretin Warrington had been all too happy to walk.

True, Warrington's own prank on the Slytherin Quidditch Team – made at the instigation of his "secret friend" – had failed to kill Harry Potter in a way that might have implicated Jim, but it did lead directly into that marvelous duel between the Potter Twins and, even better, to Jim's public exposure as a Parselmouth. And _that_, combined with just the right touch of emotional influence, had finally driven a wedge between Little Ronald and the Brat-Who-Lived. Naturally, that cunning serpent Harry Potter had concealed his own Parseltongue gifts from the crowd, but he'd still been quite helpful to Ron in turning the school against Jim. It amused the intruder that he was actually helping Harry to hide his Parselmouth status because doing so only made Jim seem darker as a result. Still, while the intruder had managed to compel the various Hogwarts serpents to ignore Harry's communication attempts, having a second Parselmouth rival was completely unacceptable, and so killing the elder Potter child was definitely on the long term agenda.

Unfortunately, Harry's demise would have to take a back seat for now, as the wedge between Ron and Jim had triggered other unexpected problems that needed addressing. The intruder had underestimated just how highly Ron prized his friendship with Jim Potter, and the break between them suddenly made it harder to influence Ron with any subtlety. Oh, he could inflame the boy with anger towards Jim when necessary, but it didn't linger for long before fading into regret and sadness over losing his best friend. "_Quite pathetic, really_," the intruder thought contemptuously. Increasingly of late, he was forced to resort to direct control over the boy to get anything accomplished (most notably unleashing Slytherin's Monster on whichever unsuspecting fool had been the last to bother the Boy-Who-Lived whenever the Map showed that Jim was alone and had no alibi). But direct possession was an exhausting technique, one that the intruder could only use sparingly at first until their psychic link had grown stronger.

Still, the union had born better-than-expected benefits. He could now possess Ron almost at will, and soon the link would be strong enough for him to consume the child's soul completely and use that to fully embody himself. Then, the real game would start. Right now, he only had one more move to make before the start of his endgame, but he expected that it would be a brilliant and devastating one. Indeed, one that might make checkmate inevitable. The Boy-Who-Wasn't-Ron-Weasley smiled at all the chess references he was now using. Truthfully, he was quite glad to have bonded with Ron Weasley instead of his sister despite the Gryffindor's occasional bouts of resistance. For one thing, he couldn't imagine _ever_ keeping his presence a secret in a dorm full of _Slytherins_. But more importantly, he was delighted to discover that Ron Weasley's underappreciated genius meshed quite splendidly with his own. Many people had accused the intruder of being manipulative over the years, but before now, he would never have truly described himself as _a chess master_.

* * *

_**7 May 1993  
9:55 p.m.**_

After a grueling but successful two-hour long Occlumency session, Jim Potter was now on his way back to his dorm accompanied by the Headmaster.

"You don't need to escort me, sir," the boy said. "I can make it back to the Tower fine alone. And I'm sure you have a lot to do."

"I do indeed, my boy. And one of those things is getting used to patrolling these halls again, something I haven't had to do since I was Head Boy." Dumbledore smiled as if fondly remembering his own youth. "In light of recent developments, I have directed that the faculty spend time patrolling the halls until midnight along with the prefects. I would be both remiss and hypocritical if I didn't take a few patrols for myself."

Jim nodded at that. This late on a Friday night, the hallways were almost deserted. No one wanted to be caught out by the mysterious Heir, so most students now returned to their dorms immediately after the evening meal and only the most studious stayed in the Library past eight or nine o'clock. As Jim and his mentor walked down the halls chatting about everything from Occlumency exercises to the next day's Gryffindor-Hufflepuff Quidditch match, several figures from the portraits they passed wished the Headmaster a good evening, although most of them did so with yawning voices, and a few were already asleep.

"Headmaster, can the portraits not keep an eye out for ... whatever it is? Do they actually need to sleep?"

"I'm afraid the portraits do indeed require rest after a fashion. The magic of the castle which sustains them also causes most of them to become quiescent at night. Only the portraits assigned to guard the dormitories can easily stay awake for long past midnight. But even during the periods when all the portraits are active, our mysterious Heir seems able to evade their scrutiny somehow. It is most vexing."

Jim nodded in agreement. Soon, they were at the entryway to Gryffindor Tower, where the two bid each other good night. From there, Dumbledore took a leisurely stroll around the castle, but after an hour had encountered no one else except for Filch who was, as usual, both despondent and embittered over the status of his cat, perhaps the only thing in the world the irascible man cared about. After that unpleasant conversation, Dumbledore was headed back to his office when he stopped suddenly and listened. Somewhere in the distance he could hear a sound, the faint echo of someone ... whistling?

He turned and headed in the direction from whence the sound came, and as he drew nearer, he recognized the tune as "_God Save the Queen_," of all things. Finally, after turning one last corner, he entered a dimly-lit and seldom-used side corridor. "_And it's also one with no portraits at all hanging on the walls_," he noted suspiciously. Halfway down and about thirty feet away, Dumbledore could see a small red-headed figure. It was Ronald Weasley, still whistling as he studied what looked like a large parchment map. On the wall behind the boy were words written in red paint, undoubtedly by a spell as there were no paint cans or other containers nearby. The twinkle faded from Dumbledore's eyes. _"This is wrong_," he thought, "_decidedly wrong._" Pulling out his wand from inside his robe, the Headmaster slowly moved towards the boy who finally put the parchment away and waited expectantly. Ronald had no wand out yet himself, but the boy still moved with easy confidence.

"Good evening, Headmaster," the boy said. "Thank you ever so much for coming to meet with me tonight."

As Dumbledore drew nearer, he could finally make out the words on the wall.

_**EVEN YOUR MIGHTIEST LEGENDS ARE NOTHING  
BEFORE THE MIGHT OF THE HEIR OF SLYTHERIN**_

"I do hope, Mr. Weasley, that you have a good explanation for being out after curfew," Dumbledore said calmly. "To say nothing of your vandalism of this hallway."

Ron chuckled softly before looking up at the old wizard. They were about ten feet apart now, and Dumbledore was finally close enough to see the boy's eyes. He gasped – the boy's eyes were red, the same terrifying red eyes that had haunted Dumbledore's memories for over a decade, along with the vicious smirk that was so familiar and yet so out of place on Ronald Weasley's normally genial face. Dumbledore practically snarled as he trained his wand on the boy, every trace of "the kindly grandfather" now vanished from his demeanor as he finally realized who had been the author of the school's troubles for months now.

"_You_!" he exclaimed in righteous fury. "All this time, it was _YOU_!"

The boy laughed with a high-pitched giggle quite different than Ronald's normal laugh and far more menacing. His face assumed an amused and indulgent expression, as if he thought it funny that the doddering old man had finally solved the puzzle.

"Why yes, Albus – it was all me. _Me, me, me._" He laughed again. And despite having a wand trained on him by one of the most powerful wizards in the world, he seemed supremely confident. Almost triumphant. "Me ... and _my special friend_!"

Dumbledore hesitated. "_What is __that__ supposed to mean_?" he wondered. Then, he noticed a shadow at his feet, a shadow from something very large and yet unnaturally silent that had glided up right behind him. Moving at what should have been an impossible speed for a man of his age, Dumbledore whirled around to strike down this new enemy, but at the first glimpse of the brilliant green (and magic-resistant, he realized) scales, he realized it was already far too late. Instantly, he dilated his perceptions, but events were moving way too quickly to physically react in time, and so all he achieved was to give himself more time to contemplate his impending fate while leaving none at all to avert it.

"_How in Merlin's name did __that__ sneak up behind me?!_" he thought in wonderment as his eyes reflexively panned up from the massive serpentine trunk to the gaping maw whose fangs bore one of the deadliest poisons known to wizarding-kind. And as that enormous head lowered to meet his gaze before he could had time to close his eyes, Albus Dumbledore's last conscious thought was: "_Oh. Silly question. __Magic__, of course._"

* * *

**The next chapter will be posted sometime between April 4 and April 6. **

**AN 1: It goes without saying that Dumbledore is petrified but not dead. After all, he's one of the people who was in the meeting back in Chapter 1, so he's got plot immunity through the end of year 4. The idea that the Basilisk never killed anyone (except Myrtle) because people were looking at its reflections or through camera lens or some such thing was always improbable to me. Exactly how the Basilisk works in this universe will be explained soon, possibly next week.**

**AN 2: Snape's status as Draco's godfather was simply something I forgot until recently, so I decided to make the fact that Snape had been seemingly ignoring the boy for almost two years a plot point that will be expanded upon later.**

**AN 3: I made some minor changes to the previous chapter, mainly to make the Diary sound less like a computer and more like an evil alien intelligence during the scene when it was modifying Ron's personality. Let me know what you think.**

**UPDATED on 3/30/2016 to remove a reference to Snape being Draco's godfather which, to my astonishment, is not canon but which is so widely accepted in the fanfic community that I simply assumed it was true. So I'm cutting that fanon cliche entirely rather than retcon Snape and Draco's relationship completely.**


	73. HP&TSE 39 - The Final Lesson of Gilderoy

**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY  
**

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.  
**

* * *

**CHAPTER 39: The Final Lesson of Gilderoy Lockhart**

* * *

_**14 February 1993 (nearly three months ago)  
The Great Hall on the morning of Valentine's Day**_

"_There are worse ways to celebrate the holiday, I suppose, Gilderoy" said Flitwick with twinkling eyes. "I still recall the chaos you unleashed on the school on Valentine's Day in 1980."_

"_Chaos, Filius?" he said in confusion. "I'm sure you exaggerate."_

"_Exaggerate, my boy?" the diminutive professor said with a laugh. "You sent 800 Valentine's messages to yourself! We had to cancel lunch because of all the owl droppings befouling the Great Hall!" _

_Lockhart stared at his fellow Ravenclaw as if trying to figure out if he was joking. Then, he laughed. "Ha-ha! You know I'd quite forgotten about that bit of foolishness! I don't remember if I apologized at the time for however many points I cost Ravenclaw, but if not, I eagerly do so now."_

"_Oh, water under the bridge, my boy. Water under the bridge." Flitwick laughed. On the other side of him, however, Snape observed the conversation silently and with an odd expression._

After breakfast, Snape made his way back to his private room. It was a Sunday and he had no classes nor anything else to distract him. Lacking any other way to procrastinate, he paced the room for almost ten minutes before he finally surrendered. As much as he hated the thought of what he was about to do, at the end of the day, Severus Snape cared about Hogwarts and its students. And that meant that some things were more important than both pride and practiced bitterness. Snape exhaled through gritted teeth. Then, he stepped over to the fireplace in his private quarters and tossed a handful of Floo powder into the fire.

"Potter Manor," he spat into the flames almost angrily. Seconds later, a house elf appeared in the flames and inquired as to the Potions Master's business. "Tell Lord Potter that Severus Snape wishes to speak with him about an urgent matter."

The elf nodded and scampered off. Several minutes later, James Potter, still his pajamas and with unbrushed hair, stuck his head into the green flames. He looked decidedly happy at the sight of his old rival. "Snape, it's early. What do you want?"

"It's nine-thirty, Potter. People who actually work for a living have already been up for hours. In any event, this is not a social call. I wish to speak with you both in your capacity as an auror and as a parent to two Hogwarts students."

"Is Jim in trouble again?" he asked with concern. "Or Harry?"

"No more so than is usual for either of them. No, Potter, this is a matter of a more generalized concern." He hesitated. "I want to talk to you about Gilderoy Lockhart."

* * *

_**8 May 1993  
Gryffindor Tower**_

Ron jerked awake in his bed from yet another nightmare. He'd been having those with increasing regularity, and the worst part was that he could never remember anything that happened in them. Well, not quite – he could always remember a recurring theme of riding around as a prisoner in his own mind while some ... thing wore his body like a suit and walked around in it. He rarely remembered what the intruder did with his body, just a vague recollection of being trapped alone in the dark. But this one was different. He still didn't remember any specifics, but he had a strong impression that his dream had involved laughing at the body of Headmaster Dumbledore as he lay helpless on the floor. And then ... something about _chickens_. Ron reached for his wand and cast a quick Tempus. _6:45 a.m._ He sighed. It was a Saturday, and he'd planned to sleep in and catch up on his rest, and yet here he was once more – wide awake after some stupid nightmare.

The youngest Weasley boy yawned and got up out of bed to head to the bathroom and wash his face off. Once there, he reached for the faucet but then stopped and looked at his hand. There was something on palm, something brown and sticky. He pulled the hand up to his nose and sniffed. The smell was coppery and familiar, and for just a moment, a chill ran down his back as he wondered how on earth he could have woken up to find dried blood on his hands. Then, he shuddered for a few seconds in response to the disturbing mental image of something slithering through his mind and hungrily devouring the thoughts of concern and fear borne of his discovery. Shaking his head, the boy washed his hands and face thoroughly before heading back to bed. By the time he fell back asleep, the blood stains had already been forgotten.

* * *

_**Later in the Great Hall...**_

Harry studied the faculty table with some interest. It was nearly the end of breakfast, and for some reason, Dumbledore had not put in an appearance. Of course, he didn't always show up for breakfast. Rank had its privileges, after all, and Dumbledore had an army of house elves at his command if he'd wanted to have breakfast in bed. But Marcus said that for as long as he'd been a Hogwarts student, the Headmaster had _always_ come to breakfast on the morning of Quidditch matches to wish both competing teams good luck and to encourage fair play and good sportsmanship. Even when the _Slytherins_ were playing!

"Maybe he's at the Ministry trying to get something done about these petrifications," said Daphne Greengrass.

"Or maybe Lord Malfoy's already gotten him sacked," Theo speculated.

"If there's anything to it, we'll find out soon enough," Harry said calmly while reviewing the _Daily Prophet_'s Quidditch rankings. He was soon distracted by a loud laugh from farther down the table. It was Miranda Bonneville and a few others of her little clique, giggling over something (probably some insult the notoriously cruel Pureblood had made about some other girl).

"By the way," Daphne said quietly while leaning in close. "The school year's almost over. Have you given any thought to _that _yet?"

Harry looked back at the girl. "Any thought to what?"

Daphne frowned. "The fact that Miranda Bonnevie, whose agenda is roughly the total opposite of yours, will probably become one of the Seventh Year prefects this summer and stands a good chance of becoming Head Girl. And she's as big a Pureblood bigot as Warrington is. Maybe even as bad as Draco was before you ... got hold of him."

"Honestly, I haven't thought about it. I've been kind of busy this year." Harry smiled. "And I can't _imagine_ what you mean by suggesting I 'got hold' of Draco last year. Personally, I think he just matured a bit. That's all."

Daphne rolled her eyes. "Well, like I said, this year's nearly over, and _next_ year, you may have to deal with having a Death Eater sympathizer whose a cousin to the Selwyns and who's able to dock points from you at will and otherwise make your life a hell."

"Ah!" Harry said softly but triumphantly. "She's a Selwyn! That's why you don't like her!"

Daphne sniffed. "I don't like her because she's more bitch than witch, and I don't want her vile family having influence over my own."

Harry nodded sagely. "Fair enough. I'll see what I can do."

Meanwhile, up at the faculty table, the staff were also wondering where the Headmaster was. Hagrid, in particular, seemed agitated.

"I do hope Perfessor Dumbledore gets 'ere soon. I wanted ta talk ta him 'bout my roosters!"

"What about them, Hagrid?" asked the long-suffering Professor Kettleburn.

"Well... sumun kilt 'em all!" the half-giant exclaimed.

"Some_one_, Hagrid? Are you quite sure it wasn't a fox or something?"

"Foxes eat chickens and roosters, Perfessor Ket'lburn. They don't slice their heads off but leave'r bodies round to rot!"

Kettleburn started to respond when he was interrupted by the DADA instructor who was nearby listening in.

"I say, Silvanus, old chap. Refresh my memory. Aren't there some dark creatures that are vulnerable to the sound of cock crows?"

Surprised, Kettleburn stopped to think. "Only one that I can think of off-hand, though it's incredibly rare."

"Oh?" said Lockhart while bearing a curious expression. "Which one?"

* * *

_**After breakfast in Gryffindor Tower...**_

The members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team were gathered in their Common Room so that Oliver could give a quick speech in front of whole house when Emily entered, still wiping the tears from her eyes.

"Hold on, Oliver," she said. "No one's leaving the Tower. The match today has been ... indefinitely postponed.

"WHAT?!" he exploded. "What in Merlin's name for?!"

Before she could answer, a message in the voice of Professor McGonagall sounded in the room and all throughout the castle.

"**All students report to their dormitory Common Rooms immediately! Until further notice, the school is locked down, and any students found out of bounds without a note from a teacher will ... suffer the most serious consequences. That is all."**

Jim stepped forward. "Emily?" he asked with a concerned voice. "What's happened?"

She looked at him strangely and then took a deep breath before addressing the whole room. "Gryffindors, listen up! About twenty minutes ago... Headmaster Dumbledore was ... was found petrified. Professor McGonagall is running things for the time being, and she has ordered that no one is to be out of their common rooms other than prefects until further notice. We're in lockdown until Monday, and after that, prefects will escort the rest of the students to their various classes for the remainder of term." She drew another shaky breath. "Assuming there _is_ a remainder of the term, that is. The Board of Governors will meet tomorrow afternoon in emergency session to discuss... whether to close the school."

There was an immediate outburst, bordering on riot, at that announcement, and naturally, those Gryffindors inclined to think that Jim Potter was the Heir were not shy about saying so. Finally, Neville had had enough. He raised his wand and shot of a round of fireworks.

"Hey! Idiots! I was sharing a room with Jim last night! He was in bed by 10:30 and I stayed up until midnight working on my DADA paper. He never left the room!" Longbottom's remark chastened a few people but some, like McLaggan and some of the older males were not impressed.

"How do we know you're not in on it _with him_, Longbottom?!" Cormac snarled at the boy.

"ENOUGH!" shouted Emily. "The Headmaster was seen by Caretaker Filch shortly before midnight. _I_ stayed in the Common Room until after _three_ studying, and I never saw anyone leave either. Does anyone want to accuse _me_ of working with the Heir?"

At that, the crowd quieted down a good deal, as Emily Rossum was known to be on the Auror track and was tops in her class in Defense.

"I thought not," she said in a calmer voice. "Now, everyone back to their rooms. At quarter of noon, we will all meet down here and walk to the Great Hall together for lunch. _Roll will be taken! No one will be allowed out of their dorms alone!_"

* * *

_**Meanwhile in the Prince's Lair ...**_

Harry and Theo sat alone on opposite sides of the big table. Both were noticeably upset about Marcus's announcement to the House – that the school was in lockdown and might soon be closed. And astoundingly, it was because Albus Dumbledore, the Invincible Defeater of Grindlewald, had been brought down by a glorified schoolboy prank.

"I should have been on this since Halloween," Harry said in a hollow bitter voice. "Ever since that damned cat got petrified. I should have been on this, but instead I let myself get distracted with Patronuses and ping-pong and Potter family drama! And now we're going to lose everything we've worked for over the last two years!" He turned to the vacant and silent Hydra Throne and hissed angrily at it. There was no response. "Hmph! And I'll probably _never_ find out who the Heir of Slytherin is and how he turned the Hogwarts snakes against me!"

"Yeah, sorry, not really seeing how this is your fault or your responsibility," said Theo reasonably. "Do you really think you had an obligation to beat someone who was able to defeat Dumbledore? You're a Second Year, and yet you want to assume greater responsibility than what the prefects carry, never mind what the professors carry."

"Yes, Theo, yes I do," he replied angrily. "Because I've got more to lose than any of them. If the school gets shut down, it will stay shut down for a minimum of two years. I'll have to start over again somewhere else. Probably Durmstrang if Peter Pettigrew has his way!"

"You'll adapt and excel. You always do. So what are you really worried about?" Harry looked towards Theo with an annoyed expression, but his friend was undeterred. "Is it really yourself? Or are you more worried about your friends?"

Harry sighed loudly. "Of course I'm worried about my friends. I have no idea what sort of fallback Wizarding Britain has in the event of Hogwarts' closure, but given the general competence level of our national leaders, I can't imagine it's anything good. Plus ..." He paused suddenly and looked away.

"Plus what?" Theo said calmly. "It's okay, Harry. I've been thinking about it too. If Hogwarts' closes and Draco stays petrified, it's unlikely that Lucius Malfoy will take me in again for the summer. Which means I'm probably going back to Nott Hall and my violently abusive father."

"How are you so _calm_ about this?"

Theo shrugged. "Occlumency lessons since the age of nine? Besides, I've lived in fear for my life from Tiberius since I was in short pants. Whatever else happens, I've decided that I'll never live in fear of him again. If worst comes to worst, I'll stun the bastard and then climb over the walls and run away. I still have an offer of sanctuary from Madam Longbottom."

Harry grimaced. He would find _some_ way to keep the school from being closed down, whatever it took. And if he could not accomplish that, then he would find some way to protect Theo from the other boy's psychotic father ... again, _whatever it took_. Grimly, he thought once more about his desire not to start a body count and wondered if, perversely, that was a form of moral cowardice. He rubbed his eyes in frustration.

"Come on, Theo. Let's go. It'll be time for lunch soon." The two rose and headed for the door. Just as they reached the threshold, Harry spun around and hissed at the Hydra in a fury. There was no response, and Harry sighed loudly in disappointment. Theo gave his friend a sad look.

"Sorry, Harry."

"It's okay, Theo. Someday, I'll figure this out."

"Yeah," Theo said as he walked out the door ahead of Harry. "It's a pity you can't just conjure a snake and get it to translate for you."

"Mm-hmm," Harry replied absently as he followed his friend out, and the door closed behind him.

Exactly four seconds later, the door opened again, and Harry practically flew into the room, his wand out and an incantation on his lips.

"_**SERPENSORTIA!**_" he bellowed. There was a flash of light, and suddenly, a medium-sized milk snake appeared on the table.

"Talk to the Hydra statue!" Harry hissed commandingly. "Ask it why it won't talk to me!"

"Um, oookay," the snake hissed dubiously before turning towards seemingly immobile statue. "Hello, snakes! The Speaker wishes to know why you won't talk to him."

"Seriously?" exclaimed Theo in disbelief. "You honestly never thought of trying this?"

"_Not. Now. Theo._" Harry ground out the words through clenched teeth as he looked back and forth between the statue and the snake he'd conjured. The Hydra sat still and inanimate. Then, just as Harry was about to give up once more and vanish the snake, one of the Hydra heads moved. It was Delilah the Boomslang who turned her head to face Rajah, the great Basilisk who stood in the middle and served as the unofficial chair-snake for their committee.

"The false-snake raises a valid point," she hissed. "We are not expressly forbidden to talk to snakes. Only to other Speakers."

"Be silent, vacuous one!" the three-headed Runespoor angrily hissed in three-part harmony. "The order was clear and came from one with authority. It is not for us to question his command!"

"Well I, for one, do question it," hissed Ka the Cobra somewhat pompously. "It is far from clear that the Prince-Emeritus has the authority to issue such a command in his current state. The Creator left no wisdom applicable to these ... unusual circumstances."

"Irrelevent," rumbled Nidhogg the Krait. "This is a test for the Prince-Claimant. If he cannot defeat his enemy without our assistance, then he does not deserve that assistance in the first place."

"Perhaps," hissed Jormungand reasonably, "but we can at least respect the Prince-Claimant's cleverness in finding away around the limitations imposed by his secret enemy."

"What?!" Mara the Ashwinder hissed almost incredulously. "The Prince-Claimant wasn't clever _at all_! He only thought of this stratagem because the non-Speaker youngling suggested it to him! He's had _months_ to think of conjuring a serpent intermediary!" Harry actually winced at that and then blushed slightly.

"Enough!" hissed Rajah with authority. "I call for a vote. Let each serpent speak their will. Shall we speak to Prince-Claimant Harry Potter in defiance of the Prince-Emeritus's orders? Or shall we remain silent? Yes or no?"

"No!" hissed the Runespoor in unison.

"No," hissed the Krait.

"Yes," hissed the Boomslang forcefully.

"No," hissed the Ashwinder after a brief hesitation.

"Yes," hissed the Python.

"Yes," hissed the Cobra.

"The tie-breaking vote is mine," said the Basilisk. "And I vote ... no. The Prince-Claimant has failed to demonstrate a vision as bold and all-encompassing as that of the Prince-Emeritus, even if that vision is a profoundly troubling one. Thus, I vote to return to our former silence."

"But Ka...!" interrupted Delilah.

"We have _voted_, Exemplar of Subtlety. The majority has spoken and you will submit to it."

The Boomslang hissed in frustration. "Very well, Exemplar of Ambition. I submit to the majority's will. I will say nothing more to Prince-Claimant Potter."

The rest of the snakes hissed softly in agreement and moved back into their normal resting positions.

"Not even of the fact that the order came directly from Prince-Emeritus Tom Marvolo Riddle," she hissed smugly.

Instantly, all of the other heads hissed angrily at her defiance in revealing that secret, but Harry was sure he could hear the soft "ki-ki-ki" of Delilah's laugh over the din. Finally, the angry hisses died down, and the snakes returned to quiescence. The milk snake studied the throne for a moment and then turned back to Harry.

"They said no," it hissed blandly, as if bored by the proceedings.

"So I heard, but thanks anyway," hissed Harry as he raised his wand and vanished the conjured snake.

"Well," Theo asked. "For the benefit of those of us who don't speak snake, what did they say?"

Harry's face darkened. "They said '_Harry Potter is an __idiot__!_'" he said as he slammed his hand onto the table. "I should have realized months ago!"

"Realized what?"

Harry turned to face his friend with an angry expression. "The person who silenced all the snakes is ... probably the only person who ever could have! I'd assumed that the Heir of Slytherin was someone _descended _from Tom Marvolo Riddle, another student. But the person who _ordered_ the snakes not to talk to me was both another Parseltongue _and_ a former Prince. It's not Riddle's descendant. It's _Riddle himself!_"

"What?! You mean this Riddle guy's here at Hogwarts?"

"Yeah," said Harry. The boy reigned in his emotions and focused his anger into cold determination. "And I should have guessed the truth from the start. Who's the only new faculty member whose arrival coincided with the petrifications? Who's the only new faculty member who _also_ is remotely powerful enough and cunning enough to possibly get the drop on Dumbledore?" Harry's eyes narrowed as his surged against his emotional barriers. "And who's the guy who I distrusted from pretty much the moment I first saw him?"

Theo's eyes widened. "Lockhart?!"

"The man himself. Someone who's a bumbling pompous fool one minute and a brilliant duelist and expert on forbidden magic the next! Tom Riddle is _here in this school_ disguised as Gilderoy Lockhart!" Despite himself, Harry fumed at the idea while Theo contemplated his shocking theory. Then, Harry stiffened as an idea came to him. He turned to face his young friend.

"Theo, I need to borrow your family ring," he said, causing the boy's eyes to widen in surprise.

* * *

_**DMLE Headquarters  
10:00 a.m.**_

Unusually for someone of his stature, James Potter was at his desk early on a Saturday morning going through reports forwarded to him from magical law enforcement agencies around the world. He'd begun making inquiries almost three months before at the suggestion of Severus Snape. That by itself was an astonishing development. The two men had practically been in a blood feud since they were both eleven years old, but Snape was right – if the children of Hogwarts were in danger, it was time for the two of them to put aside their differences, at least for a while. Over the last few weeks, reports had finally been coming in, and while several of them were suggestive, none so far really constituted proof. None, that is, until late the previous afternoon, when a contact with the Australian DMLE forwarded the file on a cold case from the mid-1980's. James had come in on a Saturday to review it and take some notes before heading over to Hogwarts for the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match. He planned to quietly advise Dumbledore of his findings and then deliver a formal report to Scrimgeour on Monday.

Suddenly, one of the junior aurors burst into his office. "Sir!" she said almost in a panic.

"Easy, Talbot. Calm down. Now what's the trouble?" The young woman swallowed, and James was surprised by her lack of decorum. "_Obviously something bad,_" he thought. And he was right.

"We just got a Floo call from Hogwarts, sir. From Professor McGonagall." The young auror shook her head as if she couldn't believe what she was reporting. "Sir! Albus Dumbledore has been ... petrified!"

James gaped at the young woman in amazement and then looked down at his file. "_No_," he thought. "_I guess I won't be waiting to report to Scrimgeour on Monday._"

"Tell Professor McGonagall that I'll be over by Floo momentarily. Then, put a squad on standby. At least four aurors, including one senior. After I've met with her, I'll come back to collect them, but I want to be ready to move as soon as possible."

Talbot stared at him in astonishment. "But ... but sir. I thought the Hogwarts defenses wouldn't let us enter the grounds in force."

His eyes sparked almost triumphantly. "That's not _quite_ true, Talbot. There's an exception to that rule that now suddenly applies. Now, carry out my orders." The junior auror nodded and left the office. James opened a file cabinet and began thumbing through various form documents until he found the one he needed.

_**Form 20315/HAF – Hogwarts Authorization to Pursue Homicide Investigation **_

* * *

_**That afternoon at lunchtime...**_

Harry's surprising request led to a fifteen minute argument between Theo and himself. The Slytherins were forbidden to leave the dungeon unaccompanied, and so Harry had wanted to borrow Theo's heirloom Notice-Me-Not ring so that he could slip away from the rest of the House after lunch and search Lockhart's room. Naturally, Theo thought that was completely insane. Harry responded by repeating what Flint had told the House earlier – that after lunch, all of the professors would be holding an impromptu faculty meeting probably for the rest of the afternoon to discuss their options and hopefully present a unified front before the Board of Governors' meeting to be held on Sunday. That included Lockhart who with luck would be away from the DADA classroom and his attached quarters for hours.

Theo thought Harry's plan was absurdly "Gryffindorish." Harry bluntly admitted that it was. Unfortunately, they probably had a day at most to prove that Lockhart was the Heir of Slytherin before all the students were evacuated and the school shut down, so for once there simply wasn't time for Slytherin scheming. Theo finally agreed but with a condition: He insisted on accompanying Harry on his fact-finding mission. As Harry had pointed out, Theo would likely be the person most physically endangered by the school's closing, and as bad as it would be for Tiberius Nott to discover that Theo had the enchanted ring, it would be even worse if the Death Eater learned that his son had loaned it to the Potter Heir who later got caught with it.

Lunch passed slowly and quietly. The whole student body seemed subdued by the prospect of the school's closing, and Harry noticed Jim sitting off away from the rest of his House, many of whom were giving him sullen looks. Some did so because they thought Jim was the Heir, but it seemed others were just as down on him because the Boy-Who-Lived hadn't defeated the villain already. While Harry's relationship with his twin was complicated and fraught, he certainly didn't envy Jim his status as Boy-Who-Lived.

"_How miserable it would be if pretty much the entire nation thought __I__ was some sort of twelve-year-old superhero who should be expected to succeed where Dumbledore himself failed!_" Harry thought glumly.

Harry _also_ noticed that Lockhart arrived late for lunch, and the man seemed simultaneously excited and worried after his arrival. While eating, Harry and Theo quietly sounded out Blaise, Daphne, Ginny, and Astoria, and without giving out any details, they persuaded the four to run interference for them. At the end of the lunch hour, McGonagall announced that all students were to report to their dormitories while all teachers would be attending a mandatory faculty meeting in the staff lounge. As the Slytherins were leaving, Harry and Theo drifted to the back of the pack. Theo nodded, and Harry reached out and put his hand on the other boy's shoulder. Both of them took deep breaths as Theo twisted the ring. Still holding their breaths, the two darted away from the other Slytherins in the direction of the DADA classroom and Lockhart's attached quarters. The magical ring worked - no one noticed them.

About a thirty seconds later, they stopped when Harry's breath gave out. Theo looked at him with a mixture of surprise and annoyance.

"You should take up jogging," he said. "I may have hated every second of Lockhart's early morning workouts, but I can hold my breath for almost two minutes now."

"I'll take that under advisement," Harry replied while gulping in air. Then, he took a good hard look at his friend. Both of them were recovering from a certain degree of parental neglect that was being corrected magically via nutrient potions, but while Harry looked healthier than he'd ever been before, he was still nowhere near as muscular as his twin brother. And now that Theo had mentioned it, Harry pulled up a memory of first seeing Theo at last September's Sorting Feast. Comparing the two, he realized for the first time that his friend had indeed become much healthier-looking since then. He'd also grown an inch or two this year and had become noticeably athletic due to Lockhart's training regimen.

"_Hmm. I guess I __have__ been ignoring physical development in favor of purely mental development this year. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to do some running this summer ... though I'll be damned if I do it at __dawn__!"_

The two continued on to the DADA classroom.

"I still can't believe we're doing this," Theo muttered. "This is the most Gryffindorish thing I've ever done!"

"Really?" Harry asked in genuine surprise. "Worse than insisting that we lower you first into a pit of Devil's Snare? Or you and Blaise sneaking into the Mirror Room while I was distracting Quirrell and Voldemort with nothing but snappy banter?"

"Fair enough," Theo replied. "Say, do you think this is something we'll have to do at the end of every school year? Because if it is, maybe we _should_ let them close the school and relocate us to Durmstrang. It can't be _that_ much more dangerous than the nonsense we seem to get into."

Harry chuckled as they arrived at the door to Lockhart's classroom. It was locked. Harry quickly went through the handful of upper-level unlocking spells he knew and hit pay dirt with one Missy Bulstrode had taught him that was borderline illegal, which was thankfully not a problem in this instance because its applicability meant that the locking spell itself was also an illegal one. Harry and Theo quietly crept into the empty classroom.

* * *

_**Meanwhile in the Staff Room... **_

The Staff Room was on the Third Floor and was a relatively spacious area. Used primarily as a lounge, the Staff Room was also where faculty meetings were held, as Dumbledore preferred his meetings to be informal and so declined to hold them in his office. There was a fireplace attached to the Floo Network for the benefit of those teachers who did not have personal Floo connections, an amenity limited to Dumbledore and the four Heads of House. There were also enough comfy chairs for every faculty member plus a few extra for guests. There were also two attached faculty lavatories, one marked "Wizards" and the other "Witches."

Presently, the Staff Room was home to the entire Hogwarts faculty, most of whom were shouting at one another. A clear majority, led by Lily Potter, wanted to close the school immediately before any more petrifications occurred and without waiting on a decision from the Board of Governors. A vocal minority opposed that plan however, including Flitwick, Professor Babbling, and surprisingly Professors Trelawney and Lockhart. The Divination Professor warned direly that it was an inauspicious time to close down the school and doing so would impose terrible consequences. McGonagall, who believed that the students' safety trumped all other concerns, was actually reassured by Trelawney's opposition. If Sybil Trelawney and her All-Knowing Inner Eye strongly opposed some course of action, McGonagall generally thought it was a good idea to go ahead and do it as soon as possible. Flitwick, however, was opposed for more pragmatic reasons and grimly reminded the other faculty members that if the school closed, that closure would be magically enforced for a minimum of two years. Furthermore, if parents became comfortable with alternative options for their children's education _and_ the mystery of what caused the petrifications remained unsolved, there was no reason to think that any of those students would return once the school reopened.

"I quite agree with Filius. If we close the school, then whoever is responsible for the petrifications will almost certainly escape without anyone ever figuring out who it was. If that's the case, how could we ever reopen in a manner that reassures the parents?"

"It's interesting that you would place capturing the Heir of Slytherin above the safety of our students, Gilderoy," said Snape. "An odd perspective for a _Defense_ instructor."

"Severus!" McGonagall said in a warning voice. Then, despite herself, she glanced up nervously at the clock on the wall. Lockhart noticed, and his eyes narrowed slightly before he turned back to Snape.

"Honestly, Severus. I'm not even sure what you mean about the '_safety of our students._' While certainly troubling, petrification is not a life-threatening experience, and when the Mandrakes are ready on the 29th, everyone can be restored." Beside him, Professor Sprout nodded in agreement. "So all we need to do is stay calm. And in the meantime, I have ... some ... very promising ... leads." The man trailed off slowly as his eyes widened. Then, he suddenly jumped up from his chair.

"Aah! Er, excuse me, one and all, but I've just realized. There's something in the DADA classroom that might well shed some light on these affairs! Do excuse me for a moment." Then, he darted towards the door.

"Gilderoy!' exclaimed Minerva excitedly. "We are in the middle of an important meeting!"

"It's alright, Minerva, I shan't be a jiffy. Just talk amongst yourselves until I return. Here's a topic! '_Sweetbreads: Neither Sweet Nor Bread._' Discuss!" And with that, he fled the room. As the door closed, Snape also shot out of his chair.

"Should I go after him, Minerva?" he asked urgently.

"I don't _know_, Severus! Oh, if only he'd waited another minute or two!"

"Severus, why in Merlin's name would you _pursue_ Gilderoy to his office?" asked Lily in confusion. "Minerva, what's going on?"

Before she could answer, the fireplace burst into green flames, and immediately James Potter came through followed by three other aurors. "Nobody move!" Potter yelled. "Gilderoy Lockhart, you are under..." Potter stopped and scanned the room. "Arrest," he said in disappointment.

"James?!" Lily exclaimed, but Snape interrupted her before she could say anything more.

"He just left seconds ago, Potter," he said quickly. "On his way to his classroom or so he said."

"Right. Aurors with me. Everyone else, _stay here_!" The aurors left the Staff Room in pursuit while Lily and the other faculty members bombarded McGonagall and Snape with questions.

* * *

It had taken Harry and Theo nearly five minutes to open all the drawers to Lockhart's desk. Each one had been spell-locked with a _different_ spell, which Harry thought was absurdly paranoid, even for a dark wizard and especially because there was nothing of interest in them. Just a grade book, attendance records, lesson plans, and several stacks of final papers that had already been turned in. And certainly _nothing _about Tom Riddle _or_ the Heir of Slytherin.

Other than Lockhart's desk and chair, the room was fairly empty. All the student chairs and desks had been pushed to the sides in preparation for the Team Protector session which had been scheduled for Sunday afternoon but canceled after Dumbledore's petrification. The only other item of furniture in the room was the covered brass birdcage still full of Cornish Pixies that was situated next to the wall behind Lockhart's desk.

"Well, nothing out here," said Harry. "I guess we need to move on to his private quarters."

"Oh must you, Mr. Potter?" said a voice from the door. It was Lockhart, who was pointing his wand at the two of them. "Surely you've already invaded my privacy enough for one day. I'm almost inclined to award you House points for actually knowing the Charms to bypass my locking spells. But then, I'd have to dock you points as well for not anticipating that I'd added a personal alarm spell to my defense scheme since _the last time_ someone broke into this room."

Lockhart sauntered around the side of the room, and Harry and Theo edged around the opposite direction in an effort to keep the desk between Lockhart and themselves.

"Was that you then also, Mr. Potter? Professor Snape seemed quite convinced that it was your brother who stole all those vials of Polyjuice Potion. He was very disappointed when I proved otherwise. What _will_ he think when I bring _you_ in as the culprit?"

Harry took a breath and decided to bluff his way out. "I imagine any anger towards me will be offset when I tell him that _you're_ the Heir of Slytherin."

Lockhart paused and grinned. By this time they were still on opposite sides of the desk but now with the long side between them. "Me, Potter? You think _I_ am the Heir of Slytherin?! What in Merlin's name leads you to that conclusion?"

"Well, for one thing, based on this school's history over the last few decades, '_the DADA instructor did it_' is a reasonable starting point for any investigation. For another, I have reason to believe that Tom Marvolo Riddle is present in this school in some capacity, and the way I see it, you're pretty much the only one who could realistically be him in disguise."

Lockhart froze in surprise and then looked even more amused. "Ah, so not only am I the Heir of Slytherin, I'm also the elusive Tom Riddle come to Hogwarts for some nefarious purpose. That's actually a very amusing theory, albeit for reasons I'm afraid I cannot currently share with you."

At that, all three of them were distracted by the sounds of boots running down the hall nearby, and Harry took the opportunity to push both Theo and himself back against the wall while drawing his own wand. Then, to his complete surprise, his father burst into the room, wand drawn and with four aurors behind him. James Potter looked surprised to see him, but immediately focused his attention on Lockhart instead.

"Abbott, put a shield on the boys." One of the aurors directed a wand towards Harry and Theo and cast a Protego Shield over them. "It's okay, Harry. It's just for your protection. Gilderoy Lockhart, you're under arrest. Surrender your wand and come peacefully."

"Before I surrender _anything_, Potter, I would like to know what I am being charged with. For that matter, how are you lot even here to charge me? It was my understanding that aurors weren't permitted on the Hogwarts grounds for such purposes."

"Unfortunately for you, Lockhart, there's an exception for _murder investigations_."

"Oh yes, I do recall you mentioning that the last time you were here. And who is it I'm meant to have murdered?"

James's eyes narrowed angrily. "_Whoever it was,"_ thought Harry in surprise, "_James Potter takes it personally._"

"Does the name _Lazarus White_ mean anything to you, Professor?" James said in a cold voice.

Lockhart's eyebrows rose slightly before he regained control of himself. "Should it?"

"Oh, I think so," James said harshly. "I've been studying you and your published works for a while now, though to be fair, it was Professor Snape who put me onto you. At first, all I could find was an odd and troubling coincidence. You see, over the course of your first four books, you described defeating or destroying a number of different dark creatures. _It just so happens_ that for every such incident, there was always a report of someone in the region – an auror, a defense instructor, sometimes just some local witch or wizard with a history of heroism and civic responsibility – but always someone who _had_ been working to defeat those creatures only to show up later suffering from retrograde amnesia. And always around the same time as your own '_heroic feats._' In fact, for three of those victims, it was total retrograde amnesia, a complete and irreversible erasure of the person's former personality and past."

"That _is_ an odd coincidence, Auror Potter, but I'm still not hearing anything about a murder."

The other aurors were fanning out to flank Lockhart while Potter kept him talking. Abbott moved closer to Theo and Harry while still maintaining a Protego over them, ready to usher them out of the room the instant things went hot.

"Well you see, Lockhart, that takes us to your fifth book, _**Wanderings with Werewolves**_ in which you supposedly killed the werewolf who responsible for the Wagga Wagga Massacre of 1985. Lazarus White was a highly respected and skilled young auror with the Australian DMLE whose entire family was slaughtered in that attack. He survived ... until you showed up looking to interview him about his experiences. Next thing you know, he's vanished never to be seen again, and _you're_ writing a heavily edited book about how _you _killed the Wagga Wagga werewolf all by yourself. What happened, Lockhart? Was a trained battle-hardened auror too much for you? So you had to _kill_ him instead of just stealing his memories of slaying the werewolves? And I guess after that, you learned to cover your tracks better?"

To James's mounting rage, Lockhart actually laughed. "Oh, Potter, so full of righteous indignation over half-formed theories. Such a Gryffindor you are! Do you actually have any _evidence _to support these _slanderous_ accusations?"

"I have enough for Veritaserum, Lockhart. Now, will you come along peacefully? Or will you make things difficult? Because I strongly suspect you murdered a brother auror and you mind-assaulted Merlin knows how many other heroes. So honestly? I kind of hope you resist."

Lockhart threw his head back and gave out another "_ha-Ha!_" Then, in a blur of motion, he lashed out, casually flicking his wand towards Abbot and banishing him into his own Protego spell. The shield collapsed immediately, and the stunned auror fell to the ground between Theo and Harry, knocking them both aside. The attack in his son's direction distracted James for just a second as he looked over to Harry in concern. The remaining aurors sent stunners towards Lockhart but were shocked when he casually batted them aside. On the floor over by the wall, Harry quietly cast the Averto Shield spell on his own wand.

Then, Lockhart waved his wand towards his heavy desk, which suddenly flew through the air towards James Potter. By that point, James had recovered from his momentary surprise and instantly transfigured the desk into a flock of butterflies which flew up harmlessly towards the ceiling. But then, he realized that the desk attack was only a feint, as Lockhart had ducked under another auror's attack spell, dropped to one knee, and waved his wand in a wide arc.

"_**ACCIO FURNITURE!**_" Instantly, all the desks and chairs that had been pushed up against the back wall slid quickly and violently towards Lockhart knocking most of the aurors to the ground. James reacted faster than the rest though and threw himself over the sliding furniture to land in a crouching position. To his surprise though, Lockhart had already moved on to casting his next spell, and to his horror, James knew what that spell was.

"LOCKHART! NO!" he cried out and tried desperately to get a stunner off but the furniture blocked him. As Potter was desperately trying to get off a clean shot, Lockhart whirled his wand arm in a wide circle over his head. From where Harry sat, it looked as though Lockhart's eyes were lit up with delirious madness.

"_**FIENDFYRE!**_" he cried out in exultation before slashing his wand down almost to the floor.

And then, Hell came to Hogwarts.

Harry had a brief impression of a portal opening up to ... somewhere else. Then, an unnatural fire _poured_ out of that opening, one that looked like lava only no longer bound by gravity, and along with the hellfire came incoherent screams that filled Harry with dread. Screams of fury and terror and above all jubilation over the opportunity to _feed and burn._ Lockhart gestured wildly with his arms, splaying them out in opposite directions, and in response, the hellish fire shot out both to the left and the right of the man until they formed a wall of flame separating Lockhart from his attackers.

On the right side of the room, Harry saw the hellfire heading in his general direction, although it appeared that it would not strike him nor Theo nor the stunned auror. He blinked twice and dilated his perceptions before spending two beats of his heart considering his options. Then, he cast a quick Levitation Charm and used it to propel Theo and Abbot even farther from the hellfire even as he flung himself in the opposite direction just as the flames reached the wall.

"HARRY!" Theo screamed as the young Slytherin was now alone with Lockhart on one side of the infernal flames while Theo and the aurors were stuck on the other side. James was horrified by the development and furiously cast a bludgeoning curse towards Lockhart only to see it consumed by the laughing flames.

For his part, Harry ignored everything except Professor Lockhart and pointed his wand in the other man's direction. "_**LACERO.**_" Harry practically whispered the curse hoping that Lockhart wouldn't hear and realize what spell he was using, and he aimed close to the ground, hoping it was too low for Lockhart to parry with his own Averto. Harry's gambit succeeded as the Cutting Curse shot towards the man and sliced the back of his hamstring before he could dodge. Lockhart screamed and dropped to one knee. But before Harry could press his advantage, Lockhart lashed out with his wand again, this time targeting the Cornish Pixie cage which flew across the room to crash land right in front of Harry.

The boy had just a moment of panic as the entire swarm broke free and went after him in a frenzy, but then he collected himself and cast the Vestamentarum shield as he'd learned all those months ago. Immediately, all the attacking pixies shied away after a few hits on his electrified personal body armor. He climbed to his feet and made his way easily through the cloud of pixies. Lockhart was still limping from the Cutting Curse and had just made his way up the small staircase to the door of his private quarters. Harry fired off two more Cutting Curses, but Lockhart parried both before escaping into the other room. Harry muttered a mild profanity and then turned to look at the wall of Fiendfyre which now reached up to the ceiling and completely blocked off the other half of the room. He thought he could hear James and Theo calling for him, but their voices were distorted eerily by the flames, and Harry was disturbed to see angry bestial faces appearing within the fire and then receding back into it.

The boy knew little of Fiendfyre. It was considered very dark and almost always led to a stretch in Azkaban unless used for some legitimate purpose (which was narrowly defined). Unless suppressed magically, it would burn for days, and if allowed to run free it would actively pursue living targets out of a quasi-sentient desire to burn them to death. Then, Harry paled. "_Lockhart's left the room and is likely trying to flee Hogwarts," _he thought with a sudden stab of fear. "_Which means that he might surrender control of the Fiendfyre at any moment!_" Concluding that Lockhart probably couldn't do anything to him that was _worse _than burning to death, Harry darted up the steps after the fleeing man.

Immediately upon crossing the threshold, Harry had to duck out of the way of a Disarming Charm. The boy and his former teacher then engaged in a duel that onlookers would have considered quite impressive if rather brief and with a predictable outcome. After ten seconds of furious spellcasting and parrying, Harry dodged a Jelly-Legs Jinx only to step onto a small Persian rug. Lockhart lashed out with a silent Summoning Charm that targeted the rug and caused it to fly out from underneath's Harry's feet and dump him flat onto his back.

"_**EXPELLIARMUS. INCARCEROUS.**_" Two quick spells later, and Harry was disarmed and bound on the floor with Lockhart holding the boy's wand. He examined it briefly and then tossed it onto the nearby bed before pointing his wand at the still-open door. "_**COLLOPORTUS TRIMENDIUM**_." There was a flash of light on the outer threshold of the door before the door itself slammed shut with great force. Then, dozens of locks appeared all around the door frame which then connected themselves to one another with a web of heavy chains. Finally, there was a flash of light to indicate a magical barrier on the interior of the room.

"If I am still allowed to give points, Mr. Potter, then take five for Slytherin House. You performed admirably and have clearly learned a great deal this year. There is no shame in losing to a much more experienced opponent, particularly when you have had no opportunity to plan ahead. And _especially_ when your opponent is also your combat magic instructor.

"What are you _doing_?!" exclaimed Harry angrily as he struggled in his bonds.

"Escaping, Mr. Potter. Even after the aurors get past the Fiendfyre, they must still get through the Colloportus Trimendium. The Three-Fold Locking spell, one of the most complicated door-sealing wards I know of. It is very unlikely that your father will get through that door before I exit the stage with my usual dramatic flair."

"No, not... I mean why have you been doing all the things you've been doing. The petrifications. The ... other stuff. Why?!"

Lockhart shrugged with a cheery smile. "Why ask why, Mr. Potter? Perhaps its as the Bard said. '_In this, though I cannot be said to be a flattering honest man, it must not be denied but I am a plain-dealing villain._' You know, for a Muggle, Old Billy Shakespeare really had a way with words. _ha-Ha!_" And then, to Harry's amazement, Lockhart's annoying laugh continued until it became a deranged cackle. "AH-HA, HA-HA-HA, BWA-HA-HA!"

Harry shook his head as if to clear it. The man's behavior was becoming so bizarre, so out of step with his carefully constructed image, that Harry wondered briefly if one or both of them had gotten a concussion during their earlier duel. Then, Harry's attention was refocused by the enormous BOOM caused by the sealed door to the room being blasted off its hinges to land on the floor.

"Harry!" James yelled almost in a panic. But then, as he tried to enter the room, there was a flash of light, and he was repelled by the last layer of the Three-Fold Locking Spell. He pounded on the barrier impotently with his fist. "Proudfoot! Savage! Get this last ward down, NOW! Harry! Are you okay, son?!"

"I'm okay... for the moment, I guess!"

"Your precious spawn is fine, _Potter_. I've already had enough fun trying to kill him for one year!"

Harry's head whipped around back towards the DADA instructor at that comment. "What?!"

"Yes, you _fools!_ It was I! _**I**_ was the one who petrified those students and then Dumbledore! _**I**_ was the one responsible for locker room prank that led to Harry Potter and his Quidditch team-mates nearly dying of exposure! _**I**_ was the one who used the Imperius Curse on Fred Weasley to force him to cover for me! _**I**_ did it _all! _BWA-HA-HA!"

As the aurors renewed their efforts to get through the final ward, Harry could only stare goggle-eyed and open-mouthed at the DADA instructor, who was once again laughing maniacally.

"_WHAT?!_" he finally shouted in complete consternation. "But ... _why_? Why in Merlin's name would you have done all that!?"

"Forget it, _Potter_," Lockhart spat. "Your pitiful mind cannot comprehend the intricacies of my diabolical genius!"

With that, he turned around to face two large trunks which Harry had not noticed before now and shrank them down small enough to fit into his pockets. As he did, Harry noticed that the man had somehow found the time to heal the cut on his leg and repair the corresponding cut to his trousers. He turned to face Harry once more with a far more relaxed expression.

"Still, fair is fair, I suppose," he said with astonishing reasonableness considering how he'd just been ranting. "Let me assure you, Harry Potter, that I _was not_ the person who tried to kill you with the cursed Bludgers during your first Quidditch match, nor was I responsible for the attempts on your life last summer. It appears you have _someone else_ who wants you dead as well. Good luck with that."

And with that, he whirled around and pointed his wand at the windows on the other side of the room. "_**BOMBARDA!**_" There was a tremendous CRASH as the windows exploded outwards. Then, Lockhart snatched up a broom that was laying on the bed next to Harry's wand (and which Harry had _also_ not noticed before now) and strode over to the now open windows.

"You may have defeated me _this_ time, _Potters_! But I shall return _AND WREAK MY VENGEANCE! BWA-HA-HA!_" As he laughed, the Professor raised his fist and shook it menacingly towards the astonished boy. Then, he mounted his broom and took off out the open window just as the aurors dismantled the last ward and James Potter nearly fell into the room. James ran over to the window but then cursed loudly as Lockhart was already too far away to target with a spell. He turned back towards Harry, dispelled the boy's magical bonds, and then swept him up into a bone-crushing embrace.

"Harry! Are you okay?! Did that bastard do anything to you?!"

Harry leaned back and stared up into his father's eyes as he tried to process everything that had just happened.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!" he yelled in utter frustration.

* * *

While James Potter seemed incredibly relieved that Harry was safe, his relief did not extend to bailing the boy (or his friend Theo) out of trouble. For being out of bounds during a lock-down situation and for interfering with an auror investigation, Harry and Theo were each docked twenty-five points and assigned two weeks of detentions, split between cleaning the now demolished DADA classroom (without magic!) and helping Professor Sprout with the final preparations for harvesting the Mandrakes.

As frustrating as it was, Harry couldn't complain. Plenty of others did, though, as the loss of fifty points knocked the Slytherins all the way down to third place in the House Cup, though they were still far ahead of the hapless Gryffindors. The day had somehow become a replay of the previous year's disaster with Quirrell. Only then, Harry had understood what was happening and been _not_ been the one responsible for cocking up Dumbledore's overcomplicated plan for catching Voldemort. That had been Jim's job instead. This year, however, Harry was the one who had been out of the loop and consequently the one to ruin everything. By attempting to break into Lockhart's office and then setting off his alarm, Harry was responsible for drawing Lockhart away from the Staff Office (where he'd likely have been arrested without incident) and to the DADA classroom (where the aurors found him with his wand already drawn and with two stupid little Second Years to serve as potential hostages). Granted, the school was no longer in danger of closure, and after Harry and James each presented memory-testimonies of Lockhart's confession, the suspension of Fred Weasley would be overturned. But on the whole, it had been a very bad day.

* * *

_**The Prince's Lair  
10:00 p.m.**_

Later that night, Harry was still upset, even more so after he returned to the Lair to discover that the Hydra _still_ wouldn't talk to him. He sat in his chair at the table brooding with Theo and Blaise sitting across from him.

"I just don't understand what Lockhart hoped to accomplish," Harry said tiredly.

"Well," said Blaise. "Look on the bright side. You were right from the start. Lockhart was the bad guy. You get bragging rights for that at least."

"I knew he was untrustworthy," Harry said irritably. "But I never imagined that he would turn into ... whatever that was supposed to be. A cackling loon?"

"Harry," said Theo, who had been listening to variations on this for hours. "Let it go."

"**HE SAID '**_**BWA-HA-HA!**'" _Harry shouted, startling the other two boys. "Who _does _that?! No one in real life goes into a rant and laughs 'BWA-HA-HA'!? People don't even do that in _books_ anymore! Only in _very old movies_ where the villain is a cartoon character who fights Flash Gordon or some other rubbish like that!"

Blaise sighed. "Well, did he say anything else? You know, other than BWA-HA-HA?"

"He didn't have time. I got in the room. We dueled for maybe fifteen seconds before he disarmed and bound me. Then, he only had about ten seconds to gloat before my father blew in the door."

Harry looked up and noticed that Theo was staring at him wide-eyed.

"What?" he asked.

"Harry?" Theo said very quietly. "I was in the DADA classroom the whole time. It took your father and the other aurors _at least_ _three minutes _to get the Fiendfyre under control before they could even get to the door, and then another minute or so getting through the first layer of wards. You must have been alone with Lockhart for ... I don't know. Four minutes? Maybe longer?"

Harry stared at his friend for several seconds. "What?" he asked once again, this time in a leaden voice.

Suddenly, Theo reached into his pocket and pulled out the Nott Family Remembrall which he tossed to Harry who caught it easily. The second it touched his hand, the device turned a vivid ... _blue_.

"Okay," Harry said with exaggerated calm. "That's new."

"Red is for erased or altered memories caused by the original Memory Charm spells," said Blaise as he walked around the Hydra to stand over Harry. As Blaise spoke, Harry remembered that the other boy had spent the whole year on Team Recall learning about memory-altering spells. "Blue, on the other hand, represents the more modern Memory Lock series of spells."

Zabini waved his wand over the Remembrall in an intricate pattern, and several ghostly runes appeared above it. The boy studied them for a second with a worried expression on this face.

"Harry," he said, "according to the Remembrall, earlier today you had four minutes and twenty-three seconds of your memories locked away." He took a deep breath. "And you_ voluntarily consented_ to the procedure."

Harry stared at Blaise for several seconds, and then said the only thing he could think to say, the word that summed up this entire afternoon.

"... what?"

* * *

**The next chapter will be posted sometime between April 11 and April 13. "Endgame, Pt 1," in which Harry races to recover the lost information sealed away in his mind by Lockhart, while the Heir of Slytherin prepares for his masterstroke.  
**

**AN 1: Lockhart's quote is from the soliloquy of Don John the Bastard in "Much Ado About Nothing" (which incidentally started Kenneth Branagh (Lockhart) as Benedict and Emma Thompson (Trelawney) as Beatrice.**

**AN 2: Some clever reviewer from a month or so back suggested that Harry summon a snake to talk to the Hydra for him, which had honestly not occurred to me. So I decided that this simple solution wouldn't occur to Harry either until later when someone cleverer than him casually mentioned the idea. **

**AN 3: If you think you've figured out what Lockhart's deal is, feel free to message me but please don't spoil it in any reviews. Thanks.**


	74. HP&TSE 40 - Endgame (Pt 1)

**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY **

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

* * *

**CHAPTER 40: Endgame (Part 1)**

* * *

**TRIGGER WARNING: Spiders**

The astonishing revelations from earlier that afternoon – that Gilderoy Lockhart (a) was a dark wizard (b) who confessed before witnesses to engineering both the petrifications and the locker room prank on the Slytherins (c) before dramatically fleeing Hogwarts – sent shockwaves through the school. At the evening meal, Acting-Headmistress McGonagall made all the relevant announcements, most importantly that the school was no longer in danger of being shut down since the person responsible had been removed for good. Naturally, this led to uproarious applause from the student body and especially from the Gryffindors when it was announced that Fred Weasley would be returning the following morning.

Dinner was followed by one of Gryffindor's legendary parties. Oliver Wood was in high spirits over the news that the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match had been rescheduled for later in the month. Several of the Gryffindors who had openly accused Jim of being the Heir of Slytherin came to apologize, albeit grudgingly, and Jim thanked them politely but tersely in a way that suggested that the matter was forgiven but decidedly not forgotten. And he wasn't even that magnanimous to House-mates like Cormac McLaggen who he'd overhead saying "_At least his brother Harry was out there trying to do something helpful even if he got into trouble for it. I still say they got Sorted wrong._"

Unfortunately, Jim didn't even have the choice of whether to forgive Ron or not. His former friend just gave him a quick glare from across the Common Room before running upstairs without a word. And the saddest part was that after everything, Jim thought he probably _would_ forgive Ron in an instant if only the boy would show the common decency to just apologize for the way he'd been acting.

* * *

Much later, after everyone else had gone to bed. Ron sat in his bed with the diary of Tom Marvolo Riddle clenched his hands.

"_Let me go. Let me go. Let me go_." He whispered over and over to himself for hours, but no one ever responded.

* * *

There had also been a rather more subdued party in the Slytherin dungeons that night. Once the twin threats of petrification and school closure had apparently been dealt with, Harry's rivals in the House turned their attention to loudly blaming him and Theo for the late term loss of fifty House points. Harry, of course, couldn't care less about the lost House points and withdrew from the Common Room to the Lair with barely a glance towards Cassius Warrington and Miranda Bonneville, who had both recently moved up the rankings on Harry's personal To-Do list.

Later, after the startling discovery that Harry had intentionally allowed Gilderoy Lockhart to block almost four-and-a-half minutes of their conversation from his memories, the three young Slytherins spent another hour in Harry's pensieve reviewing the scene to find the gap. On the fourth repetition, Blaise spotted it. Just before James Potter blasted the door off its hinges and while Lockhart was laughing maniacally, there was the very slightest _hiccup_ in the playback. During one of Lockhart's demented laughs, his body position changed fractionally but instantaneously. Equally telling was when Theo looked out the window and noticed a bird flying by some distance away. At the exact instant of the hiccup, the bird instantly jumped a distance of what looked to be at least a mile.

Unfortunately, knowing where the gap was provided no knowledge of what took place during it. According to Blaise (who had spent most of the year studying Memory Charms in Team Recall), it was absolutely impossible to recover memories sealed with a Memory Lock unless the one who placed it somehow arranged for the recipient to receive the unlock code. Harry remembered the code he picked for Mr. X (the one about Voldemort that he hoped he'd never need to use). Presumably, Lockhart would communicate the code to him at some point, but he wasn't required to, and he might well choose to keep his secret forever. Indeed, if the aurors got to him before he sent Harry the code, the memory might be lost forever regardless of what he wanted.

Tired and annoyed, Harry and his friends left the Lair around midnight just as the party was dying down. Near the entry point for Prefect's Row, they encountered Miranda Bonneville who was waiting for them with her arms crossed and a smug expression on her face.

"Well, well, well!" she sneered. "It's the little Second Years who thought they could capture the DADA instructor! What are you three always doing back there anyway? Flint and Bulstrode just let you three have run of the place! It's pitiful!" Then, she seemed to sneer even harder.

Harry turned to his friends. "Why is it that everyone in this House is always sneering at something? It's very off-putting plus it loses its effectiveness if you do it all the time. '_You there! Pass me the salt and pepper!_'" Harry gave an exaggerated sneer to accentuate that last command. "We should do something about that."

Bonneville scoffed. "Well, whatever you're doing back there, you can forget about it when I'm Seventh Year prefect. I've got a lot of changes in store for next year." She took a step forward. "And that includes putting a few people who don't know their place ... back into it."

Harry studied the girl ... and then slowly _smiled._ "Look around the room, Bonneville." He gestured around the nearly empty chamber. "Go on. Look. What do you see?"

She looked around carefully. "Just the Common Room."

"Right. Now, I want you to spend the next few minutes studying this room and committing it to memory."

Her eyes narrowed. "Why?" she asked warily.

"So that years from now, you can look back and remember this exact second ... _as_ _the moment when everything went horribly wrong_. Good night, Bonneville."

With that, the three boys swept past the furious prefect and headed up to their rooms.

* * *

_**9 May 1993  
8:00 a.m.**_

When Harry awoke early the next morning, he first made his way to the Library to look up the Colloportus Trimendium spell as it was one he never planned to be on the wrong side of again. That accomplished, he made his way down to the Great hall for breakfast where the entire room was abuzz with excitement. Harry couldn't feel any excitement himself, of course. His detention would begin after lunch: three hours of a lovely Sunday afternoon spent shoveling dragon dung into pots for the final Mandrake repotting prior to their harvest at the end of the month. While he and his peers no longer had to deal with the annoying (and dangerous) little plants directly, Harry thought that might be preferable to handling what was considered the smelliest, most disgusting form of animal waste known to wizard-kind.

As soon as Harry walked into the Great Hall, Marcus Flint called out to him. "Potter! Have you seen the _Prophet_ yet?"

"Nope. Anything interesting?"

Flint scoffed and then handed his copy to the boy who opened it to the front page ... and immediately started coughing at the headline.

_**SUNDAY PROPHET: SPECIAL EDITION  
**_**INSANE GILDEROY LOCKHART CAPTURED!  
CONFESSES TO BEING HEIR OF SLYTHERIN  
BEFORE MAGICALLY LOBOTOMIZING SELF!**

Below the headline was a picture of the man himself in a straightjacket staring vacantly at the camera with a loopy grin on his face and a bit of drool slipping down his chin. Harry sat down to read the story in all its lurid glory. Apparently, after evading a nationwide manhunt (or wizardhunt, as it were), the man showed up early that morning just before dawn at the offices of the _Daily Prophet _in disheveled clothes and carrying a large valise. There, he held the weekend staff members at wandpoint for nearly twenty minutes while he gave a long, rambling (but surprisingly thorough) confession to the only reporter in the building, a sports columnist who was on hand typing up his commentary on the previous day's Tutshill Tornados-Holyhead Harpies match. Lockhart claimed responsibility for the petrifications and the "Heir of Slytherin" graffiti, which he said was part of his plan to get the school closed "because those weak-minded_ fools_ didn't appreciate [his] genius!" He also took credit for a malicious prank that nearly led to the deaths of the entire Slytherin Quidditch team, and he confessed to illegally using Memory Charms to erase the memories of dozens of people so that he could take credit for their heroic exploits in what he had falsely claimed were autobiographical books. Last but not least, he also confessed to using Memory Charms to rob people or for "other purposes" which the newspaper would not reveal to protect the innocence of its young readers.

Finally, as aurors drew near to the scene, the cheerful lunatic gave one last jaunty "_ha-Ha!_" before placing his wand to his temple and uttering an obscure Memory Charm so powerful that it left him nearly catatonic. According to medical examination, this state was completely irreversible, as this version of the Memory Charm was the one used in certain foreign countries as a form of non-lethal capital punishment known as "death of personality." After confirming the man's permanent incapacity, the aurors reported that the valise he'd brought with him contained nothing but his last will and testament (which left everything to his longtime manservant, an elderly squib of Asian descent named Cato) as well as drafts of his final DADA exams for all seven years of Hogwarts students. The aurors transported Lockhart to the Janus Thickey Long-Term Care Ward at St. Mungo's Hospital, where he would remain until such time as the Wizengamot ruled on the legality of trying a criminal defendant completely unable to understand what he was on trial for, as well as the ethics of sending someone to Azkaban who had been reduced to the mental age of a newborn. Ironically, Lockhart himself had recently donated thousands of galleons to the Janus Thickey Ward out of proceeds from special charity reprints of several of his books. Now, it was possible he would spend the rest of his life there.

Harry sat down to the table as he absorbed the information. Between the Memory Lock (which suggested that he talked peacefully with Lockhart for over four minutes in the man's quarters) and the bizarrely over-the-top confessions that Lockhart made both before at the scene and later to the _Prophet_ reporters, Harry was now convinced that Lockhart was _innocent_ of the various crimes of which he'd confessed. Well, _some_ of them, at least. Harry thought that Lockhart definitely gave a false confession to clear Fred Weasley's name and also to delay the Heir of Slytherin's efforts to close the school. Unfortunately, Harry had no proof for that theory, and if Lockhart was a permanent amnesiac, he'd never get any.

Suddenly, he was distracted from his musings by a mighty cheer that rose up from the Gryffindor table. Fred Weasley had just entered the Hall to a standing ovation from his House, followed by hugs from each of his siblings in turn. As Harry observed the Weasley children bonding together, he noticed as Ron and Ginny bumped into each other somewhat awkwardly. Then, impulsively, Ginny pulled Ron into a hug as well, and after a moment's hesitation, Ron hugged her back with a tentative affection. Harry was pleased to see Ginny and Ron getting over their differences ... after he took a few seconds to purge himself of any slight feelings of jealousy of Weasley family's relative closeness. He also spared a glance towards Jim who was watching the Weasleys reconnect with a warm smile and somewhat misty eyes. Shaking off the impulse towards mawkishness that was suddenly rising within him, Harry turned back to the _Daily Prophet._

* * *

_**Gryffindor Tower  
9:30 a.m.**_

Ron banged furiously on the door of the room shared by Jim and Neville, but there was no answer. He'd seen both boys leave the Great Hall at around the same time. Surely _one _of them would be here by now. Of course, he had something in his possession that would let him know _exactly_ where Jim and Neville were, but he had been afraid to open his bag and check the Map.

Because the Map was right next to the Book.

There was only one book in Ron's life worthy of capital letters. He'd been calling it a notebook, but it wasn't even though Ron had used it for that purpose all year long. But now, perhaps when it was too late, Ron had finally realized that it had used him more than the other way round. An hour earlier while in the embrace of his siblings, an unexpected surge of positive emotions cut through the cobwebs that had been clogging his mind for most of the past year. He didn't know how long this clarity would last, and so, in his desperation, he seized upon an almost infantile belief that formed within him when he was a small child and which had comforted him ever since: that whenever there was evil afoot, the Boy-Who-Lived would be on hand to save the day.

Unfortunately, the Boy-Who-Lived wasn't in at the moment, and no one was there to answer the door. Ron looked up and down the corridor and saw that no one was coming. Grimacing, he dropped down to one knee and carefully opened his bag. Gently, he tried to pull the Map out without touching the black book, but despite his best efforts, his fingers grazed against its soft leather cover. Ron blinked ... and suddenly he was tightly holding the book in his hands instead of the Map he'd meant to pull out. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to block out that terrible hissing that somehow was at once both inaudible and deafening. He felt something in the back of his mind that tried to dredge up the feelings of jealousy, insecurity, and anger that had festered in him for years. But for once, he could fight back. He focused on the feeling of love he felt when Fred walked into the Great Hall, and the even greater surge of it he felt when Ginny hugged him and let him know that she still cared about him even after how awful he'd been to her this year. This mind-snake hissed angrily.

Ron opened his eyes. The book was still in his hands, and he knew he couldn't resist it for long. He looked over at the door to Jim's room. There was a gap between the floor and the bottom of the door. He took a breath and shoved the notebook underneath the door and into Jim's room.

"_He'll know what to do. He's the Boy-Who-Lived. He'll know what to do._" Ron thought those words over and over like a mantra to drown out the now furious hissing going on in his head. Then, he heard someone coming up the stairs. Quickly, he grabbed his bag, jumped up, and scrambled further up the stairwell towards Percy's private study room. Just a few seconds behind him, Jim came up the stairs, dispelled the locking wards on his room, and entered, closing the door behind him.

Immediately upon entering his dorm room, Jim struck the black notebook with his foot, and it slid across the floor. Surprised, Jim stepped over and picked it up to examine it. He recognized it, of course. Ron had never been without the notebook into which he had faithfully scribbled everything from class notes to daily schedules to doodles of Gilderoy Lockhart with a comically giant head. But to Jim's surprise, when he flipped through the book now, its pages were blank. He turned back to the cover to inspect it and noticed for the very first time that it had a name engraved on it. "_Tom Marvolo Riddle_."

The name was familiar to Jim, and after a few seconds, he recalled Hagrid mentioning Tom as a good friend back during his school days, the one who mistakenly thought Hagrid was the original Heir of Slytherin and who had inadvertently gotten him expelled as a result. But how did Ron get hold of the man's diary fifty years later? His curiosity overcoming his caution, Jim sat down with the book at a writing desk and opened it again. Then, he took out a quill and an inkpot and started to write, only to pause before the quill touched the page.

"_Why am I writing in the suspiciously empty journal that just appeared in my room and which obviously has something to do with the petrifications from back in 1943 __and__ possibly something to do with why Ron's been acting like a complete prat for these last few months_?"

The boy wavered for a few seconds until a single drop of ink fell from the quill onto the blank page below where it was instantly absorbed completely. Jim gasped at the sudden sensation of ... _something_, and before he could form a coherent thought in response, his fears and cautiousness melted away while a strong sense of curiosity about the book blossomed and took root.

"_Well, it wouldn't hurt to test this thing just a little, I suppose._"

Guided by that impulse, Jim set his quill against the faded paper.

_**My name is Jim Potter.**_

The ink quickly faded away to be replaced by another message in response.

_**Hello, Jim Potter. My name is Tom Riddle.**_

That message faded too, leaving a blank page. Excited (and heedless of the faint warning bells in the back of his head), Jim wrote again.

_**Do you know anything about the Heir of Slytherin?**_

The ink faded, and a single word materialized and then vanished.

_**Yes.**_

Jim's heart rate speed up in excitement.

_**Can you tell me?**_

_**No... but I can show you.**_

Jim dropped the quill in surprise as an unearthly glow erupted from the seam of the opened pages, enveloping him in its light. The next thing he knew he was standing in a different part of Hogwarts, near the main foyer ... and it was suddenly night. Whirling around in confusion, Jim suddenly noticed someone he didn't recognize approaching. It was an older boy, a Fifth Year judging by the prefect's pin on his Slytherin robes.

"Um, excuse me? Do you know how I got here?" The other boy made no sign of having heard him, and when Jim reached out as the other boy passed, his hand passed right through the boy's arm as if it were intangible. Shocked, Jim followed the boy down the darkened corridor. He paused at the edge of the stairs leading up to the second floor. Coming down from the second floor were several DMLE officials transporting a levitating stretcher. Jim shuddered. On the stretcher was a body with a sheet over it, female from the look of the hand sticking out.

"Myrtle Warren," Jim said softly. Then, he heard a voice call out "Riddle!" He followed the older boy, who was obviously Tom Riddle himself, up the stairs where he was surprised to see a much younger Dumbledore (relatively speaking – he looked to be about sixty) at the top.

"Professor Dumbledore," Tom replied before ascending the stairs with a humble expression.

"It is not wise to be wandering around this late hour, Tom," Dumbledore said. Jim was surprised by the slight coldness in the man's voice as he spoke.

"_Maybe he mellowed with age,_" Jim thought to himself.

"Yes, Professor," Tom said respectfully. "I suppose I had to see for myself if the rumors were true."

"I'm afraid they are, Tom. They are."

"About the school as well? I don't really have a home to go to. They wouldn't really close Hogwarts, would they, Professor?"

"I understand, Tom," Dumbledore said more gently. "But I'm afraid Headmaster Dippet may have no choice."

"Sir," Tom said slowly, "if it all stopped... If the person responsible was caught...?"

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed, and to Jim's surprise, he took a step back from the boy. "Is there something you wish to tell me, Tom?" he asked with obvious suspicion.

Instantly, Tom's face registered complete innocence. "No, sir. Nothing."

Dumbledore stared at the boy for a long time before speaking. "Very good then," he said quietly. "Off you go."

"Good night, sir," Tom said with a respectful nod before leaving Dumbledore.

Jim followed, and to his surprise, the Slytherin headed off not towards the dungeons but towards Gryffindor Tower and eventually to a forgotten set of rooms several floors below it. Tom paused at a door and drew his wand. Then, he took a deep breath and threw the door open. Instantly, Jim realized that it was private room of Rubeus Hagrid, currently a Third Year student segregated from the rest of his House due to bigotry against his half-giant heritage.

Tom entered the room and pointed his wand at Hagrid just as he slammed down the lid on a heavy box.

"I'm going to have to turn you in, Hagrid," Tom said. "I don't think you meant it to kill anyone but ..."

"You can't!" exclaimed Hagrid. "You don't understand!"

"The dead girl's parents will be here tomorrow. The least Hogwarts can do is make sure the thing that killed their daughter is _slaughtered_!"

"It wasn't him," Hagrid pleaded. "Aragog never killed no one. Never!"

"Monsters don't make good pets, Hagrid. Now stand aside!"

"No!" the half-giant begged. Tom pointed his wand at the box.

"_**CISTEM APERIO**_!" With a flash of light, the lid of the box was blasted off, and Hagrid was flung to the ground. Instantly, a small(ish) Acromantula crawled out of the box and scuttled past Tom and out the door. As it went past, Tom cried out "_**ARANIA EXUMAI!**_" but his spell missed the creature by a wide margin. Jim's eyes narrowed.

"Aragog!" Hagrid moved to follow the creature by Tom stopped him and held his wand up threateningly.

"I can't let you go, Hagrid. They'll snap your wand for this! You'll be expelled!"

"Hey _Tommy!_" Jim interrupted loudly, as if certain Tom could hear him despite all evidence to the contrary. "You wanna know a secret? I know you Slytherins like to think that all Gryffindors are stupid lunkheads, but believe it or not, it just so happens that we _can_ sometimes notice what happens _right in front of us_!"

Tom did not respond but continued to hold Hagrid at bay. Then, Jim moved to stand between Tom and Hagrid so that he could see the boy's face.

"I've _already _talked to Hagrid about these events, and he was convinced you didn't know Aragog was an Acromantula until after he'd already been expelled. _Just now, _though, I _watched_ a three-foot diameter spider go _right past you_! You even used Arania Exumai, which is a spell specifically designed for targeting spiders! Not that it mattered much since I also saw you deliberately miss!"

Jim fixed an angry stare on the other boy who still seemed to pay him no heed.

"You _knew_ Hagrid was innocent the whole time! You deliberately _framed him_!"

Finally, Tom's eyes slowly moved off of Hagrid to make contact with Jim's. He smiled cruelly. "Well, well, well. You _are_ of clever Lion, Potter, at least by the standards of your _lunkhead_ House." As he spoke, the memory of Hagrid faded away along with all the furniture in the room.

"What have you been doing to Ron Weasley?!" Jim asked in a cold angry voice. "Getting inside his head with lies like this?"

"Nothing so elaborate, Potter. Just basic emotional manipulation. Suppress his positive feelings for his family and friends. Heighten his natural insecurity, jealousy, and paranoia. Ironically, getting him to turn against his family was relatively easy. His love for them was no match for the feelings of low self-worth they unwittingly engendered within him with their mixture of unreasonable expectations and benign neglect. No, the _hard part_, Potter, was getting him to turn on _you_!"

Jim's eyes widened, and Tom laughed. "At first, his entire sense of self-worth was bound up in his status as 'Best Friend of the Boy-Who-Lived.' _Thankfully_, you did a wonderful job of instilling a paranoia of all things Slytherin, all things Voldemort, and all things ... _serpentine_ into him. When you later revealed your Parseltongue ability as well as the fact that you'd concealed it even from him despite your claims of friendship, _that_ finally gave me the opening I needed to finally assume total control. Ron Weasley is _mine_ now to use as I see fit!"

Jim stared grimly at Tom. "You're _awfully_ free with your secret information, aren't you, Tom?"

"Why shouldn't I be, Potter?" he asked with a contemptuous sneer. "My plan was to distract you by blaming Hagrid, but I've got a fallback plan as well. You see, you've been in this memory long enough for me to _trap you in here indefinitely_! Your body will lie comatose until _I _release you!" Then, he laughed maliciously.

To Riddle's surprise though, Jim's face registered neither surprise nor fear, but rather a righteous determination. He turned and walked out of the memory of Hagrid's room and down the hall. Then, he turned to stand in front of a bare patch of wall, took a deep breath, and _punched_ the wall with his fist as hard as he could. _**Thunk.**_ The boy cried out in pain and shook his hand vigorously. Then, he did it again. _**Thunk**__-ouch!__**.**_

Riddle walked up next to him, laughing. "Of course. Typical Gryffindor. You actually think you can punch your way out!"

_**Thunk**__-aah! _Jim paused and turned towards Riddle while massaging his now bloody hand. "Well, _yeah_! I mean, it's a false memory palace, right? That's just a basic Legilimency trap."

Riddle suddenly stopped smiling, and Jim went back to punching the wall while he continued to talk.

"And the way you break out of a false palace..." _**Thunk**_-hiss_!_ "... is to find a solid wall and start punching it as hard as you can." _**Thunk**__-shit!_ "Eventually, your desire to _not _feel your hand hurt anymore from punching the wall will be stronger than the Legilimens's will to maintain the wall's durability!"

_**Thunk**_-_uuh!_ After that last punch, some of the plaster on the wall fell off and dropped to the ground, leaving a spider-web of cracks behind. Jim turned back to the now scowling Tom Riddle with a smile.

"And you know what's really funny, Tom? I learned all that out of a training manual written for Death Eaters!" The boy laughed and returned to punching his fist into the wall. The cracks were spreading noticeably. Riddle said nothing. Instead, he turned away and stared intently, as if looking at something some distance away.

* * *

Ron Weasley sat quietly at the table in Percy's study room fidgeting uncontrollably and occasionally sobbing. Every few minutes he stared at the clock on the wall. _9:50._ Percy was supposed to be here at ten o'clock to help him go over some Astronomy homework. When he came, Ron would tell him everything he knew about the Book. He feared that he would be expelled for being so stupid as to not recognize the Book's danger, for letting it manipulate him for so long. And he honestly thought he _should_ be expelled for the things he'd done _as pranks_ that had been so destructive to everyone in the school (to say nothing of the things he _thought_ he'd done but couldn't remember for sure due to what he now knew were Book-induced blackouts).

In particular, he couldn't imagine what he'd ever do to make up for getting Fred kicked out of school. He remembered crying tears of genuine dismay over Fred's expulsion. And then, suddenly, all that stopped. He remembered his sadness melting away and how suddenly _happy_ he was over Fred's expulsion. How ... _satisfied_ he was to have destroyed his brother by manipulating Fred into taking the blame for a prank that _he_ had performed. How _funny_ he thought it all was. Now he just felt sick over it. Ron put his hands up to wipe the tears from his eyes.

"I need you to let me back in, Ronald."

Ron looked up in terror. Sitting across the table from him in Percy's chair was ... _another_ Ron Weasley. It was like Mirror-Weasley from his nightmare a few nights back, only there was no mirror now. His other self could practically reach out and touch him. Other-Ron's expression was cold and cruel, and his eyes burned red.

"N-no!" Ron said shakily. "G-go away!"

"Please don't make this difficult for us both, Ronald. We've been through so much together this year. We've ... learned so much from one another. I wouldn't say that I'm actually _fond_ of you, but it is not my desire to ... well, to _break you irrevocably_ unless it's absolutely necessary. Or, I suppose, unless you try to thwart me. I think I might take that personally. So just let me in now without any resistance, and soon we'll be done with this."

"We'll be done sooner than you think!" Ron said defiantly. "Jim has the Book, and he'll figure you out. Or else get it to his dad at the DMLE and _they'll_ figure you out. And ... and in just a few minutes, Percy will be here, and I'm gonna tell him _everything_!"

Other-Ron was silent for a few seconds before shaking his head almost sadly. "See, Ron, that's the problem with you Gryffindors. All bully and bluster. A Slytherin would have known better to tell someone who's already under a tight schedule that his time was shorter than he'd thought."

Ron was confused by what Other-Ron was saying. Suddenly, to his surprise, Ron's body and arms suddenly became stuck to the chair as if with a Sticking Charm. He wasn't paralyzed, but he was definitely unable to move. Then, he felt a strange rumbling in his stomach. After a few seconds, the boy felt the familiar watery tickle that preceded a bout of vomiting. But this was different. No bile came pouring up Ron's windpipe. Just an unnatural feeling in his chest of something _crawling_ inside him. Ron's eyes widened in horror as his evil twin grinned delightedly. When some tiny wriggling object climbed up his throat and into his mouth, he reflexively spat it out onto the table. It was a wolf spider that bounced once on the table before quickly crawling away.

Wild-eyed, Ron looked back at his doppelganger who was leaning back in his chair as if to watch some amusing spectacle. "YOU BASTARD!" he screamed. "YOU DAMNED BAST—!" His expletive was suddenly cut off into a crude gurgle as the rumbling returned, much stronger. His mouth was forced open by whatever foul magic the Other-Ron was using, and he could feel not one spider, but dozens or more crawling up his throat. He shook his head violently as they poured out of his mouth in waves. When he could draw breath, he just screamed hysterically. And then the next wave came, and the next, one after another and each producing more spiders than the last. Those he could spit out landed on the table or the floor. Most, however, simply crawled out of his mouth and up over his face or down into his clothes. By the fifth wave, something new was added, as tiny louse-sized spiders bypassed his mouth altogether, crawling up through his nasal passages to exit through his nostrils.

"Let me end this, Ron," said Other-Ron, his voice full of compassion. "It pains me to see you suffer like this. Just. Say. Yes."

By now, Ron was almost past the point of coherent thought. He'd been afraid of spiders since the incident with the Twins when he was a small child. But this? This was horror beyond compare. The part of Ron Weasley that was made of Gryffindor courage fought against the tide, but it was nothing compared to the crushing wave of pure terror that hit Ron every time more spiders crawled out of his screaming gagging mouth. Finally, between waves of spiders and wracking terrified sobs, Ron gave in.

"YESSS! I'LL DO IT! JUST MAKE IT STOP! PLEASSSSE! JUST MAKE IT STOP!"

* * *

Back in the false memory palace within Riddle's diary, Jim was making great progress. There were thick cracks in the wall around an indentation nearly three-feet wide and six-inches deep where the brick and mortar had collapsed. After his last punch, the entire building seemed to shake for a second. And his hand hurt less and less with each blow.

"Stop it, Potter," said Tom in a calm voice.

"Ha, not a chance, Riddle. In a few minutes, I'll be out of here. And within an hour, your little diary will be on my father's desk at the DMLE!"

"I think not," Tom said with sudden confidence.

Jim paused at that and turned towards Tom to see that he had a wand out. "Oh come on, Tom! You know that won't work! Keeping someone locked up in a false memory palace depends on making them believe the palace is real. Casting any kind of harmful spell on me while in I'm in here will just makes me wake up faster!"

Tom smirked. "That's very true, Jim. Of spells cast on you ... in here!"

Jim grew wary.

Tom just smiled even more cruelly. "Stupify," he said in a childish sing-song voice and without waving his wand at all. Despite that, everything around Jim turned bright red, and his eyes rolled up back in his head. His knees buckled, but before he could hit the ground, the boy's body vanished from the memory.

* * *

"Ron Weasley" looked down at the Boy-Who-Was-Sprawled-Unconscious-On-the-Floor with a sinister smile. With a wave of his wand, the door to Jim's dorm room closed. "Ron" knelt to pick up Tom Riddle's diary off the floor to place it inside his backpack. Then, he looked down and coldly regarded the real Ron Weasley's former best friend who had come so close just now to defeating him.

"No more defiance, Ronald. And no more playing around. Time for the endgame."

With that, "Ron Weasley" bent over Jim's unconscious body and tugged on a lock of his hair before casting the Cutting Curse.

* * *

_**The Hogwarts Grounds  
1:30 p.m.**_

The morning passed uneventfully to Harry, as did lunch, although he was a bit curious when Ginny pointed out that neither Jim nor Ron came down to eat. She wondered hopefully if, after the events of the previous night, Ron had decided to approach Jim and resolve their differences. Harry nodded without comment. He had a fairly negative opinion of Ron by this point, and if he'd been in Jim's shoes, he wouldn't give Ron the time of day. But he wasn't in Jim's shoes, and he knew that the two had once had a deep friendship before the Dueling Club incident drove them thoroughly apart.

After lunch, Harry and Theo headed off to the greenhouse for their first detention. They were soon joined by Neville and the Weasley Twins. Neville was expected. He was eager to spend some quality time in the greenhouse to do some private work with his beloved plants after months spent quietly serving as Jim Potter's unofficial chaperone for most of every day. The Twins, however, were a surprise.

"So what brings you two to our detention?" Harry asked. "Can't get enough of the enticing bouquet of dragon dung?"

"Nah," said Fred. "We wanted to come along for moral support. Our way of saying thanks for helping to get me back to school."

Harry's eyebrows raised. "How did I do that?"

"Well, the way we hear it, you kept Lockhart busy long enough for your dad to break down the door and witness his confession. If it hadn't been for you suddenly finding your inner Gryffindor, he'd have likely gotten away clean, and no one would ever have known what he did to me."

Harry looked over at Fred curiously. He seemed to be taking the suggestion that he'd been under the Imperius Curse surprisingly well, and Harry said so.

"Honestly," said Fred, "I don't remember him doing anything. Just me deciding it was a good idea to confess to that prank so George wouldn't get expelled for it. But if Lockhart confessed, he must of done it, right?"

Harry nodded, but privately he wondered who Fred was trying to convince. For his part, George simply looked away, a fact that Harry also noticed. He decided to change the subject.

"Say, Neville, since you're my Herbology guru, maybe you can answer this for me," he began. "Professor Sprout has taught us a lot about how to cultivate Mandrakes and what to use them for, but she's never mentioned what exactly they are or where they come from. I gather they're not actually ... tiny plant-people, but why do they look like they are?"

Fred laughed. "This is just like you were with the garden gnomes last summer. '_Hey Percy? Are these things sentient?' _Heh!" He elbowed George, who smiled but didn't laugh.

"They're not sentient, Harry. Not even close to it. Normal Muggle mandrakes are the roots of the Mandragora plant, and ancient Muggles used them for healing, though they're poisonous if you take too much. Sometime long ago, before the time of Hypatia, some wizard bred a subspecies of magical Mandragora to use as potions ingredients. All the legends about mandrakes actually come from our magical version."

"Okay," said Harry, "but why did the mysterious wizard breed them so that they would imitate the human life cycle? Sprout said a few months back that they were acting like moody teenagers and that they'd probably be throwing wild parties soon."

Neville grimaced a bit and glanced towards the Twins. Even though he'd shared a house with Fred and George for the better part of two years, he still didn't feel like he trusted them the way he did Harry ... and the way Harry obviously trusted them. He took a deep breath.

"Well, she was joking about the parties ... I think. As for the rest, no one knows for sure, but the _theory_ is that by making them look like tiny humans and giving them the ability to mimic certain human behaviors ..." he coughed diplomatically, "you get some of the _benefits_ of incorporating a human sacrifice into your potion without actually killing anybody."

The other boys were suitably unnerved by that theory, but before they could ask anything more, the group turned the corner to that part of the grounds where the school's greenhouses were located. Just as they did, Harry saw Jim Potter come out of Greenhouse #3, the same one to which they were headed and where the Mandrakes were housed. From a distance, the Boy-Who-Lived turned to look at them with a surprisingly hateful expression. Neville called out to Jim, but the boy turned and walked quickly away without responding.

"Huh," Neville said. "I wonder what he was doing in there. Third Years and below are supposed to stay out of Greenhouse #3 now that the Mandrakes are nearly grown. Safety reasons and all that."

"Except those of us with detention among the deadly killer plants," said Theo. "And you, for some inscrutable reason.

Neville laughed. "I've got special permission to help out with the Mandrakes. Had to get a note from my Gran due to the liability issues. My family already owns one Mandrake farm down in Australia, and Gran would like to start another somewhere closer to home after I graduate. But you have to be specially certified to get a license to run a Mandrake farm, so I wanted to start as early as possible."

By that point, the group had made it into Greenhouse #3. Immediately, the boys almost gagged from the smell. On the opposite side of the room were five twenty-pound bags of dragon dung and fifty pots to put them in. Harry frowned and cast a Bubble-Head Charm on himself before heading across the room. Halfway across, there was a soft flash of light from the floor beneath his feet, and suddenly George Weasley yelled at the top of his lungs.

"HARRY, FREEZE! DON'T TAKE ANOTHER STEP!"

Startled, the others looked at him and saw that George's face had gone pale. He was staring in horror at Harry's feet which they now noticed were surrounded by softly glowing runes he'd unwittingly stepped upon.

'Don't move _a muscle_ until I tell you to!"he continued before turning to Fred. "Get Neville and Theo away from here! At least a hundred yards! Then find the first competent teacher you can and get them out here as fast as you can! _Drag_ them if you must!"

"George, what...?" Fred started.

"_DO AS I SAY!_" George bellowed in a fury. Fred, who had never been spoken to that way by his twin, looked shocked for a second. Then, he grabbed Neville and Theo by the scruff of their shirts and pulled them out of the room, both of them still calling Harry's name. George then carefully walked around the runes on the floor to the other side so he could face Harry.

"George?" Harry said, quietly but nervously. "What's going on?"

"These, um ... these are ... explosive runes, Harry," George said in a shaky voice. While he was trying to put on a brave face, it was obvious that George was terrified. "I learned about 'em from Lockhart."

Harry paled. "Exactly _how explosive_ are we talking about?"

George studied the runes for a second and then looked round the greenhouse. "With all this reactive dragon dung in here? Easily enough to blow up this whole building and everything in it."

"Uh-huh," he said. Harry looked down at the runes and then back at George. "I don't seem to have exploded ... _yet_."

"They're timed." George said without looking up. "You've got just under a minute, but they'll go off instantly if you step off of them. During the Grindelwald War, his Muggle servants dropped leaflets bearing these runes out of aeroplanes over Wizarding settlements. If anyone touched the paper ... _Boom_."

Harry nodded. "Nice. And I don't suppose I'd be so lucky that you've actually learned how to disarm them."

"No," said George in a soft voice. "You're not that lucky."

Harry became surprisingly calm despite the news. Perhaps using Occlumency had become reflexive in dangerous situations. Or perhaps the sheer number of assassination attempts against him in the past year had just made him blasé. "Right then. You'd better get out of here and find a teacher. Preferably Snape. No offense, but I think we need Slytherin cunning in this instance rather than Gryffindor courage."

George looked up from the runes towards the greenhouse's glass ceiling before taking a deep breath. "I think you need both, mate." And then, he stepped onto the runes to stand right next to Harry.

"_What are you DOING?!_" Harry hissed angrily. "There's no sense in both of us dying!"

"Harry, shut up and do _exactly _as I say!" George said . He put his hand on Harry's shoulder. "Okay, without moving your feet _at all_, bend your knees and go into a crouch." Harry did so as George matched him. "Good. Now when I tell you to, start counting down from five and when you get to zero, _jump as high as you can. _And once you get off the ground, tuck your legs in as much as possible."

Confused but desperate, Harry nodded, and when George gave the signal, he began counting down while George continued to grip his shoulder with one hand while bearing his wand aloft with the other. Just as Harry got down to "one," George started his wand motion. And just as Harry said "zero," George yelled out "_**PROTEGO ORBIS!**__" _

As the two boys jumped up, the explosive runes flared to life. Simultaneously, George slashed his wand down, and a modified Protego shield shot down beneath them before wrapping itself up and around them into the shape of a protective sphere. A millisecond later, the runes erupted. Harry could see the flames all around them even as the explosive force caused the sphere to shoot up like a cannonball through the glass ceiling. Greenhouse #3 blew sky high, raining down broken glass and the screaming mutilated remains of fifty burning Mandrakes upon the area below. Luckily, no one was nearby to be harmed by the plants' death cries.

Nearly a thousand feet above, George and Harry's protective orb reached its apogee and then fell back towards the ground. Inside, George hissed in pain from the stress of maintaining and controlling the shield despite the damage inflicted upon it. With some difficulty, he was able to slow the orb's descent and even "pilot" it so that it landed some distance away from the ruins of Greenhouse #3. Unfortunately, the two were still nearly twenty feet off the ground when his concentration finally broke. The two fell the rest of the way to Earth and landed rather hard. Harry heard a snap from somewhere in the vicinity of his left elbow. Then, everything went black.

Minutes later, students were gathered around the fallen duo. Several prefects were on hand to make sure no one touched the two unconscious boys, though Marcus was quick to perform diagnostic Charms to make sure they were not in imminent danger of death.

"Somebody go get Madam Pomfrey," he yelled to the crowd.

"And while you're at it," said Theo Nott with a murderous expression, "somebody find Jim Potter!"

But no one did, at least not at first. For at that moment, the Boy-Who-Lived was lying unconscious on the floor of a seldom-used broom closet on the top floor of Gryffindor Tower – bound, wandless, and completely oblivious to the trouble he was now in.

* * *

**The next chapter will be posted sometime between April 18 and April 20, 2016. "Endgame (Part 2)" in which Harry's missing four minutes is revealed and the Secret Enemy initiates his final move. **

**AN 1: I generally never respond to guest reviews because I can only do so as author notes, and I hate it when I read fics and half of each chapter is taken up by responses that have no context unless I go back and read through all the reviews for the story. That said, I thought this comment by Bitzy (Guest) about Lockhart in the prior chapter was rather insightful, and I wanted to respond:**

**"_The quote is from Much Ado About Nothing, said by Don John... What's interesting is that Lockhart says such a quote, laughs, and this is the EXACT MOMENT the time would have been taken away, because after this he laughs maniacally and then the door is busted open._**

**_So... What does this mean? Lockhart is a villain and wants to be accepted as such, just wants to do as he pleases... So what you're saying is, he's just a villain? Not even a possessed creep but just a plain old crazy maniac?"_**

**Well, that's one way of looking at it. Another, to take a meta-textual approach, is to recall that Much Ado About Nothing is a work of fiction and Don John is just a character within it. So when Lockhart quotes that line, is he calling _himself _"a plain-dealing villain"? Or is he viewing himself as an _actor_ who is _playing the part_ of a plain-dealing villain? The answer to that questions is coming soon.  
**

**AN 2: I'm not terribly big on trigger warnings either, but the scene with Ron and the spiders squicked me out and I _wrote it_, so I thought any actual arachnophobic readers deserved a heads up.**


	75. HP&TSE 41 - Endgame (Pt 2)

**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY **

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

* * *

**CHAPTER 41: Endgame (Part 2)**

_**9 May 1993  
Gryffindor Tower  
2:15 p.m.**_

In the aftermath of Greenhouse #3's destruction (along with that of the entire Mandrake crop), the student body, which had only begun to relax after Gilderoy Lockhart's capture, promptly went into panic mode once more. The school was rife with theories as to what had happened. Some thought it was a parting gift from the deranged former-DADA instructor. Others thought it was a Weasley Terror prank gone wrong. But those who still suspected Jim Potter of being the Heir of Slytherin made much of the fact that he had been seen leaving Greenhouse #3 moments before the explosion. That faction only grew as time passed and Jim remained conspicuously missing. At 2:00 p.m., McGonagall made a school-wide announcement that students were to remain in the castle for the remainder of the day (though they were not yet confined to their dormitories) and that there would be a mandatory Staff Meeting at 3:00 p.m. once Professor Sprout had finished her inspection of the ruined greenhouse and Professor McGonagall had consulted with the Ministry, the DMLE, and (for some reason) the Sorting Hat.

Meanwhile, Percy Weasley was in panic mode for a different reason. No one had seen Ron since breakfast, and with everything else that had happened, his absence was now officially alarming. After finishing a circuit of the Hogwarts grounds without finding his youngest brother, Percy returned to Gryffindor Tower to check there again. Ron's dorm room was empty, so Percy decided to check his own private study once more. As soon as he was inside, the door slammed shut behind him. Percy whirled around and his eyes widened.

It was Jim Potter pointing a wand at him and bearing a crazed look in his eye.

"Potter!" the prefect exclaimed. "What is the meaning of this?!"

"I don't know, Percy, old chap. What does it look like?" Jim smiled lazily at him while gesturing with his wand for Percy to move away from the door. Percy complied.

The young prefect said nothing for several seconds as he studied Jim to determine if he might be able to get a jump on the boy. But Percy Weasley, by his own admission, was more of an scholar than a warrior, and he certainly lacked the intensive combat training for which the Boy-Who-Lived was somewhat famous.

"You've never really liked me, have you, Percy?" Jim asked with a smirk. "Never. Why is that? I was friends with Ron and the Twins, after all."

Percy raised his nose somewhat haughtily. "To be honest, _Potter_, I thought you were a bad influence on Ron. Frankly, I wish I'd done more to separate you two."

Jim laughed. "I'm a _bad influence_ on Ron. Oh, Percy. You have _no idea._"

Percy scowled and remembered that Ron had been missing all day. "What have you done with Ron, you little monster!?"

"Honestly, Perfect Prefect Percy?" Jim said with a malicious smirk. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Furious at the thought of his youngest brother at the hands of the mad child in front of him, Percy snarled and reached for his wand while attempting to dodge any attack as he did. He never stood a chance. A Banishing Charm sent Percy flying across the room into a wall, and then a Stunner left him out cold. Satisfied, the boy moved over to the desk and pulled out a quill and a sheet of parchment. As he wrote, the boy idly whistled to himself – "_God Save the Queen._" When he was done writing, he moved over to Percy's prone body where he took possession of the other boy's wand before ripping the prefect pin off of his robe and attaching it to his own. Then, the Boy-Who-Lived reached down to grab a lock of the boy's curly red hair.

* * *

_**The Gryffindor Common Room  
2:20 p.m.**_

Percy Weasley exited his private study and then sealed the door with a powerful locking Charm before heading down to the Common Room, still softly whistling the same tune. Just as he arrived, Head Girl Emily Rossum entered through the main door.

"Ah, Emily!" he said. "Has Professor McGonagall spoken to you about the meeting?

"What meeting?" she asked in confusion.

"Obviously not, I see." The boy pulled a parchment out of the book bag he now carried and handed it over to the girl. On it was a list of names with hers at the top. "She wants these students to come to the Staff Room for the faculty meeting. All the Seventh Year prefects plus a few younger students who she wants to question, presumably about the explosion in the greenhouse."

Emily studied the list. "Very well. I'll go and tell Hermione and Luna. I believe Neville and Fred are in the infirmary, watching over Harry and George, though I don't know if the latter two will be up for any meetings. Would you mind letting them know?"

"Sure," Percy said with any unusually winning smile. "I wanted to check in on George anyway. Would you mind letting the Ravenclaw prefects know? I'll inform the Slytherins."

She nodded and looked over the list. "Sure thing. I believe you'll find Nott and Zabini in the also infirmary watching over Harry Potter. They're a rather tight-knit circle."

"That they are, Emily," Percy said still with an oddly intense smile. "That they are."

* * *

_**The Infirmary  
2:30 p.m.**_

Harry woke to the sight of bright lights bearing down upon him and a powerful sense of deja vu. Opening his eyes, he looked around and saw that he was in the infirmary. Specifically, he was in the exact same bed he woke up in after his Quidditch injury the previous fall and which, ironically, was also the same one he occupied for several days after his run-in with Voldemort months before that.

"_Heh. They should probably put a placard over this bed with my name on it," _he thought to himself. Glancing around, he saw that one Weasley Twin (presumably George) was lying unconscious in the bed next to him, with the other twin (presumably Fred) sitting nearly nearby looking pensive. "Presumably" in both cases because Harry wasn't in a position to see which one had a mole, although it was probable that the one who had been shot out of Greenhouse #3 like a cannonball was the one who was injured. Ginny Weasley was standing next to the conscious twin with her arm around his shoulder. Looking around, he also saw that Theo, Blaise, Neville, and Marcus Flint were all also present and playing cards at a nearby table. He assumed it was Exploding Snap at first until he noticed that none of the cards were exploding. Then, he realized that Blaise was teaching them how to play poker.

"You know, Neville," he said. "If you let Blaise Zabini steal the Longbottom family fortune with his card sharping skills, your Gran will never let either of us hear the end of it."

"Harry!" Neville said excitedly.

"Oh good," said Blaise cheekily as he checked his watch. "You're awake after just one hour. I think that means I win the betting pool."

Harry ignored Zabini and turned his attention towards Fred. "How's George?"

Fred looked over at Harry with an unreadable expression. "Pomfrey says he'll be okay in a day or so, but he's having some bones regrown right now, so she's got him knocked out for the time being."

Harry nodded and studied the face of the unconscious twin. Like most Slytherins, Harry had spent a good amount of time mocking the idea of "Gryffindor courage." While he thought his friends Neville and Hermione could act with complete fearlessness when moved to do so, on the whole he'd always considered the typical Gryffindor to be mostly talk with little to back it up. And yet George Wesley, a boy with whom he'd had a cordial but not entirely friendly relationship, had without a second thought risked his life to save Harry's. It was a rather sobering thought that forced Harry to reevaluate his attitudes towards the House of the Brave.

"_Not to mention the fact that I now probably owe George Weasley a life debt,_" Harry thought somewhat ruefully. "_Which means I need to spend some time in the Library to figure out what the heck life debts are and how they work._"

"Alright then, somebody fill me in on what I've missed," Harry said to the group. And in due course, Theo and Blaise gave him the rundown. The Mandrake crop was totally destroyed which meant there was no immediate way to revive the petrification victims, including Albus Dumbledore (who would likely be replaced in all of his positions if he weren't revived relatively soon). Gilderoy Lockhart was the person who originally brought explosive runes into Hogwarts, and while he provided a copy to George Weasley, it was unknown if he'd done so for any other students. Finally, neither Jim Potter nor Ron Weasley had been seen since that morning.

"Say, Neville," Harry asked. "What about the Mandrake farm your family owns in Australia?"

"I've already mentioned that to Professor Sprout," Neville replied. "Unfortunately, because it's in the Southern Hemisphere, there are different constellations that govern the growing season, so they won't be ready for harvest before late August."

Before they could discuss the matter any further, Percy arrived to inform the group that everyone present except Ginny was to come to the Staff Room at 3:00 to answer questions about what they knew about the explosion at Greenhouse #3.

"Why do I have to come?" asked Blaise in confusion. "I wasn't even there."

Percy shrugged. "Your name was on the list McGonagall gave me." He turned to Fred. "How is George?"

But before Fred could answer, Madam Pomfrey arrived to do so for him. "George Weasley will be confined to his bed for at least another day. Mr. Potter, I'll be performing a final check-up on _you _in just a moment, and if everything looks alright, you're free to go. The rest of you – OUT!"

With some grumbling, the students left the infirmary. Not long after, Madam Pomfrey completed her examination of Harry and told him to get dressed. Then, she turned her attention to George while he did so. After a few minutes spent on diagnostic spells, she cast a Renervate to wake the boy up so she could ask him how he was feeling. The boy replied that he felt fine other than a slight headache and an extremely unpleasant itching from his legs. Pomfrey explained that he hit the ground feet first, shattering the bones in his feet and shins. Because of the extent of the damage, she elected to vanish those bones and then replace them through the use of Skele-Gro. She then left to procure some pain-relieving potions, leaving Harry and George alone together.

"So," Harry started somewhat hesitantly, "Protego Orbis. What's that about? I've never heard of that spell."

"Oh, it gets covered in the Third Year DADA books," he explained. "It's a pretty easy spell – just a standard Protego with the word Orbis added at the end and a second flick added to the wand movement." He demonstrated with his finger. "It's mainly useful for carrying fragile things around that you are worried about getting broken. Me and Fred got detention last year for floating our books around in levitating orbs from class to class. The downside is that damage to the orb translates into both magical drain and physical pain on the caster which is why I blacked out. I could feel the damage of the explosion even if neither of us actually suffered it. Honestly, unless you've got something really valuable to tote around, a protective orb's mainly just for showing off."

"Except for the bit where you can cast the orb around yourself and ride out an explosion."

"Yeah," said George with a grin. "That _was_ pleasantly convenient."

Harry stared at George for several seconds as he absorbed that. "You had _no idea_ whether the spell would even work or not when you cast it that way, did you?" he asked in amazement.

George shrugged almost bashfully. "Well, I _thought_ it would probably work that way. Would have been bloody embarrassing if it hadn't, I guess."

"George ..."

"Harry, let it go. You saved Ron last year. You helped Ginny fit in within Slytherin House. And you helped get Fred back. We're even." Then, the boy laid back (wincing in pain as he did) and closed his eyes to rest. Harry continued to study him until Pomfrey shooed him out.

"_No, George, we're not even,_" Harry thought as he left. "_Not by a long shot._"

* * *

_**Outside the Infirmary  
2:45 p.m.**_

Harry found Neville waiting for him in the corridor.

"Where's everyone else?" he asked.

"Flint, Theo, and Blaise headed on back to the dungeon until the meeting. Ginny's off to the Library. Fred went to owl home to let them know what had happened and that George was okay. We've got about fifteen minutes before we meet with the staff, so I thought I'd wait for you. What do you think they want with us?"

Harry shrugged. "To collect pensieve memories, maybe?"

"Harry, do you really think Jim was behind this?"

"I don't know. I mean, Jim and explosive runes? Does he know _anything_ about runic magic?"

Neville didn't know. He also didn't know much about life debts which Harry quizzed him about thoroughly. The two friends had made their way to the otherwise empty Great Hall to kill time before McGonagall's meeting started. Neville knew that life debts existed as a concept but wasn't sure if they were actual magical things or simply strong social conventions. And even according to the few stories he'd heard suggesting life debts _were_ magical things, the descriptions were vague. To earn a life debt, you had to save someone else from certain death with no assistance from anyone else and under circumstances where no one else around could have done so in your place. That was why, for instance, Neville never owed Harry a life debt over the troll incident or the confrontation with Quirrell – there were too many people who played a part in saving everyone one else for the one-on-one requirements of the life debt to be satisfied. Beyond that, Neville didn't really know anything else, but he thought his Gran might.

Then, Neville looked up suddenly. "Owl," he said pointing at the open window. Harry turned around in surprise and saw a postal owl gliding in their direction. It landed gracefully between the two and extended a talon towards Harry, who gingerly took the attached letter from the bird. It then flew off majestically as he examined the letter.

_To: Harry Potter  
From: Magical Me_

"Harry? What is it?" Neville asked somewhat nervously in response to the shocked look on Harry's face.

Harry didn't answer. Instead, after a few seconds of hesitation, he impulsively ripped open the envelope and dumped its contents onto the table. There two items inside. One, to Harry's surprise, was a pass to the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts Library with his name printed on it. It was signed by Gilderoy Lockhart and backdated to before his departure from the school. The other item was a folded piece of parchment. Harry carefully opened it up and read the message inside ... before swooning and then falling backwards onto the floor as Neville excitedly called his name.

* * *

_**The previous day...**_

_Lockhart shrugged with a cheery smile. "Why ask why, Mr. Potter? Perhaps its as the Bard said. _'In this, though I cannot be said to be a flattering honest man, it must not be denied but I am a plain-dealing villain.'_ You know, for a Muggle, Old Billy Shakespeare really had a way with words. ha-Ha!" And then, to Harry's amazement, Lockhart's annoying laugh continued until it became a deranged cackle. "AH-HA, HA-HA-HA, BWA-HA-HA!"_

Then, in a blur of motion, Lockhart whipped his wand towards Harry, his laughter suddenly gone and replaced by a look of intense focus. "_**MNEMOCRYPSIS ALPHA.**_" he intoned, and a burst of light shot from his wand to strike the bound and incapacitated Harry Potter.

"What ... what was that?!" asked the frightened boy who didn't recogize the spell.

"It's the first half of a Memory Lock Charm," the man said before calmly healing the cut to his leg with an Episkey Charm and then fixing the tear in his trousers with a Reparo. "It's a two-part spell. When we're done talking and I'm ready for my exciting departure, I'll resume my position over here and start laughing maniacally again as soon as I cast the second part. Your memory _should_ edit the images of me cackling like a madman together so as to paper over the gap in your memories of our little chat."

"That spell requires me to consent to having my memories locked," Harry said in an angry clipped voice. "What makes you think I'll do so?"

"Well for starters," Lockhart replied, "it's the only way you'll ever find out what's actually going on around here." As the man spoke, he began to wave his wand about the room. Two large steamer trunks slid over next to him and opened themselves, and then various items began to fly off the shelves into the waiting luggage.

"I reckon the other professors can figure out your game, Lockhart. I mean, Snape already figured out you were a fraud by himself."

"Ah, Severus. Such a brilliant and cunning mind, truly worthy of Slytherin. But no, Potter. Severus Snape, despite his many gifts, is simply not on our level." Lockhart hesitated. "Well, not on _my _level, at least. I'd previously thought that you held great promise, Potter, but frankly, I'm dismayed by the pitiful level of two-dimensional thinking you've shown today."

"Two ... dimensional?!" Harry sputtered, his anger over having his cunning disparaged overtaking his fear for his life.

"Yes!" Lockhart said almost angrily. "_Two-dimensional!_ You _know_ that some mysterious person is running around the school petrifying people. And you _know _the Defense instructor is mysterious and probably has ulterior motives. And since, in your mind, Hogwarts _can't possibly_ maintain more than one conspiracy at a time, you naturally _assume_ that the Defense instructor is the one doing the petrifying. _Two-dimensional!_"

Lockhart paused to cast a spell at one of the walls, and a portal appeared leading to the next room. With another wand movement from him, items from that room began to fly in and into the open trunks, mainly locked boxes marked with the names of several of the man's research teams. In particular, Harry noticed the one for Team Chameleon which he knew contained several months' worth of Polyjuice Potions. He wondered why the aurors couldn't just get in through that room, but then realized that it was probably warded as well.

"Wheels within wheels, Potter," Lockhart continued as he worked. "There are more conspiracies active in this school and in the world outside of it than you or I could fully comprehend in a hundred lifetimes. Cuthbert Binns has been _dead_ for over a hundred years, and even _he _has his own agenda! So let me spell it out for you, Potter. I _am_ a fraud. I _am_ at Hogwarts under false pretenses. _But_ I had _nothing _to do with the petrifications and, as a matter of fact, have been investigating them myself in secret. And thanks to a conversation I happened to overhear this morning followed by a few hours spent researching in the Library, I now know how the petrifications were accomplished which, frankly, is more than anyone else has figured out so far."

"How?" Harry demanded.

"I have no intention of sharing the fruits of my investigation with someone I cannot trust," Lockhart said calmly.

"_You _... you don't think you can trust _me_?!" Harry said in disbelief. "You're the one who unleashed _Fiendfyre_ in a _school_!"

"Fiendfyre under controlled circumstances and in a magically-reinforced DADA classroom containing a squad of highly-trained aurors. They'll have that firewall down any second now."

Harry didn't respond, and Lockhart grew visibly frustrated.

"Time is _short_, Potter, and I don't just mean in this room! Your true enemy has not yet revealed himself _but he will very soon now_. The fact that the Heir of Slytherin was so bold as to strike down the Headmaster himself means that his plans are nearing their fruition and that he no longer fears the Ministry itself becoming involved! And within minutes, I will be forced out of Hogwarts before I can solve the mystery of who our secret enemy truly is. I _need_ someone on the inside I can count on!"

Harry stared at the man, distrust still obvious on his face. Lockhart sighed and spoke more calmly.

"Harry, '_never trust anyone_' is Rule Number One for any good Slytherin. _I know that_. But the _best_ Slytherins also know that there is a time to set Rule Number One aside and go with your gut instinct. I may have misled you about my nature and my intentions this year, but I also trusted you with knowledge of a spell outlawed by the highest levels of our government. I believed that you could summon a Patronus when everyone else _laughed_ at the idea of a Second Year doing so, and while you've not mastered it yet, you've already come closer to a corporeal Patronus than most adult wizards. _And _I taught you how to fight with Averto so well that you could duel _me_ more effectively than most of those so-called aurors your father brought as back-up. Now, I won't insult you by asking what your _heart_ is telling you, but what about your _instincts_? Your _cunning_?"

Harry glared at the man as seconds ticked by. Then, a light flashed across the surface of the door.

"That's the aurors, Harry. They've already vanquished the Fiendfyre and are now attacking the exterior ward. That will take a minute at most. What say you?"

The boy was silent for another few precious seconds. "What do you want me to do?" he finally said quietly. Lockhart picked Harry's wand up off the bed and handed it to him, leaving himself completely open to attack in the process.

"Verbally consent to the memory lock and then say '_so mote it be_.'

For another three precious seconds, Harry waited while considering whether he could take down the man despite being bound himself. The intelligent part of him said it was pointless to try. And some other part of him that he couldn't quite identify but suspected was his "gut" didn't even want to.

"I freely consent to the Obliviation of my memories of everything that has occurred from the time the memory lock spell was initiated the memory lock spell until such time as it is completed. So mote it be."

There was a flash of light from Harry's wand. "Thank you," Lockhart said before taking the wand back and putting it back on the bed. Then, he summoned a racing broom from the back of the room and left it next to the wand. Finally, he snatched up a quill from the desk nearby and dashed off a quick message onto some parchment. He moved back to where Harry lay bound and held it up so the boy could read it.

"The recall code. I'll get it to you as soon as I possibly can."

Harry's eyes widened in shock as he read the message. "What?! The answer was _there__ whole time?!_ Are you _serious_?"

Lockhart laughed loudly as he folded up the note and put it into his pocket. "No, but I _am _being truthful." Then, he moved back to where he'd been standing when he first cast the memory lock spell. "Good luck, Harry. _**MNEMOCRYPSIS OMEGA!**_"

_Harry shook his head as if to clear it. The man's behavior was becoming so bizarre, so out of step with his carefully constructed image, that Harry wondered briefly if one or both of them had gotten a concussion during their earlier duel. Then, his attention was refocused by the enormous BOOM as the sealed door to the room was blasted off its hinges to land on the floor. _

* * *

_**Three seconds after Harry read the note...**_

"Harry!" Neville cried out as he ran around the table to help his friend up.

"I... remember," Harry said dazedly.

"What? What do you remember?"

"Everything," the boy said. Then, he cleared his head and looked towards Neville. "I know how people have been getting petrified. Go to the Staff Meeting. Tell McGonagall and Snape that I'll be there as soon as I can." With that, Harry pulled away from Neville and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?!" Neville exclaimed.

"The Library!" Harry replied. "Some last minute research!" And with that, he was off, running for the Library as fast as he could. In one hand, he clutched the pass to the Restricted Section which he hoped was still valid. In the other, he held a scrap of parchment upon which the recall code for the memory lock was written:

_**Hogwarts: A History**__, 1__st__ Edition (publ. 1485)  
Chapter 14, Page 193 – "Slytherin's Basilisk"_

* * *

_**The Staff Room  
2:55 p.m.**_

As Professor Flitwick made his way to the Staff Room, he was surprised to find a large group of students waiting outside the door. In addition to the Head Boy and Girl and all the Seventh Year prefects, the other attendees included Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood, Padma Patil, Theo Nott and Blaise Zabini. It was a rather crowded hallway.

"What is the meaning of this?" asked Flitwick. "What are all you students doing here?"

"Professor McGonagall sent for us, sir," said Emily Rossum. "Percy Weasley brought me a list of students she wanted to see. Everyone's here but Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom, and the Weasley Twins, though I think George Weasley is still bed-ridden."

"Really? Professor McGonagall didn't mention anything about this to me," he replied. "Oh well, best come on in so we can find out what's going on."

With that, Flitwick opened the door and led the group of students inside. Immediately, Severus Snape objected, but Flitwick merely shrugged and said "Minerva wanted them here," as he conjured up chairs for the students. Just as he was about to close the door, Neville came running up.

"Sorry I'm late, Professor Flitwick," he said breathlessly. "Harry Potter's on his way. He had to stop off at the Library."

Flitwick sighed. "That's quite alright, Mr. Longbottom. Just take a seat next to your peers. Professor McGonagall is running late as well."

At that news, Professor Kettleburn rose from his own seat and headed towards the door marked _Wizards_. "Well," he said irritably, "if Minerva's going to be late anyway, then I'm heading to the loo!"

* * *

_**The Library  
2:57 p.m.**_

Irma Pince studied the pass with a dubious expression. "This was signed by Professor Lockhart," she said, stating the obvious. "He doesn't teach here anymore. On account of, you know, him being evil or something."

Harry suppressed his annoyance. The Librarian was his least favorite member of the Hogwarts staff, even worse than Binns. He was convinced that if the bitter old woman had her way, no one at all would ever be allowed in the Library so she could hoard all the precious books to herself while residing in a domain of perfect, uninterrupted silence. The Slytherin pasted on his most charming smile.

"Yes, Madam Pince, I do know that. However, if you will note the date, this was issued several weeks _before_ Professor Lockhart's removal. And the book I'm after is necessary for a class project that is ... vital to my academic future."

"What is it? You're far too young for anything dark."

"It's not a dark book, Madam Pince. It's not even a magical book. It's only in the Restricted Section because it's very old and, I assume, very valuable."

Pince looked down at Harry doubtfully. "Which book?"

He handed her the scrap of parchment with the book's name written on it in Lockhart's hand. The Librarian crooked an eyebrow at him and then directed him to a small side room. "Wait in there. Touch nothing."

Surprised, Harry did as instructed and headed towards a nearby reading room, pausing just long enough to wave to Ginny and Amy who were across the Library and following his movements with obvious curiosity. Once inside the room, Harry was surprised by its design. It was a ten-foot diameter circular room with a high domed ceiling and completely devoid of furniture other than a bright-red metallic lectern in the center. Except for that splash of color, every inch of the room was gleaming white. Strangest of all, while the room was brightly lit, there wasn't actually any visible light source. A few minutes later, Pince returned with a thick old book floating behind her in a Protego Orb. She floated the book down onto the lectern and then handed Harry a small black bag containing a pair of white silk gloves and what looked like a white surgical face mask.

"You will wear these at all times while handling the book. Under _no_ circumstances will you allow any contamination to the book. You _may_ use the Gemino Charm to copy relevant passages but no more than ten pages in a single sitting. Any more might damage the book. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said in a respectful voice.

She glared at him for some inexplicable reason and then left the room. Harry exhaled and carefully opened the book to page 193 and began magically copying the ancient yellowed text.

* * *

_**A seldom used storage closet in Gryffindor Tower  
2:59 p.m.**_

Jim Potter finally came to and found himself bound and gagged in a dark room, a cleaning supply closet of some kind if the smell was any clue. He struggled in a panic for almost twenty seconds before he got hold of himself and focused. He knew he'd been stunned, and he feared that his attacker could only have been one person: Ron Weasley, who had been Tom Riddle's thrall for months. Jim cursed himself for his stupidity and self-centeredness. He should have spotted the signs of psychic manipulation in his best friend months before. Or, failing that, he should have been honest with his best friend about being a Parselmouth and thus denied Riddle an opening to turn Ron against him. Jim promised himself that if he got out of his current predicament, he'd save Ron somehow and make it all up to him.

"_But first things first_," he thought to himself. Jim quickly realized that he'd been bound with the Incarcerous spell which summoned magical ropes to tie up the spell's target. Few people were able to break out of the spell's bindings. But then, few people were the Boy-Who-Lived, and after getting tied up with this same spell the previous spring by Quirinus Quirrell, Jim had developed a strong interest in the field of Muggle escapology. He began to twist around on the floor until he could get a better handle on the ropes which bound him. He could free himself if only he had the time, but he feared that was one advantage he didn't have.

* * *

_**The Staff Room  
3:05 p.m.**_

Minerva McGonagall entered the Staff Room obviously flustered and annoyed. Lily Potter met her at the door.

"Well, Minerva? Are the aurors coming?" she asked.

"No, Lily, they are not!" she said angrily. "I sat with that wretched _Hat_ on my head for twenty minutes trying to make it see reason, but to no avail. Unfortunately, my status is _merely_ that of _Acting-_Headmistress, and so I lack authority to suppress the castle's wards in any way. I can't even open up the Floo for even one auror to step through. Not even James Potter, and he's a _parent._ And that will _remain_ the case until Albus has been incapacitated for a period of no less than 72 hours! _Honestly_! It is _intolerable_ that we should live in the year 1993 and still be bound by enchantments and bindings that were placed upon the castle to fight off invading armies and which have been unchanged since _before the Norman Conquest!_"

At that, Minerva finally noticed that there were over a dozen students crammed into the room along with the faculty members.

"AND _WHAT IN MERLIN'S NAME_ ARE THESE _STUDENTS_ DOING IN HERE?!" she shrieked in a fury.

A sudden silence fell over the room as the student visitors looked back and forth at one another nervously.

"Never mind that," said Silvanus Kettleburn. "All the male faculty members are in here, so who's locked up in the men's toilet when _I've got to spend a penny!_"

* * *

_**The Library  
3:06 p.m**_

Having copied the relevant material from the very first edition of the school's ancient and storied history, Harry carried the pages out and found a table to do a quick read-through before presenting his findings to McGonagall. He would also need a plausible explanation of how he got the information (since "the apparently insane ex-DADA instructor told me" probably wouldn't fly), but one problem at a time. As he was scanning the information, Ginny and Amy came over to join him.

"You seem unusually intense, Potter," said Amy. "What's up?"

He looked up at the two girls with a satisfied expression. "I know how people are being petrified. Or more accurately, I know _what's_ petrifying people. Now, I just need to figure out who's controlling the blasted thing."

Ginny and Amy looked at one another for a second. Then, without even asking permission, they moved around the table so that each could read the copied papers over Harry's shoulders.

* * *

_**From **__**Hogwart's: A History**__**, 1**__**st**__** Edition, Chapter 14, page 193**_

_As Hogwart's neared the end of its first decade, the Founders were finally forced to turn their attention from matters of curriculum and school discipline to the more vexing matter of external defense. In those dark times, England was riven by magical dangers. Giants stalked the lands in sizeable numbers, while dragons still roamed the skies. Bands of trolls engaged in brigandry and violence. The goblins were ever restive in their caverns, and the Wizarding Council which would one day become the Wizengamot was ever reckless in challenging the goblins' autonomy. Finally, in the last years of the First Millennium Anno Domini, no less than three Dark Lords plagued England and threatened conquest against Hogwarts, though each of their armies in turn was forced back by the Founders' puissance. Nevertheless, the Founders agreed that the castle needed permanent defenses. _

_To that end, Lord Gryffindor had his goblin allies forge a magnificent sword, shield, helm and suit of armor which would be worn __by the bravest of his House__ into battle against any attackers (see "Gryffindor's Panoply," page 198), and he also provided the school's many enchanted suits of armor which would follow him into battle if need be (see "Hogwarts' Guardians," Ibid.). Lady Ravenclaw used her peerless knowledge of geomancy to weave wards about the castle's' infrastructure unmatched by any manse of the day (see Appendix C for a complete description of the ward scheme as of this writing). Lady Hufflepuff brought a veritable menagerie of magical creatures bound by either oath or treaty to live in the Enchanted Forest and come to Hogwarts' defense if called, and to Black Lake, she summoned a kraken from the bottomless depths of the ocean, bound it to Hogwarts' protection, and gifted it with near-immortality. (For more information, see Appendix F for a complete list of all magical species brought to Hogwarts by Lady Hufflepuff). _

_But perhaps the most potent, and certainly the most controversial defense, was Lord Slytherin's contribution: the Great Basilisk. For this was no mere death-dealing serpent of the breed first conjured by Herpo the Foul. Slytherin had modified the enchanted egg from whence the King of Serpents would emerge, imbuing it with magical essences drawn from other creatures and granting his creation attributes far different and greater and more useful than that of a lesser basilisk. From a Thracian Gorgon, Slytherin provided his serpent with a gaze that would petrify rather than instantly kill thereby avoiding the risk of slaying friend along with foe in the event of a siege. From a Mountain Troll, Slytherin granted his creation with amazing regenerative powers. From a Welsh Green Dragon, Slytherin covered the King of Serpents with magic-resistant scales. From a Great European Strix, Slytherin blessed his basilisk with the power to move in utter silence as it hunted. From a phoenix..._

* * *

_**The Staff Room  
3:07 p.m.**_

"I was given to understand, Minerva," said Professor Flitwick, "that you had requested these students to be here so that we could all interview them."

"I gave no such instructions, Filius! Miss Rossum, explain yourself!"

The Head Girl coughed nervously. "Professor, Percy Weasley came by with a list of students that he said you wanted here for the meeting. It was everyone here, plus Harry Potter and the Weasley Twins."

"I haven't seen Percival Weasley all day! This is most peculiar!"

Snape stiffened. "More than peculiar I think." Then, he turned around to address the entire room. "EVERYONE OUT OF HERE! NOW! STUDENTS AND FACULTY BOTH!"

"Severus, what's wrong?" McGonagall asked with concern. Behind them both, Professor Kettleburn ignored Snape's shouting (or perhaps simply didn't hear it - significant loss of hearing was one of the many disabilities he'd acquired through his decades as a CoMC instructor), as he continued his single-minded obsession with getting into the men's toilet.

"Minerva!" Severus snapped. "_For once_, will you please just trust Slytherin instincts?!"

She hesitated and then nodded. "Everyone, do as Professor Snape says. Leave this room at once!"

Not needing to be told twice, Blaise Zabini (who was armed with excellent Slytherin instincts of his own) was the first at the door. It wouldn't open.

"Hey!" he exclaimed. "The door's locked."

Suddenly alarmed, McGonagall pushed past the boy to test the door herself. Her blood ran cold. The door wasn't locked – it was warded shut.

"_**ALOHOMORA,**_" said Kettleburn from the opposite side of the room. The door to the faculty men's room finally swung open. Kettleburn's eyes widened as a deep terrifying hiss suddenly filled the Staff Room.

"_Morgana's saggy_ ...!" was as far as the elderly professor got before he fell over backwards onto the floor – petrified.

Then, the screams started.

* * *

_**From **__**Hogwart's: A History**__**, 1**__**st**__** Edition, Chapter 14, page 194**_

_Designed as a living anti-siege weapon, the Basilisk was in many ways a part of the castle itself. Slytherin's genius made use of sympathetic magic to link the creature with the castle's very infrastructure so that the mighty serpent could travel to wherever it was needed. It could enter the castle's plumbing system at any point and travel to any exit point at the command of its master regardless of the size of the connecting pipes. It could materialize out of a sluice gate that led into the moat or within the Great Black Lake via the conduits that supplied water to the Slytherin dungeons, and by those means, it could flank any armies on the Hogwarts grounds or attack them from the rear. And if Hogwarts itself were ever overrun, the Basilisk could even travel through its interior pipes to strike at will against intruders, entering even the smallest rooms with the aid of size-altering Charms that were a part of its inherent magical nature. _

_Lady Hufflepuff declared herself delighted with Slytherin's Basilisk, for she was known for her peaceable nature and was pleased that the creature could so easily incapacitate the school's enemies without killing them outright. As a gesture of her esteem, she fashioned an enchanted ewer for Lord Slytherin which could facilitate the swift revivification of allies who had been inadvertently petrified and of captured intruders who were wanted for interrogation or ransom. After the legendary Hufflepuff Cup (see page 79), Hufflepuff's Ewer is considered her most ingenious enchantment. _

_Lord Gryffindor and Lady Ravenclaw were less enamored of the Basilisk, however. Ostensibly, they disapproved of the procedures by which the great serpent was birthed, as the magical cross-breeding techniques Slytherin used were (and are) considered inherently dark. Unmoved, Lord Slytherin intimated his belief that Lord Gryffindor and Lady Ravenclaw were simply jealous of how much more impressive an addition the Basilisk was to the castle's defenses than their own offerings, a position which led to much strife among the Founders. Finally, a compromise was reached, and Lord Slytherin made several modifications to the Basilisk's nature, instilling within it certain inherent weaknesses to make it acceptable to his peers ..._

* * *

_**The Staff Room  
3:09 p.m.**_

The sheer impossibility of a creature that size somehow fitting in the Staff Room, let alone the washroom from which it emerged, was such a surprise that most of those present couldn't help but look at the monster in amazement. And it is the nature of a basilisk that to look at one for any length of time is to be _defeated_ by it. Most of the faculty and students were petrified before they could even draw wands. Blaise turned around instinctively at the first sign of trouble and was turned into a statue that now blocked the door against anyone else trying to escape. Theo Nott's fingers were almost in place to twist his Notice-Me-Not ring when they were stilled. Marcus Flint and Emily Rossum (to the surprise of both) were locked in a half-embrace when the Basilisk's eyes found them. Lily Potter placed herself between the monster and those children who were not yet petrified and tried to protect them all with a Protego, forgetting in her haste that the Protego shield is transparent and no defense against a basilisk's gaze. She and the three prefects who stood near her were the next to be transfixed. Flitwick unleashed a deadly flock of ravens armed with razor-like talons that would have flayed any lesser creature alive, but they all dropped to the ground like stones before they could inflict any damage. The diminutive professor followed his summoned birds into petrification barely a second later.

Certain that he was about to die, Severus Snape tried to take the monster with him. He kept his eyes off the Basilisk for as long as possible before unleashing his most dangerous spell in its general direction. _"_**SECTUMSEMPRA!**_" _Instantly, whirling blades of pure magical force lashed out at the basilisk, causing huge bloody gashes to appear all over its body. Snape had a moment of satisfaction. Then, to his shock, the wounds from the most damaging spell he knew short of the Killing Curse simply faded from view. "_Regeneration," _he thought in amazement. "_Like a troll!_" And then, he thought nothing else.

The last adult in the room focused her attention not on fighting the monster but on protecting the few children not yet petrified. McGonagall lashed out with her wand, and a large sofa flipped itself up and over before melting into the shape of a protective opaque dome that landed on top of Neville and Hermione. However, this attracted the monster's attention towards her. She jumped, and her form suddenly flowed like mercury, but it was a brown tabby cat with spectacle-like markings around its eyes that landed on the floor and fell over, petrified.

And then there were two, both stuck for the moment underneath McGonagall's improvised barrier: Hermione Granger, who immediately set herself to the task of transfiguring a hole in the floor through which they might escape, and Neville Longbottom, who clutched his wand in a death grip as he desperately tried to remember the smell of sea salt in the air and the feel of ice-cold waves crashing over him.

* * *

_**The Library  
3:10 p.m.**_

"Merlin's bones!" exclaimed Ginny, earning herself a loud "SHHH!" from Madam Pince. "So that's what petrified Professor Dumbledore and the others?" she whispered more softly.

"I think so," said Harry. "But now that we know what it is, we can stop it. We just need to get this information to ..."

Harry was suddenly interrupted by the sudden arrival of _a very large bear_, which was a decidedly unexpected development in a library, as denoted by the number of people who screamed at the sight of it. It appeared to be a medium-sized brown bear or perhaps a small grizzly save for its glowing silvery appearance. Harry's surprise was only compounded when the beast spoke in the terrified voice of Neville Longbottom.

"HARRY! SEND HELP! ME AND HERMIONE ARE IN THE STAFF ROOM WITH A BASILISK! EVERY BODY ELSE IS ALREADY... _OH NO - _"

Instantly, Neville's bear Patronus (and how perfectly "Neville" it was for the boy to pick this moment to both master the corporeal Patronus _and_ use it to send Harry a warning message) winked out of existence. Harry had a single instant of terrified paralysis. Then, in a flash, he gathered up all his papers and ran out of the Library, with Ginny, Amy, and the furious complaints of Irma Pince all following behind him.

* * *

_**Outside the Staff Room  
3:13 p.m.**_

The Heir of Slytherin waited patiently until the last of the screams and spell-fire stopped. Then, he hissed softly and commanded the Basilisk to return to the Chamber of Secrets where it slumbered when its master had no work for it. The Heir was still hidden beneath the Potter Invisibility Cloak, as he currently still wore the shape of Percy Weasley and would continue to do so for some time yet. Such a pity that Lockhart's team had never found a way to end the effects of Polyjuice Potion prematurely. Not that it would matter, really. He was nearly done with this body whatever its shape. Within a few hours, he'd have a _new _body, one he would not need to share with anyone else, and then the need for even the tiniest concession to subtlety would finally come to an end.

The Heir flicked Ron Weasley's wand towards the door to the Staff Room which quietly swung open. He poked his head in and turned around. As expected, there was no one left in the room, whether teacher or student, who wasn't paralyzed by the Basilisk's gaze. Paralyzed until someone showed up with enough of the priceless Restoration Potion for dozens of people people. Not that he'd be giving them that much time anyway before he returned to finish what he'd started, permanently this time. The Heir grinned triumphantly.

"Checkmate."

* * *

**The next chapter will be posted sometime between April 25 and April 27. **

**AN 1: "Harry Potter and the Prince of Slytherin" has been nominated for an award from Fanatic Fanfics. While I'm very flattered, I'm also realistic as I'm up against "Harry Potter and the Nightmares of Future Past" and "A Marauder's Plan," both of which I highly recommend, as well as 30 or so other HP fics that I am not familiar with. Voting ends on May 2, 2016.**

**AN 2: And a Happy 1st Anniversary to everyone who's been here with me since Chapter 1, which was uploaded on April 17, 2015.**


	76. HP&TSE 42 - Revelations in a Disused Lav

**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEM**

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

* * *

**CHAPTER 42: Revelations in a Disused Lavatory**

_**The Staff Room  
3:15 p.m.**_

Harry slid to a stop near the door to the Staff Room so suddenly that Amy and Ginny nearly fell into him. Without even looking, he held up an arm to silence them. Then, after a moment's thought, he turned and whispered to the girls.

"_Do either of you have a mirror on you_?"

Ginny gave him a "_Duh! Of course!_" look and then fished a compact mirror out of her robe. He took it and dropped to one knee before slowly edging the mirror in front of the open door less than a foot above the floor. He wasn't sure whether seeing the reflection of Slytherin's Basilisk was safe or not, but he assumed it would be safer to see the reflection of its trunk rather than the eyes. It was a moot point, though, as there was no sign of the Basilisk – just a score of petrified wizards and witches, professors and students alike. Marcus and Emily in their half embrace. A petrified cat laying on its side. Neville crouched defensively in front of Hermione who was kneeling next to the six-inch wide hole she'd transfigured in the floor. Harry shook his head ruefully. Another twenty seconds or so, and she'd have made it! Harry and the girls entered the room silently, edging carefully around the petrified form of Blaise Zabini which nearly barred the entryway. On the far side of the room, Harry's mother was standing petrified with her wand outstretched while unsuccessfully shielding several students with her body. Harry closed his eyes and took a moment to lock down his emotions. Nearly every friend he had in the world was petrified in this room, along with the more likeable of his two parents, but he couldn't do any of them any good if he broke down now and cried or lost himself to a screaming rage.

"What in Merlin's name...?" exclaimed Fred Weasley from the doorway as he took in the frozen tableau in shock. Seconds later, other students appeared in the hallway behind him. Some gasped while a few others outright screamed upon realizing that the entire faculty was petrified, along with a number of students. Still others ran off to share the awful news with the rest of the school. Harry's eyes lighted on Theo Nott who stood frozen in the corner. He leaned over to Ginny and Amy.

"I need a distraction," he whispered. Without giving any sign that she'd even heard him, Ginny darted over to Fred, flung herself into his arms, and began to cry.

"Oh, Fred! It's awful! And to think if you'd gotten here a few minutes earlier, you'd have been petrified too!" As she wept, she maneuvered Fred around so that his back was to Harry and the view of the students out in the hallway was obstructed. Amy stepped out to talk to those students, providing a further misdirection. As they did, Harry moved over to Theo and, after taking a quick glance around, slid the Notice-Me-Not ring off the boy's finger and onto his own hand.

"_I'll get this back to you as soon as I can, buddy_," he whispered sadly as he brushed the other boy's bangs out of his frozen eyes. "_But I suspect I might need it before this mess is over – for all our sake._" Then, he looked around once room before deciding on a course of action. He strode over to the faculty fireplace and picked up a scoop of Floo powder.

"Potter, what's going on here?!" barked an angry voice from behind him. It was Miranda Bonnavie, with a couple of other Slytherins behind her.

"Oh, good," said Harry sarcastically. "Someone in a position of authority has arrived, even if it's not somebody useful." Without further acknowledgment of the obnoxious Pureblood, he threw the Floo powder into the fireplace and called out. "DMLE! James Potter!"

Seconds later, his father's face appeared in the green flames. "Harry?! What's going on? Wait – is that the Staff Room?"

"Dad, listen! The whole faculty's been petrified, along with all the Seventh Year Prefects and ... well, several of my friends. Can you send some aurors to the school?"

"_All_ of the faculty has been petrified?!" James exclaimed, dumbfounded. Then his eyes widened even further. "Your mother...?" he continued in a shaky voice.

Harry nodded. "I'm afraid so. I don't see Mr. Hagrid, Mr. Filch, or Madam Pomfrey here, but every other faculty member is here and petrified. Dad, I know what's causing this. Back in the earliest days of the school, Salazar Slytherin made a basilisk."

James was nonplussed by that statement. "A basilisk? Harry, basilisks kill. They don't petrify."

"Dad, _trust me_. This one _petrifies._ It was specially engineered by Slytherin as an anti-siege weapon that could only be controlled with Parseltongue."

James looked even more distressed at that, as if he was wondering if the bad news would ever stop. "Parseltongue? Is ... is Jim among the petrified students?"

"No. No one's seen Jim all day. Can you send help?"

The man shook his head. "No, son. As bad as things are, no one's been..." he paused and swallowed. "No one's ... _died_ yet, and until somebody does, the aurors can't enter the school without the Headmaster opening it for us."

Harry nodded. "And we don't have a Headmaster right now. Or even a Deputy Headmaster. Can the students evacuate on their own?"

James shook his head grimly. "We're ... not sure how the wards would handle that. We suspect that if a large enough percentage of the student body left at once, it would trigger the school's closure procedures. So you'd have to evacuate everyone at once and transport all the petrified people with you or they'd be stuck there for years and no one would be able to go in and get them. And of course, it's possible that an evacuation while the Headmaster was incapacitated might have some other negative effects. I've got some warding specialists looking into it right now." He rubbed his chin. "How can a basilisk even get around the school without being seen?" he asked.

"It can transport itself through any part of the school's plumbing system. It's magic, but beyond that, I don't know."

"How did you figure all this out, Harry?"

The boy held up the pages he'd copied from the ancient history book while preparing an evasive answer that would leave out his conversation with Lockhart.

"The Headmaster and everyone else had always assumed that whatever was causing the petrifications was something new, either a spell or a dark object, that was brought in for the first time back in 1943. But with the way it could get around the castle so easily and the legends of Slytherin's Monster, I though that it might be something old instead but which had simply been rediscovered. Something so old that it had been left out of more recent history books. I got access to a first edition copy of **Hogwarts: A History** in the Restricted Section and there it was right in the Table of Contents – Slytherin's Basilisk."

"That's brilliant, Harry!. Anything there on how to kill it? Or at least put it back to sleep?"

Harry hesitated. "Well, that depends. Do you have any idea on where to find either the Sword of Gryffindor or the Diadem of Ravenclaw? The book says that they're both useful against it."

James snorted. "Might as well ask for Excalibur and the Holy Grail."

"Well, except for those two built-in weaknesses, we're basically talking about a basilisk with troll regeneration and magic resistant dragon scales, among other defenses."

"_Merlin_," James whispered in horror before getting hold of himself. "Are there any prefects left?"

Harry turned and looked back. Bonneville had been joined by Titus Mitchell of Slytherin and Bobby Lattimer of Hufflepuff.

"Hey, Lattimer! Mitchell! My dad wants to talk to you!"

"Us?" Bobby said with a gulp. "Why?"

"You're prefects and you're not Bonnevie," he said. Miranda glared back at him coldly.

Nervously, Lattimer and Mitchell approached and received orders from the Senior Auror. All students were to be gathered in the Great Hall because there was no plumbing that led directly there. Students would be grouped by House with a headcount performed immediately thereafter. The prefects would then bar and ward the doors, and the students would wait there until they got the all-clear, which would be delivered by James Potter's Patronus. As soon as the ward experts said it was okay, they would then oversee an orderly evacuation to Hogsmeade.

"Oh," James finally said with a certain amount of hesitation. "If you can do so without endangering yourself or anyone else, please find my son Jim."

Both prefects nodded earnestly. Then, the fire went out. Immediately, they (with the grumbling assistance of Miranda Bonnevie) led the other students away from the Staff Room to the Great Hall. Unfortunately, they were met along the way by a number of upset Gryffindors led by a bruised and angry Percy Weasley.

"Where's Potter!?" the eldest Weasley asked furiously.

"Um, present?" said Harry.

"Not you, Harry. Your lunatic brother. He attacked me, tied me up, and locked me in my study room!"

"What?" said Fred. "When? You came to see us in the infirmary not half an hour ago! You were the one who told us to go to the faculty staff meeting where everyone got petrified! Harry and I were late and that's the only reason we didn't get stiffed like everybody else!"

"It wasn't Percy, Fred," said Oliver Wood. "I heard him ten minutes ago banging on the door to his study with his feet while he was still tied up on the floor. It took me until just now to break down the ward keeping his door locked."

"The Polyjuice Potion that was stolen!" exclaimed Susan Bones. "Jim must have stolen some of your hair to disguise himself as you after knocking you out!"

"Or, speaking purely hypothetically," said Harry in a calm voice, "somebody else Polyjuiced to look like Jim attacked Percy before copying _his_ form as well. Lockhart did get out of here with gallons of the stuff, after all."

"Merlin, why do you Slytherins have to make everything so complicated?" said Fred irritably.

"Besides," said Titus Mitchell. "You said that the monster that's petrifying everyone is some kind of basilisk, right? Well, Potter's the only Parselmouth in the school. Who else could control it?"

Harry frowned but didn't respond, while many other students began muttering in frightened tones at the mention of a basilisk. Angrily, Percy shook his head.

"WHOEVER IT WAS...!" the Gryffindor paused, closed his eyes, and collected himself before proceeding more calmly. "Whoever it was, he indicated that he's done something with Ron. Has anyone seen him today?" There was a soft murmuring from the assembled students that was broken by an anguished cry.

"The Heir of Slytherin has him!" It was Seamus Finnegan running down the stairs looking completely distraught. Dean was just behind him. "We've just come from our room. Ron's stuff has been messed up like there's been a struggle, and ... and there's another message on the wall." Seamus hesitated at the sight of Percy. He swallowed. "It said '_Weasley's Skeleton Will Lie In The Chamber Forever.'"_

The crowd went deathly quiet at that. Fred and Ginny both went ashen, while Percy's face crumpled for a second before being overtaken by a righteous fury.

"Right!" he said. "Anyone who's ready to put an end to this rubbish, get your wands out and follow me! We'll break up into groups of five and search this castle from top to bottom!"

"Percy!" said Bobby Lattimer. "I've already spoken with James Potter at the DMLE. He wants the students to barricade ourselves in the Great Hall until it's safe to come out."

"I'm not hiding out where it's _SAFE_ when my little brother is missing!" Percy snarled.

"For once, I agree with the Gryffindors," said Titus Mitchell. "This so-called 'Heir of Slytherin' doesn't care who he hurts. He's hit Professors Snape and Sinestra, both our Seventh Year prefects, and several other Slytherin students." Mitchell turned towards Percy. "_Everyone_ at Hogwarts has a mutual enemy, it seems." Percy returned Titus's gaze and then nodded, while dozens of members of all four Houses registered their approval.

Bobby Lattimer bit his lip in frustration and then shook his head. "Weasley, if you insist on this ... _Gryffindoring_ then on your own head be it. But I _insist_ that the younger students stay here. Everyone Third Year or below will get in the Great Hall _now_. Weasley, as you and your ... posse, I suppose, make your way through the castle, direct any students you encounter down here." He hesitated. "Good luck," he finally said with sincerity.

Ginny leaned in to Harry. "I think that's our cue to leave, don't you think?" She reached out and grasped Harry's robe, while on the other side, Amy did the same.

"Yeah, Harry. Be a dear and twist that ring on the count of three." Startled, Harry was surprised when Wilkes started counting. Belatedly, he gasped in as much air as he could and twisted Theo's ring. Ten seconds later, the three of them were several corridors away, gasping.

"How did you know what the ring did?" Harry asked Ginny suspiciously.

"Amy told me," she said simply. He turned to the other girl who simply shrugged.

"Uncle Gregory has one just like it. I think it was standard issue for the wealthier Death Eaters."

At that, Harry glanced down at Theo's ring with sudden distaste, as if checking to see if it had bloodstains on it. He'd assumed all this time that it was just a Nott family heirloom.

"So, what's the plan?" asked Ginny.

"Plan?" he replied almost irritably. "Why would you assume I have a plan? You just grabbed me and bullied me into using the ring I'd stolen off of a petrified friend to escape unnoticed before we could get herded into the only safe place in this whole wretched school."

"Safety is kind of a relative term around here, as you know good and well. And I'm pretty sure you always have a plan."

Harry grimaced and looked back and forth between the two girls, one of whom he'd sworn to protect from harm, and yet here she was ... _Gryffindoring_ as Bobby Lattimer had so eloquently put it. He sighed in frustration and pulled out the pages from **Hogwarts: A History** to review once again.

"According to this, there's an artifact called the Ewer of Hufflepuff that can cure the petrifications, but if it still exists, it's in the Chamber of Secrets and no one knows where that is. As much as it pains me to say this, we need my brother. It's obvious that the Heir has gone to great lengths to frame him for some reason. Maybe it's because his Parseltongue really can be used to gain control of the Basilisk. In theory, any Parselmouth can command it, but there's a weakness built into it that allows anyone who possesses the Diadem of Ravenclaw to overcome the control of any ordinary Parselmouth. If the Heir _doesn't_ have the Diadem, we may have a chance."

"_And frankly, Little Brother_," Harry thought to himself. "_I'd rather you be the one to publicly use Parseltongue on the Basilisk rather than having to blow my own cover._"

"And if the Heir _does_ have this Diadem thingy?" asked Amy.

"Oh, well in that case, we're screwed. Totally and utterly." Harry looked around. "Come on. Let's find my idiot brother."

* * *

_**Meanwhile in Gryffindor Tower ...**_

It had taken Jim almost half an hour to wriggle free from his bonds and another five to shoulder his way through the broom closet door. He was angry but above all frightened, both for Ron and for the rest of the school. Whoever Tom Riddle was and however he was acting through the Diary, he was now in control of Ron, and the fact that he felt the need to lock Jim up was a sign that he had something big planned. Jim had been locked in a seventh floor closet and had to run all the way down, grateful that he'd kept up his exercise.

It wasn't until he got down to the third floor that he saw his first sign of life. Unfortunately, it was one of his least favorite Gryffindors – Cormac McLaggen. Even more unfortunately, the obnoxious jackass had his wand out and immediately pointed it at him.

"Stop right there, _Potter!_ Don't even try to reach for your wand!"

"I don't _have_ a wand, McLaggen! It was stolen by the same person who locked me in a closet for the last six hours!"

"Don't try to lie to me, Potter. Everyone's on to you. Everyone knows you blew up the Mandrake crop and then beat up Percy Weasley and stole his hair!"

"I ... Mandrake ... hair?! _What are you talking about?!_"

"Save it, Potter!" Cormac laughed. "Heh. They'll probably give me a Special Services plaque for capturing you! _**STUPIFY!**_"

Instantly, Jim dropped to one knee and rolled out of the way of the spell. His roll carried him next to a small side table with a flower vase on it. He lashed out with an open palm and flung the vase towards the startled McLaggen who threw up his arms reflexively to bat it away. Immediately, Jim was running towards him. When he was a few feet away, he jumped up and kicked McLaggen's wand out of his hand. Then, as he landed, he grabbed the boy by the shoulders, fell backwards, and through Cormac over him and headfirst into the stone wall. The boy dropped to the ground, stunned. Jim froze for a second, still breathing hard. He'd been studying Taekwando for years, though only recently with true dedication, and this was the very real first fight he'd been in. The adrenaline rush almost made him dizzy. He examined McLaggen to make sure he was alright and then picked up the other boy's wand. A single lonely spark popped out and fizzled.

"Figures," he said dejectedly. He dropped the wand and then continued on down the stairs, this time more cautiously. Obviously, someone (probably Possessed Ron) had been busy for the last several hours and had somehow managed to frame him for a number of crimes. And the Mandrakes were destroyed?! How would they ever revive Dumbledore now? As he drew near the Common Room, he heard voices up ahead. He definitely could pick out Percy's uncharacteristically loud voice as he (even more uncharacteristically) threatened to do something anatomically dangerous with Jim's wand once he found the boy. Jim took a deep breath and then ran. Immediately, several of his House-mates yelled out and fired off curses at him. He dodged two, and then shoulder-blocked Seamus, knocking him to the ground. Jim continued running straight towards an overstuffed chair that stood between him and the exit, ducking and dodging spellfire as he did. Then, he jumped onto the back of the chair, knocking it over and letting his momentum carry him forward into a roll straight out the door.

Once outside, he took off down the nearest side corridor as fast as he could while trying to take an indirect path towards his destination. Jim had spent a lot of time thinking about what he'd learned from Tom Riddle's false memories while he struggled to get free. And now, he thought he knew where the answers lay.

* * *

Unfortunately, getting there required Jim to run a gauntlet through the school, and in a Third Floor corridor, his luck finally ran out. He was almost to a T-junction when his pursuers, a quintet of male upperclassmen, caught up to him, and one of them nailed him from behind with an Incarcerous. It was Angus McLaggen (Cormac's second cousin) from Gryffindor who'd taken him down. The others included Bole and Derrick from Slytherin and two other Fifth Years, one each from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Cursing, Jim hit the ground painfully as ropes appeared to wrap around him.

"Ha! Good one, McLaggen!" said Bole. "Time to make this bastard pay for what he's done!" The others laughed in agreement and then stopped ... as Harry Potter stepped confidently around the corridor and moved in front of his prone brother.

"That's quite enough," he said calmly. Behind him, Ginny and Amy peaked around the corner nervously.

"Oh look," sneered Peregrine Derrick. "It's the _other _one!" He fired off another Incarcerous spell which Harry casually batted off to one side with a lazy swipe of his wand. Harry fought back the urge to mock the boy – Derrick's form was quite poor, and after months working with Team Counterstrike, parrying the older boy's attack was like going from ping pong to children's badminton.

The older boys looked at one another nervously, now reminded of Harry's dueling skills. Then, Bole yelled out. "All at once, then! He can't parry _all_ of us!"

Harry raised his chin defiantly, even though he himself was not optimistic about parrying five spells at once. The five boys cast simultaneously. Harry blinked ... and dilated. Everything went to a crawl as he felt his eerily slow heartbeat within his chest. _**Thump ... Thump**_. He carefully studied the wand movements of his attackers, and after a few subjective seconds, he'd identified their spells: two stunners, one Jelly-Legs Jinx, one Incontinence Jinx (from McLaggen, the wanker!), and surprisingly, one Lacero that could cause some serious damage. Even more surprisingly, it came from a Hufflepuff who Harry didn't know but who obviously had an unusually mean streak for a Badger.

_**Thump ... Thump**_. Harry next examined the surroundings, and his attention was drawn to the large tapestry hanging on the wall next to his attackers. He also figured out the expected flight paths of the incoming spells while he planned out his defensive moves. _**Thump ... Thump**_. He took a third heartbeat just to confirm the paths the spells would travel before releasing his dilation. Instantly, time snapped back to its normal rate, and Harry was a blur of motion. He parried the first two spells and then jumped to the right. He let the Incontinence Jinx fly past him before parrying the Cutting Curse with a powerful forehand even though it was in no danger of hitting him. He also gave the parry a bit of spin that sent the Cutting Curse up and over so that it sliced through the ties holding the tapestry to the wall, causing it to drop. Then, he parried the last hex in such a way that the parry also formed the first move of the Levitation Charm. _**"WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!"**_ In response to his wand movements, the tapestry fell down and over all five boys. Finally, Harry fired off an Incarcerous of his own that wrapped around the boys from outside the tapestry, tying them up together within a heavy woven cocoon.

The fight was over as quickly as it began, and now that it was done, Harry Potter was suddenly amazed to realize that he'd taken down five older students singlehandedly in less than three seconds. He looked down at his wand in wonder, while behind him, Ginny and Amy just stared slackjawed. Jim was equally astonished.

"What ... you ... what ... HOW?!" Jim's babbling cut through Harry's mild fugue, and as he turned to face his brother, Harry's face assumed a mask of serene self-confidence, as if he'd never thought for one second that fighting 5-on-1 might be a problem.

"Articulate and well-spoken as ever, Little Brother," he said drily before casting a Finite on the ropes and helping Jim to his feet. Jim grumbled at Harry's sarcasm, but he didn't turn down the proffered hand.

"As ... undeniably cool as that was, we need to keep moving. I know how to find the Chamber of Secrets! Come on!" With that, and without even looking to see if Harry was following, Jim ran off down the corridor. Harry rolled his eyes.

"_Gryffindors_," he thought as he followed Jim around the corridor, with Amy and Ginny close behind. Then, just a few seconds later, Harry poked his head back around the corner and pointed his wand at the mass of upperclassmen still struggling and yelling out muffled expletives from inside the tapestry. Five quick Incontinence Jinxes later, the sound of muffled profanity grew even louder as Harry ran off snickering.

"_Sauce for the goose, McLaggen," _he thought mischievously to himself.

* * *

Unfortunately, the brief duel was also a noisy one that attracted quite a bit of attention. Within seconds, the four children were being harried by a dozen or more students in hot pursuit. A few were firing hexes which were easily dodged but most just yelled for the Potters to stop and surrender. Undaunted, Jim led the others down a flight of stairs and straight through the door of the second floor girls' lavatory.

"I don't have a wand!" Jim yelled while trying to bar the door shut with his body. "Anybody know a locking charm?!"

Harry narrowed his eyes in annoyance. Had Jim actually led them into a dead end before considering whether there was any way to lock the door behind them? Harry whipped out his wand. "_**COLLOPORTUS TRIMENDIUM**_**.**" The door flashed brightly and locked itself thoroughly.

"Right. It took a squad of aurors several minutes to break through that ward, so I'd be surprised if the average Hogwarts student could do it any time soon. Now, would you kindly explain what in Merlin's name we're doing _in a girls' toilet_!"

Relaxing finally, Jim took a deep breath and then explained his thinking to the others.

"Okay, pay attention. It turns out that these petrifications have happened before, back in 1943. Only that time, a girl actually died! And what's more, her _ghost_ is haunting this very toilet!"

Harry stared at Jim in consternation. "Really," he finally said in a deadpan voice.

"It's true! They call her Moaning Myrtle, and she can probably tell us everything we need to know about the Chamber of Secrets!"

Harry stared at Jim in a mounting fury that his Occlumency did nothing to curtail. Right now, he wished that _his_ gaze had petrifying properties. "You ... _git_!" he finally spat.

"What?" Jim replied as if offended.

"I KNEW ABOUT MOANING MYRTLE OVER _SIX MONTHS AGO_!" Harry bellowed at his brother. "SHE REMEMBERS '_BIG YELLOW EYES_' AND NOTHING ELSE!"

Ginny put her hand on his arm. "Harry, calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down! All the teachers are petrified! The aurors can't get in to help us! The Mad Petrifier, whoever it is, is running amok! There's a mob of angry students after us! _And I'm trapped in a disused lavatory because Jim has only just now learned a clue that I knew back in November_!"

"All the teachers?" Jim said in a quiet voice. "Including ... Mum?" Harry nodded, calming down a bit at the devastated look on his brother's face. He rubbed his eyes in frustration and stalked off to the opposite corner of the room. Ginny tried to assess the situation.

"Okay, so Myrtle is a dead end. Do you at least have any idea where Ron is? No one's seen him all day. Is he alright?"

Jim barked out a laugh. "Alright? Oh Ron's doing _great_! He's _the bad guy!_"

Harry's head jerked around. "What?!" he exclaimed while an angry Ginny stepped up and poked her finger into Jim's chest menacingly.

"You take that back!" she shouted while Jim put his hands up as if surrendering.

"Take it easy, Ginny. It wasn't Ron's fault. It was the Diary!"

At that, Harry and Amy moved back over to the arguing duo. "What diary?" Amy asked.

Jim looked back and forth among the three Slytherins. "All year long, Ron's been taking class notes in a black leather-bound diary. And I found out just this morning that it's a cursed dark object that somebody must have slipped him. It can affect minds and even possess people outright. And it's haunted – or something like haunted, anyway – by the spirit of the guy who framed Hagrid for being the Heir of Slytherin in 1943. A guy named Tom Riddle!"

"Tom Riddle!" both Harry and Ginny exclaimed simultaneously before looking at each other in confusion.

"Oh," Jim said sarcastically. "Heard of him, have you? What, is he on Slytherin's '_Top Dark Wizards of the 20__th__ Century_' list or something?"

Harry opened his mouth and then clamped it shut quickly. Depending on how one looked at it, the list of Princes mounted on the Lair's wall could be construed as that very thing. He started over.

"Tom Riddle was the Fifth Year Slytherin prefect at the time of the original Heir of Slytherin affair. He later became Head Boy. Dumbledore apparently remembers him fondly. And he's been my Number One suspect for months now. My theory was that Lockhart was actually Tom Riddle teaching here under a fake name for some nefarious purpose, but if he can actually possess a student through a dark object..."

Harry trailed off as he considered the implications. "Which leads me to my next question: How do _you_ know about Tom Riddle?" he said turning towards Ginny. The girl simply looked back and forth between the Potter brothers with a stricken look on her face.

"_This is all my fault,_" she said in a horrified whisper.

* * *

_**About nine months ago  
The Weasley Burrow**_

"Dammit!" Ron exclaimed before stepping out of his room. Ginny heard him and called out.

"What's wrong, Ron?"

"After Dad punched Mr. Malfoy in the face, I got so excited that I totally forgot to ask Mum to buy some loose parchment. I've got enough for assignments, but I don't have anything to take notes with. Do you have any extra?"

"No way!" Ginny exclaimed. "I'm just starting at Hogwarts, and I'm not getting into trouble for being unprepared because I had to give _you_ school supplies that you forgot to buy yourself."

"Aw come on, Ginny! Help your brother out!"

She sighed in mock exasperation. Then, she went over to the cauldron containing all her books and removed a thin black leather book which she handed to Ron. "Here. You can use this for notes."

He turned it over and read the cover. "_Tom Marvolo Riddle_. Who's he?"

Ginny shrugged. "It was in my cauldron with my other books when we got home. I told Mum last month that I needed a new diary. I guess she forgot that Harry got me one as a gift when he was staying with us, and she bought me a new one. Well, by '_new_,' I mean an old one she fished out of the used book bin. There's not even a price tag on it. Anyway, you can have it. I don't think I'd like writing my personal thoughts down in somebody else's diary. Feels kinda creepy."

Ron flipped through the empty book. "Thanks, sis. You're the best."

She laughed. "Glad to see you mature enough to admit it, Ron."

He laughed as well before returning to his own room and setting down at his small writing desk with his new notebook. Taking out a quill and some ink, he quickly wrote on the inside cover. "_Property of Ron Weasley._" Then, to his surprise, the ink slowly faded away. For a second, he wondered if the Twins had replaced his inkwell with disappearing ink again. Then, new words appeared on the first page of the diary.

"Hello, Ron. My name is Tom."

Ron eyes widened in surprise. Immediately, he thought back to discussions he'd had with his father before he first went off to Hogwarts, specifically about how recognize dark objects. "_Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't tell where it keeps its brain_," was one of Arthur Weasley's more amusing recommendations that Ron had never anticipated needing to recall. Then, Ron heard a very soft hiss, and suddenly, all of his father's words of advice were completely forgotten, and other ideas popped into his head in their place.

*** _Be calm. You are not afraid but curious.***_

_***You want to know more about me before you tell your parents. ***_

_*** They'll be especially proud of you if you know all about the book before you speak to them.***_

Ron touched his quill to the paper and wrote a response.

"Who are you, Tom?"

As the ink faded away, more information passed from Ron to the Diary. He was an earnest but insecure child with vague dreams of earning his parents' respect by becoming Head Boy someday, even though he had no idea how to achieve such a goal with his lackluster academic skills. And also, something about a "Boy-Who-Lived" who Ron had promised to aid in defeating a dark wizard known as ... Voldemort. The Diary silently assessed its understanding of Ron's psyche. Emotional stratagems that had been devised to use against the girl who had held the Diary previously were discarded and new approaches for manipulation were devised.

"I am not actually a person, Ron. I am TOM – Thaumaturgical Organizing Matrix. My creator, Tom Marvolo Riddle, enchanted me long ago to serve as a study aid. With my assistance, Tom Riddle eventually became Head Boy before he graduated."

Ron's eyes widened. "Head Boy?! How?!"

"If you write all your notes within my pages, I can organize them for you and allow you to restructure the information however you wish. If you write a first draft of a paper or essay within me, I can edit it for you for both grammar and content. As exams approach, I can quiz you on topics that your teachers have discussed most frequently. There are many other things I can do to help you to become a better student and a better wizard."

Ron smiled eagerly ... and in doing so was lost.

* * *

_**Now ...**_

"It's okay, Ginny," said Harry. "It wasn't your fault. You didn't write in the book and couldn't have known what it was."

"Yeah," said Jim. "I mean, I've had Occlumency training and it almost affected _me._" Harry gave his brother a look, and Jim responded testily. "Of course, Harry here would have been _completely unaffected_ since he's '_Master of the Mental Arts_' or whatever. But my point is, neither you nor Ron is at fault here. Ron's the victim and you're not responsible for what happened to him."

Then, Jim glanced over at Amy with a thoughtful expression. "In fact, the diary was what caused Ron to turn against me after he found out I was a Parselmouth. I wonder if Ron somehow manipulated those other Gryffindors into jumping me before Christmas."

Amy suddenly looked a bit queasy, and Harry noticed. "What?" he demanded. Amy looked over at Ginny.

"Might as well tell him," Ginny said. "We're trapped in a bathroom. This is no time for secrets, I guess."

Amy turned back to Jim and swallowed hard. "It, um, wasn't Gryffindors who jumped you that night. It was Derrick and Bole pretending to be Gryffindors. It was part of Cassius Warrington's plan to ... well, I'm still not sure what his plan was beyond getting you to like Slytherins and maybe eventually becoming a dark wizard or something. It was kind of vague on his part." She hesitated. "He's not very bright."

"I can vouch for that," said Harry. Jim, meanwhile, was confused and, strangely, hurt.

"And you were in on it? Letting them attack me and then pretending to come to my aid?! I've been walking around afraid of my own House ever since that night!"

"Oh, leave her alone, Jim," said Ginny. "It was my idea."

Jim sputtered angrily at that, while Harry smiled at the girl. "Why Miss Weasley!" he said. "Have you been scheming something? I'm impressed."

"Thanks," she said sarcastically. "Jim, I may have had a bit of a crush on you when I was just a little girl, but family is family. I was convinced from the start that Warrington was really the one behind the prank that got Fred expelled. I talked it over with Amy and she agreed to go undercover with Warrington's clique to get proof."

"I thought Lockhart confessed to that prank," said Jim.

"I still don't understand what Lockhart was up to," said Amy, "but Warrington and Miranda Bonnevie admitted to me that Warrington was really the one responsible. They made me promise not to share it with Derrick and Bole, since they were both victims of the prank, but they didn't make me swear not to reveal it to anyone else, so ... here we are."

"Wait," said Harry suddenly. "Miranda Bonnevie was part of a conspiracy to _physically assault the Boy-Who-Lived_?! That's ... delicious!"

"Anyway," said Ginny after shooting Harry a dirty look, "that's not the important bit. Tell them about 'the friend,' Amy."

Amy nodded. "The members of Warrington's clique include him, Bonnevie, Bole, Derrick ... and Warrington's _secret accomplice_." Then, she nodded, as if that answered everything.

Harry frowned. "And? Sorry, but it's not really a shocking revelation to say that Warrington has another accomplice but you don't have any idea who it is."

"You don't understand, Harry," said Amy. "I don't mean Warrington has a secret accomplice and I don't know who it is. I mean Warrington has a secret accomplice and _he_ doesn't know who it is. Just some mysterious 'friend' who leaves him letters in envelopes with advice on how to perform pranks against his enemies. Letters that just sort of appear out of nowhere when he's not looking. Letters that the friend can even deliver to his dorm room in the middle of the night, and he's _certain_ it's not a roommate."

Harry inhaled sharply. "The cloak," he said softly.

"What?" said Jim. "What about the cloak?" Harry waved off his questions and closed his eyes to think. When his thoughts wouldn't move fast enough, he dilated and contemplated the facts so deeply that he almost forgot himself and dilated too long. On the sixth heartbeat, he let go and opened his eyes in shock.

"It's _all_ connected!"

"What is?" asked Ginny.

"Everything! Ron's been behind nearly everything that's happened this year. Well, I mean, probably not the stuff involving crazy killer house elves, but who knows, maybe that too in some roundabout way." Harry turned towards Jim.

"Someone plays a prank on you involving that Leprechaun crown and leads you to think it was me, right?" Jim nodded. "So you try to plant dungbombs in the Slytherin dorm. Did Ron help you with that?"

Jim's eyes widened. "Yeah, he got them for me from the Twins."

"But then, no one in Slytherin retaliated, so Ron must have played the hair-changing prank on you both and blamed it on us. That prank was the same one that the Twins tried to play on me last year. Ron could have easily gotten it from them. Then, you retaliate with the boggart prank. Did Ron help with that?"

"It was his idea," Jim said faintly, as the level of Tom Riddle's manipulations finally started to become clear.

"Naturally. Then the next thing to happen was the first petrification." Harry paused thoughtfully. "Only I don't understand why anyone would petrify a cat."

"McGonagall said that Mrs. Norris could detect me even if I was under the cloak," Jim said. "And I remember _telling_ Ron that right after McGonagall told me!"

Harry nodded at that. "The cloak that was stolen that very night, right after a guardian animal that can see through it is petrified. And he leaves a note implicating me that causes you to attack me the next morning. _And then_, a week later, he plays a prank on the Weasley Twins and uses it as cover to steal their map."

"What map?" Jim asked in confusion. Harry waved off the question as unimportant, as he was thinking of other things.

"_That weekend, he must have ordered the snakes not to speak to any Parselmouths in the school. That's what Ka the Cobra meant in the Lair the other day! Tom Riddle as Prince-Emeritus would outrank me since I'm not Prince yet, but the Hydra was divided on whether to recognize a spiritual remnant of Tom who was possessing a child who wasn't even a Slytherin!_"

"So after that point," Harry said aloud, "Ron and Tom Riddle have the cloak and the map and with them the ability to travel almost unimpeded through the school."

"But they searched the whole school for the cloak and didn't find it," said Ginny.

Harry shrugged. "If Ron's really under the control of Tom Riddle, he would know where the Chamber of Secrets is located. He could have hidden the cloak there until the heat died down. He probably left them there until Winter Term started, at which point the petrifications start in earnest."

"But why go after Cormac?" asked Jim. "Just to make me look bad?"

Harry rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "A test run. He petrifies the cat, and no one revives it, but the Headmaster might just not want to spend an expensive potion on a cat. So later, he petrifies a student, and Cormac gets revived after a week. _Then_, he petrifies Colin ... and Colin _stays _petrified. But _maybe_ that's just because he's Muggleborn from a poor family and the school won't pay the expense for the Mandrake potion. So _then_, Riddle petrifies Draco and Justin, both of whom are from extremely wealthy families that would pay anything to cure them. And yet, neither of them gets revived either, thus proving that there's literally no Mandrake potion to be had."

Ginny's eyes widened as she finally figured it out as well. "And once Riddle _knows_ that there's no extra potions to be had, he goes after Professor Dumbledore."

Harry nodded. "Followed soon after by the rest of the staff, but only after he destroys the Mandrakes growing in Greenhouse #3 to delay revival even further. He takes out the whole faculty and the student leadership, plus he takes out most of _my_ close friends and _would_ have taken out me if I'd shown up at the meeting on time. Everyone would have assumed that you were responsible for the petrifications due to sibling rivalry."

"So what was his plan, beyond screwing with me all year?" Jim asked.

"Wheels within wheels," Harry said grimly. "Riddle has a multi-layered strategy with lots of possible goals to shoot for. And he adapts quickly to changing circumstances. But yeah, it's obvious that two of his major goals are wrecking your reputation and taking Dumbledore off the board for months ... or longer. I talked to James earlier. He has ward specialists trying to figure out how to evacuate the school safely, but he was worried that if a sufficiently large number of students panic and flee the school all at once, it might cause Hogwarts itself to trigger the school closure process. And if Dumbledore or any of the other petrification victims are still here when that happens, they could remain petrified for _years_ just because no one will be able to get to them and wake them up!"

The other students were horrified. "We've got to do something!" Ginny said.

"Like what? We're stuck in a toilet, remember?" Harry replied in irritation.

Amy spoke up. "Yeah, Moaning Myrtle's toilet. And when you talked to her, you're sure she didn't say anything other than '_big yellow eyes_'?"

Harry shrugged. "That's what Hermione and Padma said. They were the ones who interviewed her."

"Oh, well, _that's_ your problem!" Amy said. "You sent a Gryffindor and a Ravenclaw to do your work for you!"

"Oi!" said Jim angrily, but Amy ignored him as she walked over to one of the stalls and knocked on it gently.

"Myrtle, honey? Could you come out for a minute? We'd like to talk to you."

After a few seconds, the ghost of a mousy Third Year Ravenclaw with pigtails and horn-rim glasses floated through the stall door. She looked angrily at Jim and Harry.

"Boys aren't supposed to be in here!" she shrieked.

"It's alright, Myrtle," Amy said soothingly. "We just would like to ask you some questions ... about how you ... died, if that's okay."

"I know," the ghost replied peevishly. "I heard you all shouting about it. Well, I've already told the other two. I was in the bathroom when I heard some hissing and then a funny grinding noise. Then, I walked out of the stall ... and died. That's all I remember."

"Well," said Ginny. "Can you tell us what you remember about Tom Riddle?"

She smiled warmly at the mention of Riddle's name. "Tom was wonderful. He was the kindest, smartest, and most handsome boy in the whole school."

"Not to mention _most evil_," Jim grumbled.

"You take that back!" Myrtle shouted. "Tom was my friend!"

"Tom was the one who killed you!" Jim shouted back.

"_That's a LIE!_"

"Myrtle, I'm sorry," said Harry as kindly as he could manage, "but it's true. Tom was the one behind the petrifications that led to your death."

"IT WAS AN ACCIDENT!" A silence lasting several seconds fell over the room in response to Myrtle's angry scream as everybody absorbed what she'd said. Then, suddenly, Harry face-palmed himself and groaned.

"It's like every five minutes, I'm reminded that I'm an idiot!" he exclaimed. "I knew Tom Riddle was behind a scheme to improve the status of Muggleborns by petrifying them and framing Pureblooded Slytherin bigots as being responsible. But it never occurred to me that all of the Muggleborns who got petrified _were in on it_! Did Hagrid know?"

She shook her head. "No. Hagrid was sweet, but we all knew he couldn't keep a secret."

"Myrtle, please," Harry said in his most earnest voice. "Lives are in danger. We need to know what happened to you?"

The ghost sighed despondently. "It was Nobby's idea. He suggested that the Halfbloods might get on our side if it looked like the Slytherins were actually endangering the Muggleborns instead of just treating us so horribly. Then, Tom suggested petrification. He couldn't tell us how he was doing it, but he could leave us petrified for a few weeks and then frame Abraxas Malfoy for being the Heir of Slytherin. And it was working! All the other Houses were treating us better and the Slytherins worse! Until ..." She stopped abruptly.

"Until you fell over after being petrified, hit your head, and died," Harry finished.

She shook her head sadly. "It was my own fault. I was supposed to meet Tom upstairs at nine o'clock to get petrified. But Olive Hornsby had made fun of me, and I wanted to fix my makeup. I didn't want to get petrified for months and look like I'd been crying the whole time, so I came in here first. But then, since I was already in here, I decided to use the facilities. While I was in the stall, I heard this funny grinding sound and then some loud hissing. I stepped out to see who it was and saw Tom ... and I fell."

Harry's eyes flashed with excitement. "Myrtle, this is very important. Did you ever hear Tom enter this room through the door before you heard the grinding and the hissing?" She shook her head no. "Thank you," he said.

"If you do find Tom somehow, tell him... tell him that it wasn't his fault. I made all the others promise never to reveal what we'd been doing. But he never came to see me after that day even though we had ... I mean, he ... _changed_ so much after that. I just ..." With that, the ghostly girl burst into tears and then flew back into her toilet, disappearing with a splash.

Harry looked around the room as if searching for something.

"What?" asked Ginny. "You've thought of something."

"Maybe. The assumption was always that the Heir of Slytherin targeted Myrtle while she was here in the girls' lavatory. But it was actually just bad luck that they met up here. She said that she heard a grinding sound. And she also said that Tom just appeared here without coming in through the door. I think the actual physical entrance to the Chamber of Secrets might actually be somewhere here in this very room!"

"Salazar Slytherin put the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets in a girls' bathroom?!" Amy asked incredulously.

Harry shrugged. "Maybe it wasn't a bathroom back then. There was an 800-year-gap between 1943 and the last time before that when the Chamber had been opened. And during that time, the whole country became obsessed with denigrating Slytherin's memory. Maybe they converted his office into a lavatory as some kind of insult without even realizing the entry way to the Chamber was here. Makes as much sense as anything else in this crazy school."

"Perfect!" exclaimed Jim. "So let's find the entrance, go down and get Ron, and deal with Riddle and the Basilisk for good."

Harry stared at Jim and fought down the impulse to bite his brother's head off for such a stupid suggestion. "That's ... one option," he said with strained diplomacy. "Another is we confirm that the entrance is here and then we unseal the door and persuade some Sixth Year prefects to go down there, since the odds of us taking down a dark wizard aided by an unstoppable petrifying relic of Salazar Slytherin are pretty slim."

"We can't wait! Ron needs our help!" Ginny said urgently

"He needs help from people who can actually _help him_, Ginny," Harry said reasonably before turning back to his brother. "Not jumped up Gryffindors with delusions of grandeur!"

"FINE! Just find the entrance and I'll go by myself if you're too much of a COWARD!_"_

Harry's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Coward?" he said in a quiet voice. "You're calling me a coward, Jim? Really? Tell me something, Little Brother. Just between the four of us – how old were you _the first time_ you talked to a snake?"

Jim paled. "What?"

"I saw your reactions to that snake we accidentally conjured at the dueling club meeting. You were pretty surprised by the snake's appearance, yet strangely not surprised at all by the fact that you could talk to it. And your response in the aftermath was not to deny that you were a Parselmouth but to beg Ron not to turn on you over it. I think you've known for some time that you could talk to snakes but were afraid to let anyone know. So how old were you the first time?"

Jim bit his lip nervously. "I was six, okay? I was six years old and I talked to a snake out in our parents' garden. And then Mum told me what it meant to be a Parselmouth and how I shouldn't let anyone know because they'd ... they'd act pretty much like everyone in this school has this year."

"Yeah, because you concealed something about yourself that you found frightening so that when it finally came out, everyone else found it frightening too. Very brave of you!"

"Shut up! Are you going to help me or not?!"

Harry stepped right up to Jim's face. "I'll help you. I'll go down into the Chamber of Secrets with you and help you fight a basilisk and save Ron Weasley. But I want something in return. Something only you can give me."

Jim snorted. "Just like last year with Hagrid's dragon, huh? Well I don't happen to have an invisibility cloak to loan to you right now."

"I don't want your cloak, Jim. If I do this and we both survive, I want you to talk to the _Daily Prophet_, _Teen Witch Weekly_, the Wizarding Wireless and every other media outlet you can think of and tell them that you're a Parselmouth and there's _nothing wrong with it_! I want you to tell Wizarding Britain that you have a special ability but it doesn't make you evil or dark or anything like that. That you're still the Boy-Who-Lived. You're just also the Boy-Who-Talks-to-Snakes and that's _fine_. And above all, I want you to tell our bigoted narrow-minded father to accept us both for what we are and to stop being _such a prat!_"

By that point, Jim had gone so pale he looked nearly sick. "I ... I..."

"Spit it out, Little Brother."

"I ... can't," Jim said in a soft broken voice.

"Harry?" Ginny said nervously. Harry turned to her with a smile.

"It's quite alright, Ginny. Despite what I said, I have every intention of helping to save Ron." He turned back towards Jim with a look of contempt. "I just wanted to see for myself the full measure of Gryffindor courage." Then, he turned away again and sauntered towards the middle of the room, popping out his wand as he did.

"_**SCRUTIMINIUS SECRET PASSAGE!" **_he intoned. Nothing happened. He sighed and started rubbing his forehead with the tip of his wand. "No, of course not. It couldn't possibly have been that easy." He thought for a moment and then raised his wand again. "_**SCRUTIMINIUS SNAKE!**_" With that, the tip of his wand lit up, and he heard the distinctive hum of the Detection Charm. He let the wand lead him to a sink on the other side of the room, and after examining it for a few seconds, he noticed that there was an odd engraving on the tap – one that resembled a small snake.

"Yo! _Heir of Slytherin!_ You're up!" Harry called in the direction of his brother. With an angry grimace, Jim walked over to the sink, examined the engraving, and then hissed the Parseltongue word for "Open," though only Harry could have known what he'd said. There was a grinding sound, and the sink slid away to reveal a hole in the floor.

"Well done, Little Brother," Harry said condescendingly. "Okay, Ginny and Amy, you'll stay here and wait for help while Jim and I..." Before he could get any farther, Ginny snorted loudly.

"That'll be the day," she said before jumping feet first down the hole before Harry could stop her.

"Ginny!" Jim exclaimed before jumping down the hole after her. Harry had to dash to grab Amy before she could follow suit, and he had to physically pick her up and drag her away from the entrance.

"Let me go!"

"No way! You've done enough Gryffindoring for one day, Miss Wilkes. Besides, I made a promise to keep you out of trouble, and I've been far too lax about that recently."

"What?! A promise to who?"

"To someone who cares about you a great deal," he said simply, yet that was enough to make Amy Wilkes stop struggling and look up at him in shock as she absorbed what he'd said. Then, she shook her head stubbornly.

"Whatever. Ginny is my friend and needs my help. And you can't stop me from going down there after her!"

"Fine," Harry said. "But can I at least say one more thing in an attempt to persuade you?"

"What?" she asked.

"_**DUROS.**_" he said with a smile, holding his wand up as he did. Instantly, a thin but durable wall materialized between the two. It didn't quite reach to the ceiling, but it was high enough to separate Amy from that part of the room where the opening was located.

"DAMMIT HARRY!" she yelled furiously before kicking the wall and then yelling in pain.

"Careful, Wilkes. You'll break a toe or something." Harry had pulled himself up to the top of the wall to poke his head over it. "This wall is pretty sturdy if not quite as tall as I'd wanted. Now once I've gone down, deactivate the ward I put on the door. It's strong from the other side, but from inside where we are, it can be brought down with a simple Finite. Then, tell the prefects what's happened and find out if the aurors are on their way."

"I thought the aurors couldn't get in," Amy said in a sulking voice.

"Well, maybe they've had ... some ... luck," Harry said, his voice trailing off as he looked towards Myrtle's stall. Then, he cursed loudly. "Dammit. It's been five minutes. Guess it's time for me to reveal what an idiot I've been again! No wonder the Ashwinder doesn't like me."

"What?"

"Never mind! Okay, new plan. Contact my father and tell him everything we've learned about Myrtle and Tom Riddle. Ask him to see if that's enough new evidence to reopen the investigation into Myrtle's death. That should give them enough of a pretext to enter the castle, and then they can come help us."

"And what makes you think your father or anyone else will listen to _me_?" she asked.

Harry fixed her with the same look of serene confidence he'd given Draco at the Slytherin-Gryffindor Quidditch match. "You'll find a way to make it happen," he said. "I have complete confidence in you."

And Amy Wilkes's eyes widened slightly as she realized it was true. He believed that she could get it done. She nodded at him seriously, as if accepting an assignment from a trusted superior. Then, Harry dropped back down and turned back towards the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. He almost stepped off into the opening as Ginny and Jim had done, but then, he caught himself and stared at the opening for a few seconds before breaking out in a grin. He scooped up his robes in his free hand, crouched, and jumped up into the air. "_**PROTEGO ORBIS.**_" The shield wrapped itself around Harry in mid-air, and he fell for just a second. Then, the orb stopped before lowering itself down the hole at a controlled but determined pace.

"_Never let it be said_," the Slytherin thought to himself, "_that Harry Potter doesn't travel in style._"

* * *

**The next chapter will be posted sometime between May 2 and May 4, 2016. "The Chamber of Secrets." **

**AN 1: WHEW! I got this in under the wire if only just. I apologize to everyone whose been waiting and especially the kind people who messaged me to see if I was okay. I'm fine. It's just been a hideously stressful week. Let me put it to you this way: Since the last chapter was posted, I've written over 50,000 words, not counting this chapter_._ All time-pressured work-related stuff. Which, alas, meant that HP&amp;TSE got pushed to the bottom of the barrel. **

**AN 2: I wanted to give a shout-out to the reviewer who said "why doesn't James just reopen the investigation into Myrtle Warren's death?" (because it was a solution that honestly hadn't occurred to me) but I forgot to write down who it was. Message me and all post your name next week so that all can praise your cleverness. :)**


	77. HP&TSE 43 - The Chamber of Secrets

**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY **

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

* * *

**CHAPTER 43: The Chamber of Secrets**

Ginny's decision to jump down the hole that led to the Chamber of Secrets was an impulsive one, but she could never countenance being left behind and certainly not when the life of one of her brothers was at stake. That didn't change the fact that it _was_ an impulsive decision, as she realized once it was too late to turn back and she could only wait to find out the hard way what was at the bottom of the tunnel she was now sliding down at breakneck speed. For all she knew, it might lead to a bottomless pit or a bed of spikes or simply the Basilisk's gaping maw. Indeed, there might not even be a need for an actual trap of some kind – given her speed, she could simply fly out of the bottom and crash into a wall. A pair of broken legs might be just as deadly as a pit of acid if no one knew where she was or how to get to her. Thus, she was greatly relieved when the steep slide finally bottomed out into a relatively flat arc that slowed her descent before dumping her out on the ground, if not gently, then at least without injury onto a filthy stone floor.

From somewhere back up the slide, Ginny heard a noise that sounded quite alarming until she realized it was merely Jim Potter yelling "Waahooo!" at the top of his lungs as he slid down. She rolled over to one side while briefly wondering how she'd ever had a crush on the boy. Even as serious as the situation was, he couldn't resist treating the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets as if it were an amusement park ride! A few seconds later, Jim shot out of the opening face-first and landed on the ground with a loud "_Whooof_!" He got up slowly, rubbing his nose with a pained hiss after sliding it across the floor. By the time he'd gotten up, Ginny had already cast a Lumos, and the light from her wand revealed a twenty-foot diameter circular corridor with a stonework floor. To her great relief, there was no immediate sign of a Basilisk. Then, she heard another rattling sound from back up the way she'd come, and a few seconds later, Harry Potter floated briskly through the opening while seated in a cross-legged position. He came to a stop in midair and then casually put his feet down onto the ground. Ginny and Jim stared at him in complete amazement.

"What?" Harry said with the faintest smirk on his face. "Protego Orbis. I didn't know what would be down here, after all. If nothing else, I didn't want to end up covered in filth." He nodded at the other two who were, indeed, covered head to toe in centuries of dust and grime. Then, he reached up with his free hand and tapped his glasses in a rhythmic pattern. Instantly, the lenses went black.

"Are sunshades really helpful down here?" Jim asked irritably.

"These are. I just activated the low-light function. To me, this corridor is now brightly lit. And in fact, Ginny, I'll ask you not to wave that Lumos in my face, thank you very much. It's very distracting."

"Whatever," Jim said before heading down the corridor.

"Don't get too far ahead, Jim!" Harry said in a deliberately patronizing tone. "After all, it's not like you have _a wand or anything_!"

Ginny and Harry followed after Jim. "So why _are _you here?" Ginny whispered. "Just to annoy Jim? I mean, let's be honest, I _know_ you don't particularly like Ron or anything."

"No, but I like you and the rest of your family, and I don't fancy explaining to your mother that I let you get eaten by a giant snake while I was hiding in the girls' bathroom. Also, I owe George a life-debt, so I sort of felt obligated."

"Do you mean to say you actually felt compelled by the debt you owed George to come risk your life down here?"

"Between you and me? I don't think so. _But_ if anyone else asks why I did something as Gryffindorish as this, the life-debt's my story and I'm sticking to it."

With that, the trio moved on through the gloomy tunnel. After a few minutes, the tunnel opened up into a larger cave and they stopped. Up ahead, they could just make out in the darkness what looked like a massive snaked lying motionless on the other side of some rocks.

"You two stay here," he whispered. "I'll creep up and get a better view. If it is the Basilisk, maybe it's asleep or something and we can sneak past it."

"That's stupid!" Harry whispered back urgently. "Why should you go alone?"

"Because as you pointed out, I'm the one without a wand, so I reckon that makes me the most expendable right now." And with that, Jim crept off towards the opening, leaving an anxious Harry and Ginny behind. Harry was just about to follow when Jim stopped and visibly relaxed. He turned back and called to the two Slytherins.

"It's okay! It's just a shed skin. Pretty big though!"

Relieved and yet annoyed that Jim was yelling and perhaps giving away their position, Harry stood and headed towards his brother, with Ginny following close behind. When he was ten feet away, though, Harry froze in shock. Then, in one swift movement, he pushed Ginny backwards. "GINNY, GET DOWN!" he yelled before charging straight at Jim. The Gryffindor had no time to react before Harry tackled him, his force carrying them both ten or so feet further into the open area.

Barely a second later, the runes Jim had unwittingly been standing upon exploded, causing rocks to fall down from the ceiling to block the entrance through which they'd come.

"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!" Jim yelled while trying not to choke on dust.

"Explosive runes, _obviously_!" Harry said harshly. "Not nearly as big as the ones that blew up Greenhouse #3 this morning, but enough to kill if you're standing on top of them. And you're welcome!" Harry ran back to where the rocks had fallen and shouted urgently for Ginny.

"GINNY! GINNY! ARE YOU OKAY?!" From the other side of the rock fall, he could hear some coughing and a muffled reply.

"I'm fine! I was clear of the explosion, but the way is blocked on my side. What do I do now?"

Harry exhaled in relief. "Start trying to clear the rubble away! But be careful! We'll go ahead and get Ron, but we may need to leave in a hurry!"

"Okay! Be careful guys!"

Harry stepped reluctantly away from the rubble and turned back to Jim with an angry expression. "Come on," he said. "And _watch where you're going!_"

Chastened, Jim nodded, and then he and Harry continued on past the enormous snake skin into the next tunnel. Both of them were equally shaken to see confirmation of the Basilisk's size.

"Plus," Harry muttered, "now we're down to _one_ wand."

"Nobody asked you to come," Jim snapped.

"Actually, you _did_ ask me to come. And then accused me of being a coward when I said it was a bad idea."

"Yeah, well ... you still came in the end. So much for Slytherin cunning."

Harry gaped at that remark. Then, he laughed at what Jim had said. After a few seconds, Jim laughed as well and shook his head at the absurdity of their situation before the two continued down the path. Along the way, they found two more sets of explosive runes on the floor. Harry used the Color-Changing Charm to turn each of them fluorescent orange, and the two carefully edged around each in turn. Eventually, they arrived at a huge sealed door barred by locks that resembled huge metal snakes. Faintly glowing orbs cast some illumination, though only Harry with his glasses could see clearly. Jim noticed.

"So what all enchantments do you have on those glasses anyway?"

"Unbreakable. Can't fall off accidentally. Water-repellent. Light-resistant and light-intensifying, as needed. Plus a few other bits and bobs."

"Anything in there to protect you from the Basilisk's gaze?"

"Surprisingly, that was not offered as an option by the wizarding optometrist. I'll have to ask and see if he can custom order that for me."

Jim chuckled and then examined the vault door. "Now what?" Jim asked. Harry shrugged.

"Try telling it to _open_ again. That worked before."

Jim glanced at Harry before taking a deep breath and hissing the word _open_ in Parseltongue. The massive snake-locks unlocked themselves and the door slid open. On the inside, there was a long pathway flanked by massive brass snake heads, each of which had water pouring out of its mouth and into a narrow channel on each side of the walkway. Beyond them on either side were massive columns supporting a roof which so high as to be shrouded in darkness. At the far end was a massive sculpture of a bearded man easily forty feet tall with a huge flowing beard. His features were fierce yet noble, and Harry was surprised to find that even Salazar Slytherin's image had not escaped slander by the Ministry – the man's face showed nothing of the "monkey-like" description that was in all the official depictions of him.

Then, Jim gasped, and Harry saw what had startled him: Ron Weasley's prone body was lying face-up on the floor just under the statue, the Diary still clutched in his hands.

"RON!" Jim abandoned all discretion and ran towards his friend, while Harry followed behind more warily. Jim dropped to his knees next to the boy and tried to shake him awake. "Come on, Ron! Please don't be dead!" he said in a distraught voice. Then, he tried to pull the Diary away but screamed in pain and jerked his hands away, shaking them from the shock damage the cursed book had inflicted from just a second of contact.

Harry pointed his wand at the unconscious figure. "_**BIOGNOSIS.**_" The spell was a basic diagnostic charm which Professor Lockhart had taught the previous January as part of the unit on first aid. In response, ghostly symbols appeared floating in the air over Ron's body.

"Hmm. According to this, he's fine physically ... except for the part where he's dying."

"WHAT!?" Jim exclaimed.

"What I said. There's nothing physically wrong with him, but somehow his vitals are fading for no reason. It's like ... like the life is draining out of him. The Diary's work, I expect." Baffled, Harry moved around to the other side of Ron to where the boy's book-bag had been left. Inside he found the boy's normal schoolbooks, the invisibility cloak, a blank parchment which he assumed was the Weasley Twins' map, and an ash wand which he handed off to his brother, who promptly kissed it as if greeting a loved one after a long absence.

"Eww!" said Harry. "Don't kiss it! You don't know what Evil Possessed Ron's been doing with it!"

"Harry, shut up!" Jim replied irritably before returning to his friend. "Ron! Come on, wake up, Ron!"

"I'm afraid Ron won't be waking up, Jim," said a voice from nearby, one Jim found familiar. "You see, as he grows weaker, I grow ..."

"_**STUPIFY!**_" Jim sent his strongest Stunner towards Tom Riddle who was suddenly standing just a few feet away. It passed through him harmlessly, and he sneered at the boy.

"In this form, Potters, I am quite immune to even the most potent of attack spells. _Now, as I was saying_, as Ron grows weaker, I grow stronger. Not that you two will be around long enough to witness my full corporeality." He turned towards Harry. "I enjoyed the chance to meet the famous Boy-Who-Lived earlier. I learned _so much_ about your brother from my ... interactions with Ronald. But I must say it's a pleasure to meet _you_ in the flesh as well, _Harry Potter_."

"Charmed, I'm sure," Harry said drily as he and Jim rose slowly. Harry had spent hours researching Tom Riddle ever since Dumbledore had told him about the "brilliant young Slytherin" with whom he and Jim shared a brother wand, yet he'd never found an actual picture of him. He was surprised that Riddle for some reason seemed oddly familiar.

"Oh, the pleasure's all mine, Harry," Riddle continued in an unctuous voice. "I've learned a great deal about you both from young Ronald's memories, but _especially_ all about your exciting adventure last year in which you both successfully fought off Lord Voldemort himself. I'm very interested to learn how the two of you managed such an impossible feat. How did two mere First Years manage to defeat the greatest wizard of all time?!"

Harry turned towards Jim as if confused. "Did we defeat Merlin last year?! I don't remember that _at all_!"

"No, no," Jim replied. "I'm pretty sure Tommy Boy is just a Voldemort fan-boy. Which makes no sense actually. Voldemort was after your time."

Riddle sneered hatefully at the boys. "Lord Voldemort is my past, my present, and my future!" With that, he pointed towards the Diary and then snapped his fingers. To the boys' surprise, the gold lettering on the front cover floated up and expanded in the air to spell out "TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE." Then, Tom waved his hand, and the letters slowly rearranged themselves to spell out different words.

I AM LORD VOLDEMORT.

Both boys were shocked by the revelation. "Voldemort?!" Jim said in a shaking voice. "You ... you're Voldemort." Riddle began to respond when Harry rather loudly interrupted.

"IT'S AN _ANAGRAM?_" Jim actually jumped at the force of Harry's exclamation. "I just thought is was _bad French_! But do you mean to tell me that the Great and Terrible Lord Voldemort got his name from an _anagram_ when he was _a teenager_?! What happened? Did you get _bored_ in History of Magic and say to yourself '_I swear, if Binns talks about Goblin Wars __one more time__, I'll go mad and become a genocidal Dark Lord!_' I've got even _less_ respect for Tom Riddle and Voldemort _both_ than I had before I came down here!"

"Alas, _Potter_," Riddle spat angrily, "I didn't change my name to please the likes of you! I wanted a name to strike fear into my enemies, one that would no longer carry the stain of my filthy Muggle father!"

"Wait, what?" Jim asked in confusion. "Voldemort has a _Muggle father_?!

"Yes, Jim," Harry said irritably. "Try to keep up. And besides, Tom, it's not like your mother was any great prize!"

Even Jim was shocked by Harry's rude comment, while Riddle inhaled furiously. "How _dare _you!" he snapped. Harry just sniffed disdainfully.

"I've made you my business, Tom Marvolo Riddle, ever since I found out about your history and ancestry. Your grandfather and namesake, Marvolo Gaunt, was the _last_ lord of House Gaunt. He was expelled from his Wizengamot seat in 1921 after showing up drunk to a legislative session and firing a Bludgeoning Curse at Lady Sapphira Doge while she was giving a speech in favor of criminalizing Muggle-hunting. The criminal fines and civil penalties bankrupted House Gaunt, and today, the former Gaunt Manor is the refurbished summer home of Donaghan Tremlett, the bassist for the Weird Sisters." Harry paused and grinned broadly "He's a Muggleborn, you know!"

Riddle snarled, but Harry was just getting warmed up.

"Your Uncle Morfin Gaunt started at Hogwarts in 1911, but he flunked out during his fourth year due to failing grades and violent assaults on fellow students. There's no record of him ever sitting for his OWLS. Your mother Merope Gaunt ... _she never even got a Hogwarts letter._" Harry laughed maliciously, so much so that it unnerved Jim.

"You know, Tom, in a fine old Pureblood family like the Gaunts, they have a word for children who don't get Hogwarts letters: _Squibs._ And they've got another word for the children of squibs and Muggles." Harry took a step towards the furious shade and grinned wickedly.

"_Mudbloods!_"

For a few seconds, the shade of Tom Riddle was too angry to even speak. Finally, he collected himself. "Then it is a good thing, Harry Potter, that in a few minutes, you'll be carrying the secret of my lineage to your _graves_. But you won't be the last!" He looked back and forth between the two boys with equal measures of hatred. "When Ron Weasley is dead and I am fully corporeal, I have many things to do before Lord Voldemort is _fully_ reborn. But I think I've time enough to pay a visit to the infirmary, where a helpless and pitiful Albus Dumbledore waits for someone to put him out of his misery."

"_You will not lay a FINGER on Albus Dumbledore!_" Jim bellowed in a rage. "_Not while there's a breath in my body!"_

"Yes, well, very soon there _won't be_, Jim. You'll be preceding the old man in death, and soon Dumbledore will be nothing but a memory!

"Albus Dumbledore will never be gone from Hogwarts! Not while there's a single person left to remains loyal to him!"

Suddenly, from elsewhere in the chamber, there was a triumphant cry, and Fawkes, the Headmaster's phoenix familiar flew in carrying something in his talons. The phoenix circled and then dropped its cargo which landed nearby. It was the Sorting Hat. Riddle and both Potters stared at it in surprise before the shade snorted in amusement.

"So this is what Dumbledore sends his great defenders: a songbird and an old hat."

"Yeah," said Harry ruefully. "I have to say I'm a bit disappointed myself." Apparently, the Hat heard the boy's complaint as it let out a loud "ha-rumph!" in response.

Riddle turned away from the boys, raised his hands in supplication to the stone face of Salazar Slytherin, and began to speak in Parseltongue.

"Sssspeak to me...!"

Snickt! "_**SILENCIO!**_"

Instantly, Tom Riddle whirled around in a rage and began mouthing vulgar insults in the direction of Harry Potter, none of which could be heard.

"Right," Harry said calmly. "That's that, then." Then, he bent down to pick up Ron's bag while Jim looked back and forth between Harry and Riddle

"What?" he said.

"I said, '_that's that_.' We're done here." He gave his confused sibling a cheeky smile. "You see, Little Brother, this is why it's important to learn the _theory_ behind magic instead of just memorizing all the spells that you think you can use in a fight. Most attack spells require a physical form to target, and the Stunner, in particular, only works on things with functioning nervous systems. The Silencing Charm, on the other hand, will work on _anything _capable of making a sound, including ghosts and other intangible spirits. It was all on last year's Charms final." Harry pointed his wand towards the Diary. "_**ACCIO DIARY.**_" The book flew out of Ron's grip, and Harry caught it within the book-bag containing the invisibility cloak and all Ron's other things. Then, he casually slung the bag over his shoulder.

"Now then, I'm going out to help Ginny open up a passage. And since you're the one who's been _working out_ all year long, you can bring Ron. I guess a Fireman's Carry would work the best if you know how to do that." And with that, he turned towards the door.

"Wait, Harry!" Jim exclaimed as he grabbed Harry by the arm. "We can't just ... _leave_ Riddle down here!" He pointed back towards the silent Riddle who was just glaring at them hatefully. "Can we?"

"Why not? The Silencio will last for a few hours unless somebody cancels it, and I'm pretty sure Ole Tom here, being an immaterial spirit with no wand, can't manage the wandless, wordless magic needed to do that himself. The only thing he could do to harm us is to summon and command the Basilisk, which he _can't_ now. So, as I said, we're done here. Let's get Ron up topside where there's a school nurse, mostly likely a squad of aurors, and if all else fails, a fireplace that can connect to St. Mungo's."

"But ... we _can't_," Jim said in tongue-tied frustration. "I mean ... there's, you know, _a Basilisk_ down here!" Then, he waved his arms as if helpless to explain any further. Harry studied his brother for a moment. Then, his eyes narrowed and his face darkened in anger.

"I. Don't. _Believe_. You!" he said through gritted teeth. Jim was surprised and slightly alarmed to realize he'd somehow made his brother angry.

"What?" he asked carefully.

"You're _angry_. You're actually _angry_ that Slytherin cunning has resolved this whole problem simply and efficiently and thus deprived you of the chance to have some magnificent battle between yourself and Salazar Slytherin's giant ruddy snake!"

"... no?" Jim said with obvious embarrassment.

"_YES_! You said you wanted us to rescue Ron, but now that we're here and miraculously able to do that, you're _angry_ that you won't get some great ... _Gryffindorish_ battle against one of the deadliest creatures on Earth which is _also_ the totemic symbol of my House! Unbelievable!"

"Harry...!" Jim said, his own anger starting to rise.

"You know, calling you a _git_ seems inadequate somehow!" Harry said on a roll. "You're the Lord High Git of the British Isles! The Emperor Git of the World! No, wait! The _Supreme Git of the Universe!_"

"STOP CALLING ME A GIT!" Jim yelled.

"STOP ACTING LIKE A GIT! Harry yelled back.

"_**EXPELLIARMUS DUO!**_" Ron Weasley yelled to them both. Instantly, both boys' wands flew out of their hands to land on the ground somewhere behind the boy. Ron's wand was now pointed at the Potter Brothers. His face was a mask of contempt, and his eyes glowed a red the color of blood.

Harry and Jim stared in shock at Ron for a few seconds. Then, Harry whirled back towards Jim, still as angry as he was before.

"And on top of _EVERYTHING ELSE_, Jim, you got me so _angry_ that I COMPLETELY FORGOT that the Diary can _possess_ Ron!"

"Harry, SHUT UP!_" _Jim exclaimed before turning to his possessed friend. "Ron, listen to me! If there's any part of you that can understand me now, _you've got to __fight__ Riddle!_"

The possessed boy sneered hatefully at his former friend. "Sorry, Jim. Ron's not here at the moment. Normally, I just put him into a deep dreamless sleep when I need direct control. But he's been a bit difficult lately, so I thought some punishment was in order. At the moment, Ron Weasley believes that he's sealed in a pine coffin that's buried six feet underground in a forgotten forest. It's cold, it's wet, it's pitch black ... and he is _covered _in spiders."

Jim blanched. He knew all too well about Ron's arachnophobia. "Ron" laughed at his expression of horror.

"He's calling for you, Jim. After everything that's happened, poor widdle Ron Weasley is screaming your name, begging you to forgive him his sins and save him from his fate." Then, the smile melted off the boy's face. "I just wanted you to know that before you _died_!" Then, he whirled around, and while keeping a wand on Jim and Harry, finished the phrase that opened up the chamber holding the Basilisk.

"Ssspeak to me, Ssslytherin! Greatessst of the Hogwartsss Four!" With a terrible grinding sound, the mouth of the face slowly started to lower, and from inside, Jim could hear a terrible hissing sound drawing nearer, one that spoke a mighty creatures hunger and desire to rip and shred its master's enemies.

"Okay, this is bad, but it's not the end of the world," Jim said in a shaky voice. "We just need to stay calm. We may not have wands, but we do have the invisibility..." Jim turned towards Harry only to see that the other boy was gone. "... cloak." He whirled around wildly and realized that his brother seemed to have vanished completely.

"Godammit, Harry!" he spat under his breath before turning tail and running away from the approaching Basilisk, slowing down only just enough to scoop up the Sorting Hat off the floor. Behind him, Jim could hear the sounds of Ron's voice hissing instructions in Parseltongue and the great serpent hissing back its obedience.

"Parseltongue won't save you, Potter. The Basilisk listens only _to me!_ Now, let's see how Slytherin's Monster fares against the Great Jim Potter!"

Jim ran as fast as he could among the tall columns hoping that they were too close together for the snake to fit through. Then, he heard Fawkes's cry again, followed by Ron shouting angrily, and the Basilisk squealing in pain. He risked a glance back, and from a shadow on the wall, he could tell that Fawkes had successfully clawed out the Basilisk's eyes, thus neutralizing its petrification gaze.

"Your eyes will grow back eventually, my pet! Not even the talons of a phoenix can permanently mar you! And in the meantime, you can still smell Potter!" The Basilisk roared its agreement and then took off in the direction of where Jim was hidden. The boy ran, dodging columns as he went before darting down a side corridor with the snake close behind. Ron watched them depart and then started scanning the room for any signs of the other Potter's presence.

"Come out, Harry Potter. You may not be as brave as your Gryffindor brother, but that's no reason to be an utter coward!" There was a sound nearby, and Ron whirled around, letting loose with a Cutting Curse before he could even find the source of the sound. It was just a pebble skittering across the floor. Ron studied it with a frown and then whirled around towards the direction it had come from, but it was already too late.

"_**EXPELLIARMUS! INCARCEROUS!**_" The two spells hit the possessed boy before he had any chance to spot his opponent. The wand flew across the room towards Harry whose arm and head were all that was visible beneath the cloak. He caught the wand easily just as the bound Ron dropped to the floor.

"Alright, then," said Harry as he removed the clock, pocketing the spare wand as he did while keeping his own wand on his captive. "My brother has his snake to play with, so it's just you and me for now. Let's get better acquainted."

* * *

_**Jim and the Hat...**_

As Jim darted his way through the tall columns, he could hear the Basilisk behind him drawing ever nearer. It couldn't see him (though he thought he saw signs of the snake's eyes slowly regenerating), but the creature's senses of hearing and smell were undiminished. Jim's luck held, though, as he found an opening in the wall to small for the serpent to get through, one that dumped him into a channel flooded with brackish water. He coughed up the foul water and then coughed again from the dust that rained down on him from above as the Basilisk futilely bashed its head against the narrow opening. Wiping his brow clear of the filthy water, Jim stood up and staggered down the dark tunnel and away from the madly hissing snake.

After a few seconds though, he was in pitch darkness and couldn't risk proceeding any further. Exhausted, hurt, and beaten down, he finally remembered the musty (and now drenched) Sorting Hat still clutched in his hand. After wringing it out as best he could, Jim put the Hat on his head.

"I don't appreciate being wrung out like an old dishrag, Mr. Potter," it said.

"Yeah, well, I don't appreciate letting something that's been drenched in toilet water sit on my head, but we'll both have to make the best of it. Now, can you give me any help?"

"Not directly, I'm afraid."

"So why did Fawkes bring you then? Moral support? A song of encouragement, maybe?"

"Don't be facetious, Mr. Potter. I said I couldn't give _direct_ aid. You can blame Godric for that, actually. When the four Founders had their little argument over the Basilisk's design, Godric _could_ have insisted on having the same influence over it that Rowena Ravenclaw received."

"What sort of influence?" Jim asked.

"Let's just say that if you had the _different_ item of head gear right now, you could simply order the Basilisk away. But you don't, so here we are." The Hat paused. "Actually, I take it back. There _is_ one form of direct aid I can give you."

With that, Jim gasped. Even though the Hat was covering his eyes, he found that he could now see perfectly well despite the darkness of the tunnel.

"Nice!" he said. He thought for a few seconds about what the Hat had said. "Godric _could_ have asked for influence over the Basilisk, but he didn't. So what _did_ he ask for?"

"Ah, now you're finally _thinking_. From the start, Godric believed that the Basilisk was too dangerous to be allowed in the school no matter how many constraints were placed upon it."

"And obviously, he was right," Jim interrupted.

"I take back what I said about you thinking. The Basilisk lay in its secret chamber for over eight centuries without incident until Tom Riddle gained access to it. If anything, the mistake was Rowena's. Only a Parselmouth who also possessed the Ravenclaw Diadem could overcome the Basilisk's conditioning and use it against the Headmaster and the rest of the faculty, to say nothing of using against other Parselmouths. The serpent was always particularly susceptible to Parseltongue; but for the prevailing influence of the Diadem, you'd be able to control it just as well as ... any other Parselmouth.

Jim thought about that. "So what _did _Godric Gryffindor demand in exchange for letting Slytherin grow his Basilisk?"

"Unfortunately, I can't answer that. Not yet."

"Why not?! Lives are in danger!"

"I'm well aware of that, Mr. Potter. But I am constrained by the limitations placed on me by my creator just as the Basilisk is by its. I can't give you the aid you need until you prove yourself _worthy_."

"And how do I do that?" Jim said impatiently.

The Hat hesitated before finally speaking. "Let's start by talking about your family."

* * *

_**Harry and Tom ...**_

Ron's face twisted into an inhuman snarl as Tom Riddle spoke through him. "You actually mean to interrogate me, boy?"

Harry shrugged. "We've got some time to kill while Jim's handling the snake."

Ron laughed. "You believe Jim Potter stands a chance against the Basilisk?"

"As obnoxious as my brother is, he has a way of pulling off miracles where Voldemort is concerned."

"Well, I hope you aren't expecting him to charm his way out. The Basilisk responds to my will and mine alone."

"Ah," said Harry brightly. "So you _do_ have the Diadem of Ravenclaw. The only way to control the Basilisk that trumps Parseltongue!"

Ron's eyes widened slightly. "Very astute. I have ... claimed mastery of the Diadem, though it's not with me know. I can access its properties from any distance so I keep it in a safe place. I take it you found the 1st Edition of **Hogwarts: A History**?"

Harry nodded. "To be honest, I'm wondering how Dumbledore and everyone else missed it."

The possessed boy smirked, and Harry suppressed the urge to fist-pump. He'd known from his last encounter with Voldemort that the enemy couldn't resist the chance to show off his own cleverness.

"By writing messages from '_the Heir of Slytherin_,' I directly invoked the government-sponsored propaganda about Slytherin and his supposed desire to purge the school of Mudbloods. Dumbledore knew that Slytherin didn't really have any such desire, nor any heirs that Hogwarts was capable of recognizing. When he researched more recent books about the school, they all agreed that the Chamber of Secrets was just a legend, and Professor Binns was insistent that the Chamber and the Monster didn't exist. Accepting all that at face value, Dumbledore naturally assumed that the _'Heir of Slytherin_' references were a red-herring meant to lead him astray and that the true cause of the petrifications was some new curse or dark object that had been smuggled into the school in 1943. The Ministry banned all copies **Hogwarts: A History** prior to its fourth edition and burned most of those editions it could find in the early 17th century, so it's quite possible that Dumbledore didn't even know the school had a copy of the highly-illegal _first edition_ locked away in a vault within the Restricted Section." Ron laughed. "Reports of Albus Dumbledore's omniscience were always overrated."

"I'll keep that in mind in the future," Harry said. "I take it he never even tried to read you with Legilimency?"

"Natural Occlumens, since early childhood. I suspect that was part of why the old fool distrusted me so much. Oh, and for the record, Potter? You shouldn't count on having a future."

"_Moving along_," Harry said archly, "if even Dumbledore didn't know about the first edition book, how did you find it?"

Ron studied Harry for a few seconds and then smiled. "How else? Several facets of the Hydra are prone to gossip, as I'm sure you know."

Harry stayed silent.

"Oh yes, Harry Potter. I've known for months that you're a Parselmouth who seeks to become the next Prince of Slytherin, despite your debased lineage. But you're not there yet, and a Prince-Emeritus has privileges that outrank a mere claimant like yourself. I commanded the Hydra Throne to refuse to acknowledge any Parselmouth but me, and it conveyed my orders to the rest of the school's serpents. I knew it would be impossible to move freely about the school, let alone make use of the Basilisk, if the Hogwarts serpents were providing you with intelligence."

"Yeah," said Harry. "I'd figured as much. I owe you for that, Tom Riddle." He took a deep breath. "But what I really want to know right now is ... what happened to you?! Tom Riddle was respected by most of the school as a Muggleborn who'd been successful in _Slytherin_ at a time when Blood Purity politics was at its height. Granted, your fellow Slytherins must have treated you awfully, but you had a network of Muggleborn friends that you were forging into a powerful clique, one of whom went on to become the first Muggleborn _Minister of Magic_! And then, you threw it all away to change your name, invent a new heritage, and become the leader of a Pureblood death cult. Did accidentally killing Myrtle Warren affect you that much?"

"Spare me your appeals to sentimentality, Potter. The Mudblood's death meant nothing to me!"

"Now see, I don't believe a word of that. Sociopaths can be charming, but not that charming. Too many people found you likeable for it to all be an act, and Myrtle still cares for you and believes you cared about her even though she _died_ as a result of your actions. She also says that _after_ she died, you _changed_. Guilty heart, Tom?

Ron laughed menacingly. "I did change that night, but for the better! You're right, Potter. Up until the night Myrtle died, I was still weak, still convinced that I could change the system from within. That I could gain power with the aid of my _friends_." The last word fairly dripped with contempt. "But as that ... _Mudblood_ lay on the floor dead, I suddenly realized what a fool I was to have ever cared for anyone else. I almost succumbed to weakness then, but I found the strength to resist and power through. And that's when I realized the singular truth that has guided me ever since – _other people don't matter_. Now do you understand?"

Harry sat silently as he absorbed what Ron – no, what _Voldemort_ – had said. Harry understood perfectly – understood and shuddered at the knowledge. The boy now knew exactly how Tom Riddle became Voldemort ... because he had come within an angel's breath of doing the very same thing himself. The previous summer, barely a week after Elizabeth Podmore wsa killed simply for the sin of being an invited guest at the Potter birthday party, Harry stood in Artemus Podmore's office and watched the man break down in tears. In response, Harry felt his own heart overflow with grief and regret and shame and survivor guilt, as well as an empathy for Artie's suffering that was so deep that it _burned_. At that moment, Harry desperately wanted to simply _not feel_ those painful emotions, and even at that early point in his Occlumency training, he knew he had the _option_ of not feeling them. And the only reason he _didn't _take that option was because Artie had already reached out to the boy to let him know that the man cared about him and that the late Elizabeth Podmore had cared for him as well, even before they'd met face to face, even though she knew that caring for someone like Harry Potter might be dangerous. With that knowledge, the emotional dam that Harry had unwittingly been building finally burst, and he'd wept alongside Artie, unashamed of his own emotions. And since that day, he'd never again considered using Occlumency to shut those emotions down completely.

But on the night Myrtle Warren died, there had been no one on hand to show similar compassion to the boy who had accidentally killed her. Raised in a brutal orphanage and Sorted into a House primed to hate him, Tom Riddle had finally found a group of friends to care about and who would care about him... until one of them died because of a stupid accident in the course of a scheme he'd cooked up to make life better for them all. Alone and terrified, grief-stricken and guilt-ridden, Tom Riddle was overcome with negative emotions and decided that whatever the cost, he would never feel that way again. And so he turned his Occlumency inward and permanently destroyed his capacity to feel love or empathy for others.

And thus, Tom Riddle died alongside Myrtle Warren ... and Lord Voldemort was born to take his place.

* * *

_**Jim and the Hat ...**_

"Is this _really_ the best time to talk about my family issues?!" Jim snapped.

"No time like the present. It was my understanding that you were supposed to be getting counseling after that unpleasantness with Mr. Rookwood's Occlumency book, but, well, what with one thing after another, it never really happened, now did it?"

"And you're volunteering to be my counselor? Now? While I'm hiding from a giant snake in an ancient sewer?"

"As a matter of fact, yes, I am. Now, first question: What do you believe is the worst thing that can possibly happen to you in the future?"

Jim shook his head at the idiocy of the question. "Pretty sure it's getting _eaten_ by the giant snake that's stalking me through the aforementioned ancient sewer. Can you think of anything worse than that?"

"Well, I _was _beginning to wonder, Mr. Potter. So I take then that you now think _dying_ is a worse fate than having to risk the scorn and opprobrium of the wizarding world as a result of being a Parselmouth? Not to mention standing up to your father's bigotry over that same issue?"

"HOW CAN THIS POSSIBLY BE THE TIME TO DISCUSS THIS!?" the boy yelled in a fury.

"It's the only time we have, Jim. Because I cannot help you unless I _know_ you're a Gryffindor through and through. Do you know how Godric Gryffindor died, Jim?"

The boy paused, now genuinely curious despite his anger at the Hat. "I dunno. Heroically?"

The Hat laughed softly. "Godric died in his bed and in great pain of an illness that could have been cured had it been caught early. If it _had_ been properly diagnosed, he might have lived another twenty or thirty years. But he was afraid of appearing weak before the other Founders. Afraid that what he mistakenly thought were merely the signs of advancing age meant that he would cease to be the _legend_ that he had become in the eyes of the witches and wizards who thought him an invincible hero. And so he concealed his growing weakness from the other Founders until it was too late."

Jim was surprised to hear the profound sadness in the Hat's voice. Then, he remembered – the Sorting Hat had actually been Godric Gryffindor's _own personal hat_ until he'd enchanted it to sort the students.

"You're quite right, Jim," the Hat said softly, surprising the boy by reading his thoughts. "While I was not given the task of Sorting until Hogwarts first opened, Godric's magic made me self-aware long before then. I was his companion and advisor for many, many years even as I tirelessly kept the rain and sun off of his brow."

Jim stood still and thought about everything the Hat had said. Did he really think that risking his life to be a hero was preferable to the _mere thought_ of people ... not _liking_ him? He took a deep breath to steady himself as he explored that realization.

"Hat? I'm ... pretty messed up, aren't I?"

The Sorting Hat laughed softly. "No more than any other hero, Jim."

"I ... need to save Ron, Hat. I've got a lot of thinking to do ... ya know, if I _survive_ this. I ... I don't want to be afraid anymore." He lowered his head. "Assuming we do make it through this, can ... can we speak together again?"

"I'll discuss it with Albus, but I don't think it will be a problem. But first things first – reach inside me."

Confused, Jim took the Hat off and stuck his hand inside. He became even more confused when he discovered he could reach in all the way up to his armpit. Then, his hand found and closed around something hard and unyielding. He withdrew his hand and was amazed to see that he now held a gleaming silver sword inlaid with rubies. On the hilt was inscribed the name _Godric Gryffindor_ in a medieval script, and in faint etching along the blade was a Latin inscription that Jim recognized from the bedtime stories his father had told him of Gryffindor when he'd been a child:

"_Sedit qui timuit ne non succederet._"

"_He who feared he would not succeed sat still."_

Jim studied the legendary blade in awe. Then, he placed the Hat back on his head and began searching for a way out of the sewer. He had people to save.

* * *

_**Harry and Tom ...**_

Harry had been quiet for several seconds after his epiphany about Voldemort's personality. He decided to change the subject. But first, he opened up the bag and levitated the Diary out and onto the floor.

"So, the Diary? How does it work? And who taught you the enchantments?"

"No one _taught_ me, _Potter_!" Ron spat angrily. Harry thought it was eerie seeing Ron Weasley sneer and spit like early First Year Draco Malfoy.

"_Not to mention the Dark Lord Voldemort is __surprisingly__ immature, at least in this form,_" he noted. "_And conveniently easy to provoke._"

"Really?" Harry said dubiously. "You came up with this yourself?"

Ron raised his chin arrogantly. "The earliest iteration of the Diary I made as a Third Year. A complex variation on the Switching Charm to enchant a regular Muggle diary so that it could record my thoughts and memories and organize them as I wished. It was years after leaving Hogwarts that my little project found a second purpose ... as the _key to my immortality_!"

Harry nodded at that. Then, he whipped out his wand and pointed it at the book on the floor. "_**INCENDIO!**_" The gout of flames did nothing to the Diary, not even to singe the edges. Ron laughed.

"Fool! The same effect that binds a part of my very soul to that book – and consequently to this foolish boy who so freely used it – also makes the Diary impervious to all spells. Dumbledore himself couldn't undo what I have wrought."

"And now, you're leeching away Ron's life to form a new body for yourself. I bet you didn't learn _that_ at Hogwarts."

"The basic concept _was_ described in a book I found in the Restricted Section, though I had to search the world to find the actual spell. And yes, before too long, I will be powerful enough to manifest corporeally. And then, none of your tricks will save you."

"Yeah, probably not. Tricks have absolutely never saved me before, not even once. I am curious though. You said earlier that you would become corporeal, presumably in the form of sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle, and then you'd take revenge on Dumbledore before Voldemort was fully reborn. What was that all about?"

The other boy was silent.

"I mean, obviously, Voldemort would not have set up his resurrection so that he would be reborn into the form of an angsty teenager who looked nothing like the Dark Lord who the Death Eaters used to follow. So what's the plan? Age yourself into Voldemort? Or create a new body for the spirit version of Voldemort we fought last year? I mean, you didn't know anything about what happened last year until Ron told you, so you obviously haven't been connected to the _real_ Voldemort since before that. Do you even remember what happened when Jim destroyed you when he was a baby?"

Ron remained silent, but he was visibly angry now.

"For that matter, do you remember _anything_ about what's happened to the _real_ Voldemort since the day he put a part of his soul in the book? But no – that would be stupid. Surely Voldemort wouldn't make his resurrection dependent on a copy of himself that was limited to his school day memories, knowledge and personality." Harry thought for a moment. "But then, surely he wouldn't arrange for the piece of his soul that's going to bring him back to life to be sent _to Hogwarts in the hands of someone like Ron Weasley either_! To be carried around by Jim Potter's best friend _under the very nose of Albus Dumbledore himself! _I mean, Voldemort's bold and aggressive and, yes, insane, but not _stupidly _insane. If you're really the only thing keep his soul from moving ... on..." Harry's voice trailed off as he thought back over what he'd just said. Ron studied him carefully while trying to maintain a neutral expression. Harry's eyes widened.

"Oh. Ooooooh! Of course! I see it now!" Harry started pacing excitedly. "You're not Voldemort's _diary_! You're Voldemort's _first draft_! His _prototype_! First, he figures out how to bind a piece of his soul into something in such a way that it will be limited to his sixteen-year-old personality and power levels. That way, if something goes wrong and the soul fragment develops too much independence, he doesn't have to worry about accidentally creating a rival instead of a servant. And then, once he knows the process works..." Harry paused and then looked down at the bound and possessed boy lying at his feet.

"How many of you _are there_, Tom Riddle?" he asked in quiet wonder. "Just how many books and baubles and trinkets did Voldemort leave lying around for innocent dupes to find and start the process of bringing him back?!"

Ron sneered. "That doesn't matter. One is all that's necessary, as you'll see momentarily. Nothing you can do will stop the Diary from doing its work."

Harry stared at the other boy as he considered that. "I suppose it's true that I don't know any spells that can destroy that book. But tell me, is your current _host_ also fireproof?"

He pointed his wand at Ron's face, and steeled himself. The possessed boy paled. But then, before Harry could cast any spells, he heard someone running towards him. It was Jim Potter, entering from the far side of Salazar Slytherin's statue, with the Sorting Hat on his head and in his right hand ...

"Seriously?!" Harry yelled in shock and amazement. "You actually _found_ the Sword of Gryffindor what's been lost for _centuries_?! What happened? Did you just trip over it in the dark or something?"

"No," Jim replied while trying to catch his breath. "It was inside the Hat!"

"That's ... WHAT?!"

But before Jim could say anything more, there was a rumbling sound from nearby. Then, before either boy could respond, there was an explosion of water from the small moat surrounding Slytherin's stone head, and the Basilisk burst forth with a roar of anger. It immediately tried to smash Jim to a pulp with its body, but the boy was barely able to leap out of the way. Unfortunately, the force of the creature's impact knocked Jim to the ground hard roughly forty feet away from Harry, and he lost the sword which skidded across the floor before coming to a rest just out of reach of either twin.

"FORGET THAT ONE!" yelled Ron. "KILL THE...!"

"_**SILENCIO.**_" Harry silenced Ron almost casually without ever taking his eyes off the writhing Basilisk. It roared and lunged again towards Jim who was still on the ground trying to crawl towards the sword.

"_**PROTEGO!**_" Harry cast the Shield Spell over Jim with all his might, and the Basilisk's attack was deflected ... barely. The force of the blow caused Harry to drop to one knee and cry out in pain. The Basilisk hammered the shield again and again until Harry's eyes started to water from the strain. He couldn't cast any other spells while maintaining the Protego over Jim (who himself couldn't move without leaving the shield and becoming vulnerable), and anyway Harry didn't know _any_ spells that could get through the thick hide of the Basilisk. The Sword of Gryffindor which was spelled to incapacitate the beast was lying ten feet away and completely useless. Then, Harry's shield collapsed, and the Basilisk roared in triumph ... only to then shriek in pain as a red light enveloped its head and a voice cried out from someplace nearby.

Harry turned his head and did a double-take. Ginny Weasley stood in the entrance to the Chamber, filthy, bruised, exhausted, and yet strangely exultant. Harry turned back to look at the shrieking Basilisk. It reared up its head, and the snake's giant nostrils expanded and then cracked, spraying out a reddish-grey substance which coalesced into winged bat-like shapes that began to attack and distract the Basilisk.

Harry stared in slack-jawed amazement as he processed this. "_Okay_," he thought. "_The Bat-Bogey Hex can apparently affect a Basilisk. Makes sense, I guess, since it specifically targets the nostrils and that lets it bypass the magic-resistant scales. I wonder if that might be a question on my OWLS._"

Then, shaking off his surprise, he pointed his wand at the nearby sword. "_**WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA.**_" The blade flew through the air to land in Jim's outstretched hand.

"Thanks!" the boy yelled.

Harry nodded and then tried to yell instructions over the deafening cries of the Basilisk and the two shrieking Basilisk-Bogeys that were still attacking it. "NOW WHILE IT'S DISTRACTED, JUST STAB THE THING! THE SWORD'S ENCHANTED TO PUT IT SLEEP WITH A SINGLE ... _ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME_!"

Unfortunately, Jim either could not hear Harry or he was so focused on his own plan that he was ignoring his twin. Instead, he started yelling and waving his arms to attract the beast's attention. Harry was gobsmacked when he realized what Jim was doing. "_Or I suppose you could just let it EAT YOU and then stab it to death from the inside!_" he thought angrily. "_I guess that would work too!_"

But to Harry's amazement, it appeared that really was the boy's plan! The Basilisk finally noticed Jim's activities and with a roar plunged its gaping maw straight towards the boy. In the distance, Ginny screamed, but Harry could only watch in horror as the huge mouth seemed poised to swallow Jim whole. Then, at the last possible second, Jim thrust the sword _into_ the Basilisk's mouth, and the tip of the blade sliced up through the creature's brain and out the top of its head! By reflex, the Basilisk jerked back, almost pulling the sword out of Jim's hand, and then it flailed in obvious agony before collapsing in a heap. Jim Potter had killed Slytherin's Monster.

If only he'd done it cleanly.

Jim watched the monster die and then gasped in sudden pain. He looked down at his shoulder, and his eyes widened at the sight of the six-inch-long Basilisk fang protruding from it. He reached up and with a painful gasp, pulled the thing free and tossed it across the room. By this time, Ginny had run up to him, and she caught him and supported him before he could fall. The two slowly moved towards Harry and the still-prone Ron.

"Ahem. _As I was saying, _Little Brother, Godric Gryffindor's sword is specifically enchanted to bypass the Basilisk's defenses and neutralize it without difficulty. All you had to do was nick it somewhere, which would have been easy since its scales can't block the magical sword!"

"Harry, stop being a _prat!_" Ginny exclaimed. "Jim's been _bitten_!"

"Yes, I know. I promise it's the very second thing on my to-do list. _**ACCIO SWORD.**_" With that, the Sword of Gryffindor flew out of Jim's hand, and Harry caught it easily. He retracted his wand and carefully examined the sword.

"Hmm. The fabled Sword of Gryffindor. Just like it was described in **Hogwarts: A History**. And as that book says, it contains the power to absorb into itself the powers and property of whatever it defeats. Which, in this case, means its now permanently poisoned with basilisk venom." He turned towards Ron. "The perfect thing for ridding us all of a pesky Dark Lord."

"Harry, NO!" Ginny screamed.

"Harry, don't!" Jim said weakly. "It's not ... Ron's ... fault."

"Oh honestly, you two!" Harry replied. "I'm not dense! I know perfectly well that Ron's just a puppet in all this. And I _also_ know who's pulling the strings." With that, he stepped over to the Diary which still lay on the floor. Reversing his grip on the pommel, he raised the sword and then drove it straight through the center of the book. Immediately, Ron threw his head back and screamed, though it was still silenced. Then, Harry put his foot on the book to brace it before grabbing the sword with both hands and slicing it nearly in two. There was a loud pop as Harry's Silencio broke, and now all three could hear an unearthly howl emanating from Ron Weasley's mouth. The scream was soon followed by a billowing black smoke that poured from his mouth, his nostrils and his eyes. The smoke rose higher and higher before taking the form of a monstrous black humanoid figure with glowing red eyes. Ginny screamed, but Jim just stared up at the figure resolutely, while Harry actually grinned at it.

"I believe this makes it _Potters 3. Voldemort 0,_" he said smugly.

The black figure roared its anger before dissipating into nothingness. Immediately, Harry dropped the sword and pulled his wand to cast a Diagnostic Charm on Ron.

"His life force is no longer being drained," Harry reported. "He's unconscious but otherwise fine. Under the circumstances, though, I'd recommend leaving him to rest. There's a good chance he'll be traumatized when he wakes up."

"Tha's good. Thans' Har... ry." With that, Jim's knees buckled and he dropped out of Ginny's grasp and onto the floor.

"Jim!" she exclaimed.

Harry sauntered over. "Basilisk venom is one of the most dangerous poisons in the world, Ginny. I expect he'll need a cure within the next minute if he's to have any chance of surviving. Which, to be honest, is the sort of fate one should expect if he does something as stupid as sticking his arm into a Basilisk's mouth!"

"_Merlin, Harr', m'dyin already. Do ya have'ta nag me t'death too_?" Jim smiled weakly at that, while Ginny began to cry.

"Oh, you're not _dying_, Little Brother," Harry said almost mockingly. "Once again, Slytherin cunning is here to save Gryffindor rashness from itself. Because it just so happens that I have..." he reached into an inside pocket to remove a small object, "_a bezoar_!" Harry held the tiny stone up so that Jim could see it and then smiled smugly. Artie Podmore had gotten it for him every since the doxie incident, since if he'd had one and swallowed it, he'd have been completely immune to their poison.

"_Bezoars ... don't work on ... basilisk poison. Snape said so ... firs' day._" Bizarrely, Jim grinned at delivering the news, even as his vision seemed to blur. Immediately, the smiled dropped from Harry's face to be replaced by a scowl. He looked away and closed his eyes to bring up the appropriate memory. To Harry's shock, Jim was absolutely right. Snape had specifically said that a bezoar was ineffective against basilisk poison, but at the time, Harry had been so intent on embarrassing his brother that he failed to absorb the information.

"How the _hell_ did you remember that?!" he asked in shock.

Jim coughed. "_Spent ... lotta time ... thinkin' 'bout that day. -cough- Never did 'pologize ta Snape. Do that for me -cough- wouldja, Harry?"_

Harry didn't respond. Instead, he closed his eyes and dilated as hard as he ever had, trying desperately to come up with a plan. But he couldn't. Jim would be dead in under a minute. There was no way to get him to Madam Pomfrey in that time, even assuming she had the means and skill to cure basilisk poison. And St. Mungo's might as well be on the moon as relevant as it was to their present circumstances. So with no other options, Harry did the only thing he could do – seal away his negative emotions for the moment and put on a brave face so that Jim's death would be as peaceful as possible.

"Snape's not big on apologies. I think he considers them a sign of weakness. And anyway, if you really want to apologize to Snape, do it yourself. I don't think for one second you're about to die!"

Jim smiled weakly. "_Basilisk poison, Har' -cough- sorry, you hated it when I called ya that, din't ya -cough-._"

"My name has two syllable, Jim," Harry said softly. "Just because you can only handle one for yourself doesn't mean you can't handle both of mine."

Jim laughed, but then gasped loudly in pain from the exertion. "_Well, if I can't 'pologize ta Snape ... can I do it for you?_"

"Jim..." Harry started.

"_I was jealous. Can ya believe it? -cough- I ... I never knew 'bout you 'til you got your letter. Then, Mum 'n Dad told me. 'Was afraid you'd hate me for staying w'them while you ... Then, you went t'Slytherin and I was __sure__ you hated me. So I decided ... to hate you back. So stupid._" Then, a single tear flowed down Jim's cheek.

"Stop that," Harry said almost irritably. "No more deathbed confessions. You're _the Boy-Who-Lived_. Chosen by Fate to defeat the Evil Voldemort. Any second now ... I dunno, some absurd deus ex machina is going to show up and miraculously save you."

"_Not ... this ... time. -cough- Tell ... Ron ... I..." _Jim Potter said nothing more. He simply closed his eyes.

Ginny was weeping uncontrollably. "Harry ... he's stopped breathing. I ... I think he's ..."

Before she could finish, there was a loud _fwoosh _and an explosion of flame nearby. Suddenly, Fawkes was there. The phoenix glided in and landed on Jim's chest. It bent its radiantly plumed head down over the boy's wound, and tears fell from the bird's eyes into the opening. Harry thought he heard a soft sizzle coming from the wound. After a moment, Jim gasped heavily and opened his eyes wide to look around. Within seconds, it was obvious that he was going to be fine.

"Hmmph!" Harry said loudly with an almost bored expression. "_Caaaaalllled It_!"

* * *

**The next chapter will be posted sometime between May 9th and 11th, 2016. Title TBA. **

**AN 1: Obviously, we're in the home stretch here. Four or five chapters at most until the end. **


	78. HP&TSE 44 - The Riddle of the Diary

**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY **

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

* * *

**CHAPTER 44: The Riddle of the Diary**

_**9 May 1993  
8:30 p.m. in the Chamber of Secrets**_

Once it was clear that Jim would soon make a full recovery, Harry told Ginny to stay with him while he took care of one final loose end. Then, Harry carefully stepped through the still-open mouth of the Salazar Slytherin statue and into the chamber within. As he did so, the boy's thoughts were churning even beneath the calm exterior provided by his Occlumency. Unlike Tom Riddle, who had completely excised that part of his own psyche responsible for love and empathy, Harry still _had_ all of his emotions. They were separated from the part of his mind that would determine a course of action (and could even be shut down completely when necessary in the case of emotional responses that might actually become debilitating), but he definitely still had them. And now that the crisis was over, he would need to spend some time soon meditating on those emotions to determine how he felt about things, and more importantly _why _he felt them.

Item one on the agenda was his cold-blooded decision to use the Notice-Me-Not ring and the Invisibility Cloak just for himself, thereby abandoning his brother to run for his life. Intellectually, it was the right play, a fact borne out not just by Jim's survival but also by his nearly miraculous acquisition of the Sword of Gryffindor. The stratagem also allowed Harry time to interrogate the shade of Tom Riddle and uncover invaluable information about Voldemort. However, that didn't change the fact that he had essentially betrayed his own brother and then used him as bait for one of the deadliest creatures known to wizard-kind. Jim hadn't called him on it – yet – but Harry realized that he'd acted like the absolute worst caricature of a "Slimy Slytherin."

Item two was more straightforward. When Jim returned with the sword just in time for a climactic final battle with the snake, Harry had been about two seconds away from incinerating Ron Weasley. Intellectually, he still thought it was also the right play. If Tom was to be believed, Ron would be dead within a few minutes regardless and his death would bring about the physical rebirth of Voldemort. However, with Ron dead before that could happen, the diary would have been neutralized as a threat and either Harry or Jim would probably have been able to control the Basilisk with Parseltongue. That said, while Harry might not care for Ron Weasley, the young Gryffindor was still a human being. He was also a member of the Weasley family, most of whom Harry rather liked, and the boy was someone with whom Harry shared several common friends. And unlike Draco, whose petty maliciousness had led Harry to consider extreme measures the year before, Ron was basically an innocent dupe, if a somewhat annoying one. All of which meant that the lingering question of "_Is Harry Potter a potential killer?_" was one that he would need to come to grips with soon.

Item three was perhaps the most vexing. When Jim was dying of basilisk poisoning and Harry's cocky assurance that a bezoar would cure him was revealed as misplaced (and how embarrassing it was for Jim to remember something Snape said that the aspiring Occlumens had forgotten), Harry had shut down his emotional responses. The idea was that rather than become overwrought by his brother's impending death, he could stay calm and try to give Jim a measure of hope in his last seconds. Again, Harry thought it was the right decision. What made it vexing was that it was even necessary. His brief flashback to the first Potions class had made him suddenly remember the level of animosity between them during their first year. And Harry had considered their relationship to be even worse during their second year, only to realize lately that most of their conflicts had resulted from the combination of Jim's use of a dark Occlumency text and Tom Riddle's various schemes and mindgames. Harry had been shocked at Jim's "deathbed apology," to say nothing of his admission that he'd felt jealous of _Harry_ because he feared losing their parents' affection. And now, as a developing Third Level Occlumens, Harry could examine his own emotions and see how much of a role jealousy had played in his own conflicts with Jim. His twin, after all, played no part in Harry being sent to the Dursleys. In fact, since they were twins, it could just as easily have been Harry who became the Boy-Who-Lived out of a freak anomaly and Jim who was sent to live with abusive Muggles. Perhaps it was time for Harry to finally sort out his feelings for Jim Potter and decide whether a fresh start was possible, let alone desirable. Well, with Jim anyway – Harry still thought genuine trust was completely impossible where their parents were concerned.

All of these thoughts whirled through Harry's mind as he entered the portal that opened from the mouth of the Slytherin statue.

"Harry!" Jim called out being him, still somewhat weakly. "What are you doing?"

"Back in a second," Harry replied without looking back. "Don't worry."

The interior chamber which had housed the Basilisk for untold centuries was a cylindrical room about forty feet across. The floor was stonework save for an ornate metal disk in the center about ten-feet in diamater. It was silver and appeared to be a nest of intertwined snakes of all kinds. On the far side of the room was a life-sized statue of Slytherin (the whole figure this time, not just his head) carved into the wall as a bas-relief. Harry paused long enough to put a minor privacy charm over the entryway so that Jim and Ginny couldn't hear him. Then, he strode over to the bust and addressed it in Parseltongue.

"Speak to me Slytherin, Greatest of the Hogwarts Four."

Harry smiled the seemingly arrogant password, as **Hogwarts: A History** had explained its origins. The Ravenclaw and Gryffindor Founders had demanded significant modifications to the design of the Basilisk before they would approve of its presence at the school. Slytherin acquiesced, but later petulantly added the password to both the entrance to the Chamber and to the false wall where the Ewer was hidden. As a result, future Headmasters regardless of their House would have to verbally acknowledge his genius in order to make use of the Basilisk. Godric Gryffindor had been furious when he found out.

With a soft grinding sound, the section of wall containing the statue rotated around to reveal a small side table. On it rested a fluted crystal pitcher with a copper and silver base depicting badgers and snakes intertwining. There was a bright green liquid inside. Harry carefully removed the Ewer of Hufflepuff and started back before pausing to study the disk in the floor more carefully. He spared a glance back at the entrance to make sure no one was coming. Then, he hissed in the direction of the disk. "Open." The snakes began to move and separate, revealing a four-foot-deep depression in the floor. Inside was an emerald green egg big enough to hold a toddler ... or a baby basilisk. Harry smiled. Slytherin's Basilisk had the essence of a phoenix incorporated into its making, and while it wouldn't burn up and be instantly reborn, the death of its adult body would inevitably lead to rebirth from a new egg here within this chamber. Harry closed the snake-hatch again, dispelled the privacy charm, and exited the chamber.

Outside, Ginny and Jim were standing over the still unconscious Ron Weasley. Fawkes was perched almost protectively on Jim's shoulder.

"You feel ready to go, Jim?"

"Yeah, surprisingly. Phoenix tears are good stuff. I'm not even sore from all the falling and fighting I did."

"Good." Harry turned his attention to the phoenix. "Fawkes? I don't know if you can understand me, but this container holds a potion that can cure the Headmaster of his petrification. Also, Ron here probably needs to see the nurse as soon as possible. Can you transport us to the infirmary?"

The bird cawed loudly and then spread its magnificent plumage. Flames shot out of the tips of the bird's wings and then wrapped around the four students to envelop them. There was a brilliant flash, and then the Chamber of Secrets was empty.

* * *

An instant later, the flames cleared, and as Harry had hoped, they were now in the middle of the Infirmary, much to the surprise of those present who were not petrified: Madam Pomfrey, James Potter, Rufus Scrimgeour, and the majority of the Weasley family who were all crowded around George's bed.

"Jim! Harry!" James exclaimed. He rushed forward to embrace both boys. Jim hugged his father back, while Harry was a bit more perfunctory, but neither rejected their father despite his recent shortcomings. Most of the Weasleys crowded around Ginny first and then Ron after Arthur carefully levitated the unconscious boy into a bed next to George's.

"So I take it reopening the investigation into Myrtle's death worked?" Harry asked. James grimaced uncomfortably, but it was Scrimgeour who spoke.

"Your suggestion was ingenious, Mr. Potter, but your father would not have been able to process the paperwork to reopen the investigation before tomorrow morning. Fortunately, someone else was on hand to provide a faster and equally ingenious way to circumvent the school's wards."

"Who?" asked Jim curiously.

"Lucius Malfoy! When the Minister advised him of the situation, Lucius exercised his authority as Chairman of the Board of Governors to arrange an '_impromptu careers fair_' tonight at the school, and he invited a cross section of Ministry personnel here ostensibly to speak on the topic of job opportunities within our government. Among them are a dozen aurors and three Unspeakables who are taking the opportunity to restore order and begin an investigation while Ludo Bagman regales the students in the Great Hall with stories of his Quidditch days. That should kill another hour or so, after which various other functionaries will speak about what their departments do. In the meantime, the aurors are prepping for a complete evacuation of the school and an elite squad of hit wizards are getting ready to descend into the Chamber of Secrets. Of course, that expedition is obviously rendered moot by your own sudden arrival. _So_, as impressive as your appearance is, Mr. Potter, and as moving as these family reunions are, will _someone please explain what's been going on_?"

"I'd be happy to, Chief Auror," said Harry respectfully. "But first, might I suggest that we begin the process of reviving the petrified victims?" He held up the Ewer. "This is the Ewer of Hufflepuff, created simultaneously with Slytherin's Basilisk. According to **Hogwarts: A History**, it will produce one full dose of the Restoration Potion every seventeen minutes. If you revive the Headmaster first, I assume evacuation will no longer be necessary.

Pomfrey gingerly took the Ewer and carried it off to study it and make sure it worked as advertised.

"You're sure about that, Harry?" asked James Potter. Harry nodded confidently. "But what about the Basilisk?"

"Dead," said Harry flatly. "Jim killed it, and may I say with extraordinary skill and courage. _Plus_, he even used the Sword of Gryffindor to do it, which I should hope will kill all this Heir of Slytherin nonsense."

With that, Jim held up the sword and handed it gingerly to his father. "Careful, Dad. It's coated with Basilisk venom, so it will kill pretty much anything it cuts unless you're lucky enough to have a phoenix on hand that likes you." Fawkes, who was still perched on Jim's shoulder, cawed his agreement.

James looked back and forth between his two sons and the sword in amazement, before finally dropping the sword and pulling first Jim and then Harry once more into a tight embrace. Jim became misty-eyed while Harry was distinctly uncomfortable but determined not to show it. Meanwhile, Ginny was busy telling her family the basics about Ron – that he had come into possession of a dark artifact that had been manipulating his emotions all year long before eventually possessing him outright and using his body to petrify everyone. She was surprisingly firm in telling her family members that it was not Ron's fault and that they should _all_ be supportive when he woke up, particularly since, but for a stroke of luck, it might have been _her_ that was tricked and possessed by the spirit of the diary. In particular, she gave Fred a _look_ that he found mildly threatening.

The Headmaster had been placed into a private room into which the three Potters and Scrimgeour were now crowded. Having confirmed its properties, Madam Pomfrey fed the potion to Professor Dumbledore, and after a few seconds he blinked and then sat bolt upright in his bed, his wand suddenly appearing in his hand as he looked around wildly.

"Where is Ronald Weasley?" were his first words after revival. Harry took a step forward.

"He's here in the infirmary, unconscious." Harry hesitated. "He was possessed, but ... the one who possessed him has been removed and dealt with."

Dumbledore blinked as he absorbed that. "How long have I been petrified?"

"Less than forty-eight hours," said Scrimgeour. "What do you remember, Albus?"

The old man collected himself and took a sip of water from a glass on his bedside table. Fawkes jumped from Jim's shoulder to the top of the headboard behind him. Madam Pomfrey completed her diagnosis before Scrimgeour shooed her out, much to the Matron's annoyance. Dumbledore began to speak.

"I remember encountering young Mr. Weasley who obviously showed signs of possession by," Dumbledore hesitated, "well, by a dark spirit, one I believe I recognized. Before I could act, there was a movement from behind me and then ... well, as the saying goes, I just remember big yellow eyes."

"Ron was possessed by Tom Riddle, sir," said Jim. "Better know to all of us as ... _Voldemort_." A silence descended over the room.

"Tom Riddle ... was ... Voldemort?!" Dumbledore said in evident shock. The reaction of the two aurors was one of surprise, but that was nothing compared to Dumbledore who nearly swooned before putting his head down into his hands for several seconds.

"Albus?" James stepped forward, alarmed at the old man's reaction. Dumbledore put his hand up to forestall any questions. Finally, he lifted his head, though his expression shaken.

"Forgive me, my friends. I was suddenly overcome by the effects of having to reassimilate several _years_ worth of memories that had been altered in some fashion. It was ... unpleasant. Now tell me, Jim, Harry – how did you learn all of this?"

Jim shrugged. "He just sort of ... told us. You-Know-Who's a bit a gloater." As he spoke, Harry fished the remains of the Diary out of Ron's bag and handed it to the Headmaster.

"This Diary once belonged to Tom Marvolo Riddle when he was a student, and the name on the cover is also an anagram for _I Am Lord Voldemort_. Sir, given the timing involved between Riddle's disappearance and Voldemort's first appearance ... well, no offense, but how did no one figure this out?"

"A provocative question, indeed, my boy." Dumbledore took the book from Harry and examined it for a few minutes before waving his wand over it in an extremely intricate pattern while muttering some obscure incantations. After a few seconds, a highly elaborate rune sequence appeared over the Diary.

"Oh, oh my word ... what a brilliant mind!" Then, the man suddenly looked saddened. "And what a tragedy that such a brilliant mind should be turned to such evil." Dumbledore looked over and gestured for Scrimgeour to step forward and examine the runes. "Here, Rufus, do you see?"

The Chief Auror hobbled over and pulled out a set of brass spectacles before examining the runes that had so excited Dumbledore. "Is ... is that a _Fidelius_?"

"I thought a Fidelius just conceals locations," said Jim. "Homes and hiding places. That sort of thing."

Dumbledore shook his head. "The Fidelius can theoretically conceal secrets of a less tangible nature, but only in the most exceptionally skilled hands." He looked over at the Potter twins. "But before we make any further inquiries, I must ask you both to tell us everything that has happened to you today."

And without preamble, they did. Jim's account was fairly straightforward, while Harry's omitted a few details. If Dumbledore noticed any inconsistencies, he did not inquire after them.

"One final question. Harry, you spent the most time with the manifestation of Tom Riddle who claimed to be Voldemort. What were your impressions of him?"

Harry thought about that for a moment. "Surprisingly, a bit of a let down. He was very emotional and impulsive. He had multiple chances to kill Jim and me both, but he was more interested in showing off his Basilisk when he could have just finished us off with a wand. He ..." Harry hesitated. "From what he said, I gathered that he had put bits of his soul into the Diary and other objects and that's what was keeping him from fully dying." Dumbledore and Scrimgeour both went pale at that suggestion. "Anyway," Harry continued, "I sort of had the theory that the Diary was the first such object, and that he'd deliberately made it less ... Voldemortish, I suppose, because he was still experimenting with the process."

Dumbledore nodded. "I believe you're partially correct, Harry. Voldemort did place a fragment of his soul inside this book, using the most foul and despicable of arts and a spell whose name I will not repeat. Then, using forbidden soul magics, he crafted a personality for it. One based on his own and which actually believed that it _was_ a manifestation of Tom Riddle but which differed from the true Voldemort just enough to suit his needs."

"What needs?" asked James in confusion.

"I'm surprised you don't recall, James, having once been under a Fidelius yourself. It is a fundamental limitation of the spell that _you cannot be the Keeper of your own Secret_, or else you or Lily could have served as the Secret Keeper for Godric's Hollow instead of Sirius Black, and much unhappiness could have been avoided." Dumbledore waved his wand again, and the floating runes changed. "The specific secret protected by this Fidelius is '_Tom Marvolo Riddle is the dark wizard known as Lord Voldemort._' Clearly, he decided at some point to become the leader of a Pureblood supremacist movement despite his own blood status which lay somewhere between Muggleborn and Halfblood, depending on how one considered the question. So who else could he have possibly trusted with knowledge of his deception when his most trusted followers were the ones most likely to turn against him if they knew the truth?"

"Another version of himself!" Harry exclaimed. "An artificial personality that believed that it was him but that was so different in character that it could be considered a separate person for purposes of the Fidelius spell!"

"Well stated, Harry. From what you told me, Harry, the Riddle of the Diary spoke disparagingly of his Muggle father but was protective of the memory of his mother. My recollection, however, is that Tom had refused for many years to believe that his wizarding heritage could come from his mother who he despised for, in his mind, being so weak as to have died in childbirth. And whatever his feelings about his birth father, he continued to use the name Riddle even after his school days even though he was legally entitled to assume the name Gaunt and possibly profit from the family's former social standing."

Scrimgeour frowned. "So this Riddle chap, after he graduates, reinvents himself as Lord Voldemort and persuades a bunch of rich Pureblood bigots that he's the next big thing? How does that work?"

Dumbledore shrugged. "I'm sure he made quite an impression. Tom was indubitably brilliant and charismatic. His Parseltongue gift would have been powerful evidence that he was a descendant of Salazar Slytherin. And yet, the Fidelius would have thwarted any attempts to find out his true origins, which would only have added to Voldemort's mystique."

"Yeah, but the Fidelius is destroyed now, right?" said Jim. "So should we call a press conference and announce to the whole world that You-Know-Who isn't as Pureblooded as he claimed?"

"As tempting as it is to shout the truth from every rooftop in Diagon Alley, I recommend we be circumspect for now," Scrimgeour said thoughtfully. "You know, I'm suddenly reminded of one of Alastor Moody's crazier conspiracy theories. Towards the end of the war, he was convinced that Voldemort's motives were more complicated than merely taking over the country and running it as a blood purist dictatorship. The Death Eater attacks that targeted Muggleborns and Muggles were generally haphazard and seemingly random terrorist attacks. But when he went after influential Purebloods who the Death Eaters considered blood traitors, he was remarkably precise. Is it possible that after all that time, poor put-upon Tom Riddle was still trying to get revenge on the Purebloods for how they treated him as a schoolboy?"

"I suppose that _would_ explain why he was so happy to use the Cruciatus against his Pureblood followers left, right, and center," James said. "In which case, revealing the truth now, when the peace is still somewhat fragile, might actually cause people to turn against Muggleborns if they knew that Voldemort actually was one himself and was just manipulating Purebloods into wiping each other out."

"Indeed," said Dumbledore distractedly. "I must confess, I am still reeling over the implications of Tom's use of the Fidelius in the manner we've seen. You may recall, Harry, a conversation we had in which I mentioned turning Tom down for the DADA position in 1953 but not being able to remember why?" The boy nodded. "Well, I certainly remember now! Since Tom had left Hogwarts, all sorts of rumors had been swirling about the young man, the company he kept, and the sorts of magic he'd been pursuing. Between 1945 and 1953, he had been considered a potential suspect in no less than _three_ murders, though nothing was ever proven."

"Was one of them Nobby Leech?" Harry asked to Dumbledore's surprise.

"No, actually. Leech's death was always believed to have been a sudden illness. Do you know have reason to suspect otherwise?"

Harry nodded and explained what they had learned about the 1943 Muggleborn conspiracy to embarrass the school's Slytherins with carefully arranged attacks on Muggleborn conspirators. "And it just so happens that the petrified Muggleborns who were part of the conspiracy all ended up dead before 1960."

"Interesting," James nodded. "I'll look into it. See if there's any evidence of foul play in those deaths."

Suddenly, Jim spoke up excitedly. "Headmaster, I got to see a memory of you and Tom together on the night Myrtle was killed. It seemed like you were suspicious of him even then."

Dumbledore nodded. "There had always been something about Tom Riddle that had always troubled me for reasons I could never fully articulate. But I _remember_ that night, now that the Fidelius is broken. And I _also remember_ being nearly certain that Tom had something to do with the girl's death, even more so when he put forth poor Hagrid as the culprit."

"But the Fidelius made you forget that?" Harry asked incredulously. "You talked about Tom in glowing terms when we discussed him earlier."

"Yes, I did indeed. Consider, Harry, the precise words of the secret contained in the Fidelius. '_Tom Marvolo Riddle is __**the dark wizard**__ known as Lord Voldemort.'_ The secret kept was not only the connection between Tom and Voldemort but the fact that Tom was a dark wizard at all. The result was that every single thing I had ever observed that made me deeply suspicious of his character was occluded from my memory. Me, a seventh-level Occlumens, and with a single spell, Voldemort altered _years_ of my memories! And not just mine, but those of everyone who knew him during his school days!"

Harry stiffened slightly at how the Headmaster had framed the issue. He recalled his own recent experience with a spell that could affect the memories of the whole world – one so powerful and dangerous that Professor Lockhart had warned him never to speak its name aloud where anyone from the Ministry might hear.

"It's not your fault, Albus," said Scrimgeour. "The Fidelius is an incredibly powerful spell. More than a few wizards have argued that it should be proscribed."

"Intellectually, I realize that, Rufus, but it's still a sobering thought. You know, an advanced study of memory charms was one of dear Gilderoy's special projects this year. I think it might behoove me to spend some time going over that team's findings."

Before Dumbledore could expand on that, they were all distracted by a commotion out in the main part of the infirmary, one that included the unmistakable sound of a boy screaming.

* * *

It seemed like an eternity that Ron Weasley had spent trapped in his own memories and nightmares. He remembered being in Percy's study room with the Other Ron. He remembered the absolute naked horror of wave after wave of spiders crawling up his throat and out of his mouth and nose. He remembered (to his shame) how he broke down and surrendered to the Other Ron, and then things going black. He even remembered the despair he felt when he realized he had surrendered for nothing. When he came out of his stupor, he was wrapped in pitch darkness and lying horizontally in a narrow wooden box. He only narrowly fought off the urge to panic when he realized it was a coffin, and again when the smell of dank musty earth told him that he'd been buried alive. Despite his mounting terror, he didn't lose control until the first spider crawled up over his forehead.

Ron Weasley _really_ hated spiders.

Mercifully, they never came from _inside_ him like they had before and there didn't seem to be as many of them. But still the spiders came with their wriggling hairy legs crawling all over him, inside his clothes and all over his body. At first, he blubbered incoherently, but after some unknowable span of time, his cries became more focused. Specifically, he screamed out Jim's name and called out for the Boy-Who-Lived to save him. Time passed, and no rescue came, but despite that, Ron's cries died down into a whispered mantra that he recited over and over: _Jim will save me._

At some point, over the soft sound of his own whispered plea (_Jim will save me. Jim will save me._) Ron became aware of other sounds. Angry taunts in his voice but using someone else's words. A terrible awful hissing sound. And then, something inexplicable yet wonderful. Ron could _feel_ that Tom Riddle was suddenly afraid for his own life (or whatever passed for life for him). Which was also _Ron's_ life, but at that point, Ron would have been happy to die if it meant the monster from the Diary would die with him. But Ron didn't die. Instead, he suddenly heard Tom _screaming_ with Ron's voice, a sound that was music to the boy's ears. And then, everything went black again.

Time passed until, suddenly, there was a brilliant light from overhead. Ron found himself lying in a hospital bed in the school's infirmary. Surrounding him were most of the members of his family. Arthur, who he'd thought had considered him just "one of the spares." George, who he'd tried to get expelled. Fred, who he _did_ get expelled. Percy, who he was pretty sure he'd physically attacked during one of his most recent blackouts. Ginny, who he'd referred to as "Daddy's Little Death Eater." And Molly, who had sent the Howler that had convinced him that she would never love him as much as Ginny.

Ron screamed again.

Immediately, the boy started thrashing in his bed and batting at his clothing, convinced that he was still in a nightmare and so there must still be spiders on him somewhere. Alarmed, his brothers tried to hold him down while Madam Pomfrey practically forced a Calming Draught down his throat. And then a second one and a third. Soon after, the boy stopped screaming but continued weeping piteously as he deliriously mumbled his pleas for forgiveness from his family, from Jim, and from everyone else around, including the petrification victims. By that point, the Potters, Scrimgeour, and Dumbledore had joined the group, and Jim was with the Weasleys (all their prior animosities forgotten for the moment) as he tried to reassure Ron that he wasn't responsible for the petrifications or anything else that had happened. Then, a loud cough followed by an icy voice intruded into their efforts. Two new figures had entered the infirmary: Minister Cornelius Fudge ... and Lucius Malfoy, who glared hatefully at the entire Weasley family.

"Forgive me, Mr. Potter," he said in a voice like silk dipped in poison. "But would you mind repeating that? It rather sounded as though you said the Weasley boy played some role in _the petrification of my son and heir!_"

"Er, yes," said Fudge nervously. "I think I would like to know what's going on as well. Albus?"

"Your son will be revived within a few hours, Lucius," Dumbledore said. "As my own mobility attests, we now have access to as much Restoration Potion as we need thanks to the resourcefulness of Jim and Harry Potter. As for the details, perhaps it would be best if continued this discussion in the more comfortable confines of my office."

"We will _continue_ only after my immediate question has been answered, Dumbledore. Was the Weasley boy the one responsible for the petrification of my son?" The look on Malfoy's face, while still a perfect mask of emotional control, nevertheless promised bloody vengeance against the entire Weasley family if that question was answered affirmatively. Everyone in the room tensed in response, and the Weasleys gathered protectively around Ron. Percy actually cast a nonverbal Silencio on the boy for fear he might blurt out a confession.

During all this, Harry, who was standing just behind Dumbledore, studied Lucius Malfoy carefully and even dilated slightly so that he could review everything he knew about the man's possible connections to the events of the past year. He suspected from their last conversation that Lucius knew _something_ about Tom Riddle. It was unlikely (in light of the Fidelius) that he actually knew that Riddle and Voldemort were the same person, but the name definitely meant something to him. Then, Harry's mental review suddenly pulled up another oddity – that bizarre incident from the previous summer when Lucius Malfoy and Arthur Weasley got into a public brawl in front of Flourish and Blotts.

And then, as if looking through a kaleidoscope that had suddenly come into focus, Harry _understood_. He took a step forward and gently tugged on Dumbledore's sleeve. The Headmaster looked down at him in surprise, and that surprise only grew when Harry looked him squarely in the eyes, dropped _all_ of his Occlumency defenses, and thought as clearly as he could "_Please, let me handle this._" Dumbledore's face remained impassive, but on the other side of him, Scrimgeour suddenly turned to look towards Harry and then tilted his head slightly. Then, Dumbledore turned back towards Lucius with a genial expression.

"I would be happy to answer your question, Lucius, but I believe young Mr. Potter here can satisfy your curiosity more thoroughly than I."

"Albus?" James started in surprise at the thought of his son in a dialogue with a former Death Eater like Malfoy. But before he could say anything more, Scrimgeour put a firm hand on his shoulder. Harry stepped forward.

"Go on, Mr. Potter," Lucius drawled expectantly.

"Well, Mr. Malfoy, Ron was _technically _responsible, but at the time, he was under the mental control of a magical diary that had been first been given to Ginny Weasley without her knowledge before it was passed on to Ron. The diary originally belonged to a former student named Tom Marvolo Riddle. Perhaps you recall me mentioning Riddle to you when we spoke last week after Draco was petrified."

"I ... recall the conversation," Lucius said. There was the slightest narrowing of his eyes, accompanied by an almost imperceptible tightening of his lips. Harry noticed, as did at least two others.

"As I suspected then, it turns out Tom Riddle was the original Heir of Slytherin responsible for the petrification attacks of 1943. He must of have written how he did it in his diary ... which later passed into the hands of _You-Know-Who_!"

Fudge gasped audibly at that, but Harry was more focused on the tiny movement of Lucius's Adam's apple and the way his hand tightened around the grip of his cane (which obviously housed a hold-out wand).

"You-Know-Who cursed the diary and converted it into a powerful dark object with the ability to influence and even possess anyone who wrote in it for too long. So while Ron played an unwilling role, Lord Malfoy, if you want to blame someone for your son's petrification, I suggest you look to the person who gave Ginny the diary in the first place. Luckily, I know when and where that happened, as well as who the real villain was!"

With that, Harry smiled at Malfoy. He tried not to appear smug, but it was a losing battle. For his part, Lucius's eyes narrowed even more, and his grip on his cane grew even tighter.

"You do?!" Jim exclaimed in surprise.

"Of course," Harry replied, glancing over at his brother and the Weasleys. "The diary was slipped into Ginny's cauldron last August when we were all getting our books at Flourish &amp; Blotts." He turned back towards Lucius. "I'm sure you remember that afternoon, Lord Malfoy. That was the day you got into that altercation with Mr. Weasley here that turned into a fistfight."

"I remember the incident," Malfoy said coldly.

"As do I," Arthur Weasley added in an equally harsh voice.

"Well, that's all well and good, Mr. Potter," said Minister Fudge. "But _who_ was the one responsible for giving this cursed book to Miss Weasley?"

Harry looked at the Minister in feigned surprise. "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought that was obvious. It was _Gilderoy Lockhart_!" With that announcement, Harry actually had to clamp down hard on his own emotions to avoid snickering at the look of visible surprise, relief, and confusion that played across Malfoy's face for almost a full second before he regained control of himself. Nearby, Scrimgeour glanced sharply at Harry before turning back to study Lucius impassively, even as Dumbledore's eyes twinkled madly.

"It was Lockhart?" George Weasley asked, with just a hint of sadness in his voice.

"Obviously," said Harry. "I mean, he _did_ _confess _to being responsible for the petrifications. If you recall, Mrs. Weasley, he made a big show of giving you a free set of all his books at the book-signing. The diary was relatively small, and it would have been no trouble to slip it in among all the other books. And since you'd mentioned that you had five children, he'd have guessed that at least _one_ of them would find the diary and make use of it."

Molly was livid. "That ... _fiend_ used _me_ to pass a cursed objection on to my own children! Arthur! Take me to St. Mungo's _this instant_! I'll show him what '_long term spell damage_' feels like!"

"Now, now, Mollywobbles," Arthur said gently.

"But ... what was the _point_ of all this?" Fudge asked in confusion.

"Well, I'm not _entirely _sure," Harry said respectfully, "since Jim managed to save Ron before the plan was completed, but since the diary caused Ron to petrify the whole staff, my guess is that it was a weapon that You-Know-Who created prior to getting destroyed by the Boy-Who-Lived. His original plan was probably to smuggle the diary into Hogwarts so that it could possess a student who would then petrify the Headmaster and the rest of the staff as prelude to an attack on the school or something like that. But then, You-Know-Who was destroyed, and the diary was left just sitting on a shelf somewhere until Lockhart or someone else foolishly activated it."

Malfoy sneered slightly at that, and Harry moved on swiftly.

"Lord Malfoy," he said as earnestly as possible for a Slytherin, "Ron was just a victim in this. A victim of You-Know-Who's cruel powers of mind control. Just as _you _were a victim of his Imperius Curse all those years ago and were forced to do things for which _you yourself_ were nearly sent to _Azkaban_."

Behind Harry, Scrimgeour also fought the urge to smile as the boy continued.

"Honestly, it seems to me that House Malfoy and House Weasley have a _mutual enemy_ here. If you'll forgive my bluntness, maybe this is a sign that your two houses should set aside their differences and end the Oath of Enmity that has kept your families in conflict for these last few centuries."

Lucius raised his chin haughtily. "My son wrote home to ask me about your discovery of the Enmity Oath between the House of Malfoy and the House of Weasley. I have reviewed our family history and confirmed his inquiry."

"I, er, already knew about the Enmity Oath," Arthur said quietly. "It's ... not something we tell our children about until they're grown, but all the adult Weasleys know about it."

The two men who had been enemies for their whole lives stared balefully at one another. Finally, Malfoy spoke.

"I suppose two centuries is long enough to hold a grudge over a petty marital dispute. _However, _the declaration of enmity was initially made by the House of Weasley. Is the Head of House Weasley willing to be the first to declare our feud at an end?"

Arthur stared in astonishment at Lucius. "I ... am indeed so willing," he stammered. After a few seconds, the two men walked stiffly towards one another and then, after a brief hesitation, shook hands. Immediately, everyone in the room felt a wave of ... something. The impression was as if somewhere far away a mighty glacier had finally cracked and begun to quickly melt. Arthur and Lucius both exhaled, but Malfoy spoke first.

"Do not think, however, Weasley, that this changes my views on the Muggle Protection Act. I still have legitimate concerns about the Act's breadth." Then, he hesitated for a moment. "That said, I am not averse to meeting with you later to see if some compromise is possible."

"I ... would be very appreciative," Arthur said weakly.

Lucius nodded and then turned back to Dumbledore. "How long until my son is revived, Dumbledore?"

"No more than a few hours, Lucius. I'll send word as soon as we're ready to give him the potion."

"Very well. With your permission, I shall escort the Minister to the nearest Floo. I suppose I should send word to my wife as well." He bowed to the group and then turned towards the doors. Fudge followed before stopping and turning back towards the aurors.

"Oh, Scrimgeour? Potter? I'd like to meet with you both tomorrow morning at nine o'clock in my office? I'm glad to see that things are resolved here, but I do have some questions I want answered." The two men nodded their assent, and Fudge quickly followed after Malfoy.

After a few seconds, Fred Weasley finally spoke first. "So does this mean we have to be nice to Draco Malfoy?" he asked.

"No," Harry said while exhaling loudly now that the tension had been broken. "It just means you don't _have_ to hate him."

James moved closer to Harry and Dumbledore. "So what was all that about? Putting Harry in charge of explaining things to Malfoy?"

"It was because I knew he would do so admirably, James. One thing I've learned over the years is that sometimes it takes a Slytherin to handle a Slytherin." Then, Dumbledore moved closer and spoke softly so that none of the Weasley family could hear. "There was a very real possibility that Lucius could have pursued criminal sanctions against Ronald Weasley. Perhaps even Azkaban, depending on how the Wizengamot chose to treat a minor who committed crimes while claiming to be possessed. Your son not only diverted Lucius from pursuing such an option, he actually persuaded Lucius to abandon the Enmity Oath that has kept those two houses at odds for centuries."

James looked down at Harry with a curious expression that seemed to mix pride, confusion, and concern in equal measures. Harry thought about it for a few seconds and then he realized – James was reacting to Dumbledore saying "it takes a Slytherin to handle a Slytherin." The man had finally started coming round to Harry merely being in the House of the Snakes ... and now Dumbledore was suggesting that he was a Slytherin on par with Lucius Malfoy himself. Harry frowned but tried not to show any disappointment in his father's reaction.

"Yes, indeed," said Scrimgeour, "most impressive. However, since we're expected to report on everything that's happened tomorrow morning. I'd like to interview the boys more formally. Why don't you get a full written statement from Jim? I'll do the same with Harry. Albus, is your office free?"

And without another word to James Potter, the Chief Auror herded Harry out of the infirmary, with Dumbledore following close behind. Minutes later, they were ensconced in the Headmaster's office. Scrimgeour sat down in a chair, pointed his wand at a nearby table, and summoned a large bottle of fire whiskey and a single glass, presumably from his home or office. He poured himself a stiff glass, ignoring Dumbledore's disapproving expression as he did. After taking a sip and exhaling, he turned his attention to Harry.

"Right, now let me see if I have a clear understanding of the situation in case there are any holes I'll need you to fill in. Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater and a member of Voldemort's Inner Circle who escaped prosecution only because Sirius Black claimed at trial to have put him under the Imperius. At some point, Voldemort put a part of his soul into his old school diary to use as a spiritual anchor in the event of his death. He gave the diary to Malfoy who kept it hidden away for over ten years before picking a fight with Arthur Weasley that he used as cover for slipping the diary into the Weasley girl's school supplies. And _you_ have just helped him to get away with it all with the connivance of Albus here ... and I suppose myself, since I didn't speak up either. Is that about the size of it?"

Harry gaped at the Chief Auror.

"Honestly, lad," Scrimgeour said. "Lucius Malfoy is at best a fourth level Occlumens and you have not yet mastered level three. The truth was practically written on both your faces for anyone with the wit to see it. By which I mean myself and Albus and no one else in the room."

Shocked at the Chief Auror's deductions, Harry turned to the Headmaster, who merely smiled at him with twinkling eyes. The boy turned back to Scrimgeour and shrugged.

"_Could_ you have gotten a conviction under these facts? I mean, I suppose with pensieve reconstructions you could show Malfoy put the diary into Ginny's cauldron, but even then, the diary obviously had powerful mind-controlling properties, and Mr. Malfoy has already successfully used an Imperius defense once. At least this way, we got Ron out of trouble, we got the Malfoy-Weasley feud resolved which will be good for Ginny Weasley in Slytherin House, and with luck this might even move Malfoy into a more publically anti-Voldemort stance."

Scrimgeour put up his hand. "I wasn't condemning you, lad. Just making sure I hadn't missed anything. I do give you credit for spinning a mostly credible silk purse out of that particular sow's ear. Now, let's go over your statement again for my report to our illustrious Minister for Magic."

Harry spent about ten minutes answering questions from the two men, at the end of which Dumbledore asked if he could have a pensieve extract of Harry's experiences.

Harry swallowed. "If it's all the same, sir. I would prefer not to produce a memory of the entire experience. There were a few moments down there that, well, I'd rather not to see preserved in memory form."

Dumbledore looked at him expectantly. Harry took a deep breath.

"First ... before Jim showed up with the Sword of Gryffindor ... I thought I might have to ... to kill Ron in order to stop Voldemort from returning."

Dumbledore looked at him gravely. "I understand how that fear might have caused you to say things that you might now find embarrassing, Harry. I promise we won't hold it against you."

"Let me clarify that, sir. It wasn't anything I _said_." Harry sighed, suddenly tired from the long day's events. "Before Jim showed up ... I was going to kill Ron. I had my wand in his face and the word Incendio on my lips. I was going to burn him up. And I'd really rather not have any evidence lying around that shows how close I came."

The two men remained silent for several seconds. Finally, Scrimgeour spoke softly.

"It is a hard thing, I know, Mr. Potter to face the burden of doing what must be done, especially for someone as young as yourself. I am not surprised that you feel ambivalent about what almost happened. But I will encourage you to take comfort in the fact that on this occasion you were spared from having to do what was necessary for the Greater Good."

At those last words, Dumbledore made a sound that was not quite a grumble. Harry looked up at him, wondering if the Headmaster was disappointed in him, but his expression suggested he was more unhappy with Scrimgeour.

"I would not have put it _quite_ like that, Harry," he said. "To be perfectly honest, I have long thought that "_for the Greater Good_" were the four most dangerous words in the English language, as there is almost no crime they cannot excuse when used by one who believes his cause is just. I will only say that I am relieved that Jim arrived in time, not just for Ronald's sake but for your own."

"My own, sir?" Harry asked.

"For one wizard to take the life of another causes fundamental changes in the soul, Mr. Potter," he said. "Even when doing so is necessary and unavoidable."

"That doesn't change the fact that sometime such killings are necessary for the public good," Scrimgeour interrupted. "During the last war, the Wizengamot gave special dispensation for aurors to use the Killing Curse, and I am not ashamed to say that I did so on occasion when my life or the lives of others depended on it. But I cannot deny that doing so affected me, and not just psychologically. Something _happens_ to wizards who kill. It's part of the reason that spells which require the sacrifice of a human life to cast are so heavily proscribed by our government. The Horcrux Ritual, the spell that Voldemort used to place a soul fragment within his diary and which Albus here was too squeamish to name, is such a spell."

"Rufus!" Dumbledore snapped irritably. "We do not name forbidden spells from the Anathema Codex in the presence of twelve-year-old children!"

"Oh, of course not. Silly me." Scrimgeour's tone made it clear that he was not even the least bit chastened. "Forget I used the word _horcrux_, Mr. Potter. It'll only get you into trouble."

Dumbledore sighed and shook his head. "_Anyway_, Mr. Potter, I am pleased for all our sake that you were able to avoid resorting to lethal measures in dealing with Mr. Weasley, and I hope that circumstances will continue to favor you in avoiding such measures in the future. Now, was that the only issue you wished to avoid producing as a memory?"

Harry took a second, deeper breath. "No sir. The Basilisk is still alive."

Immediately, there was an uproar from both men, both of whom seemed inclined to head back to the Chamber of Secrets right that second. The boy put up his hands to regain their attention.

"Alive, but _dormant_," he said. "Salazar Slytherin somehow incorporated the essence of a phoenix into the Basilisk's creation process. When it dies, it's immediately reborn into an egg that's concealed inside the giant statue of Slytherin's head until it's needed again. I'm ... not sure if it's even possible to permanently kill it, but in any case, it's no longer a threat to the school and never will be again if we can get rid of Voldemort permanently. Or at the very least find where he's hiding the Diadem of Ravenclaw, which is what allows him complete control over the creature."

The two men finally calmed down. "The Diadem of Ravenclaw?" Dumbledore said. "That's been missing for nearly a thousand years. I believe there were rumors that it was being held in the possession of a minor wizarding family from Eastern Europe. Albania, I think..." At that, Dumbledore froze with his mouth still open. His eyes widened in surprise.

"What?" Scrimgeour asked.

"I just remembered. Quirinus Quirrell had been on a sabbatical to Albania to research vampires the summer before his turn as DADA instructor."

Rufus nodded. "So that's where You-Know-Who got to him. And by the way, I'm still angry at being kept out of the loop last year, Albus."

"Yes, I know. You can yell at me about it some more later. Harry, I assume that you do not wish this information to be recorded because you fear being blamed if knowledge of the Basilisk's survival got out?" Harry nodded. "Very well. Let us compromise. Go back to your dormitory and get some rest tonight. Tomorrow, I will allow you private access to my pensieve, and you can extract the relevant memories in smaller segments, excluding anything you feel reflects negatively on you. Is that satisfactory?"

Harry smiled. "Yes sir! Thank you sir!"

* * *

Minutes later, Harry had completed his interview with the two men and been dismissed from the Headmaster's office. After he was gone, Rufus took another sip of his fire whiskey.

"He's a remarkable young man, isn't he, Albus?"

"That he is, Rufus. That he is. As remarkable in his own way as the Boy-Who-Lived."

"And so frightfully intelligent as well."

Dumbledore hesitated. "I don't know that I'd say _frightfully_ intelligent. Though his intellect is prodigious for a child of his years. Even more so than I'd realized at first."

"He's also hiding something. Some secrets that would be revealed by his memories of the Chamber of Secrets _other than_ the two that he willingly revealed."

"I agree, but I think he's earned a measure of trust, and so I'm not inclined to press the matter for the time being."

"Mmm," Scrimgeour nodded and then took another sip of whiskey. "So tell me this at least – do you think the boy has any idea that he's a natural Legilimens?"

Dumbledore coughed delicately. "I very much doubt it. I'll speak to Severus about it once he's revived and had a chance to recover."

Scrimgeour nodded again but said nothing more.

* * *

Once outside the entrance to the Headmaster's office, Harry exhaled loudly in relief at having gotten out of providing a pensieve memory in front of the two men. While the two secrets he'd revealed were somewhat embarrassing, they were nothing compared to his conversation with Tom Riddle in which they'd discussed him being a Parselmouth _and_ a claimant for the title of Prince of Slytherin. Once Blaise and Theo were revived, he'd get with them in the Lair and review his memories in his own pensieve first. Together, they'd figure out the best way to edit the memories so that none of Harry's important secrets were revealed.

Harry checked his watch. Amazingly in light of how much had happened today, it was only just past 9:00. He assumed that the Ewer would first be used to revive teachers, then prefects, and finally students, so it would likely be several more hours before his friends were revived. He considered his options for several minutes, and then decided to live dangerously. He darted down the corridor and into an empty classroom. The boy was still carrying Ron's book-bag over his shoulder, and from it he removed the blank parchment which he assumed was the Twins' mysterious map. Opening it up, he looked around to make sure he was alone and then whispered "_I solemnly swear I'm up to no good._"

His eyes widened as the blank parchment filled itself with a detailed map of the entire school, complete with tiny dots moving about and labeled with the names of the students. He also noted that the map included the Slytherin dungeon but _not_ the Prince's Lair, nor did it indicate the presence of the Chamber of Secrets. However, after few seconds of searching, he did notice one interesting name loitering in the Trophy Room.

"_Hmm. I've talked to him twice so far and survived the experience. Dare I go three-for-three?_" Harry smiled. Then, he looked back down at the map.

"Okay, I know the password to activate this thing," he muttered to himself, "but how do I turn you off?" Then, to Harry's further surprise, part of the map faded away to be replaced by writing.

**_Mr. Padfoot is curious as to how someone might know one password but not the other.  
Has our dear friend Snivellus finally developed more than one working brain cell?_**

"Snivellus," Harry said softly. "You mean Professor Snape?"

**_Mr. Prongs expresses shock and dismay at the incredible decline in the quality  
of education offered at Hogwarts if someone like Snivellus is now on the faculty.  
His hair alone should be disqualifying!_**

Harry thought quickly. He knew all too well that "Snivellus" was James Potter's offensive nickname for Snape. He knew also that James had three close friends – Peter Pettigrew, Remus Lupin, and Sirius Black – who collectively had called themselves the Marauders. Had they made this map originally? And how in Merlin's name did it fall into the hands of the Weasley Twins years after the four had graduated? Harry smiled speculatively.

"Well, I wouldn't know about that. I'm just a lowly Second Year. My name's Harry Potter."

**_Mr. Prongs wishes to inquire as to whether you're related to James Potter,  
a dashing roguish lad-about-town._**

"He's ... he's my dad." Harry felt slightly queasy about using "the D-word" under these circumstances, but he resolved to get over it.

**_Mr. Moony expresses astonishment that Mr. Prongs would ever experience  
the touch of a woman, let alone sire a child with one._**

"Well, he did!" Harry replied. "My mother is Lily Evans Potter."

The map did not respond at first.

**_I married Lily? I thought ..._**

**_Mr. Wormtail wishes to remind Mr. Prongs to stay in character._**

**_Sigh. Mr. Wormtail is correct. Mr. Prongs apologizes for his lapse.  
Moving on, what House does Mr. Son-of-Prongs belong to?_**

Harry hesitated. "Guess," he said.

**_Mr. Prongs would be delighted to see his son in any house save that of the slimy serpents,  
but would be particularly pleased to see him in Gryffindor like his forebears._**

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Well, I'm afraid I gave the old man a bit of a heart attack when I owled him after my Sorting and told him I was in Slytherin. He actually sent me a Howler the next morning."

**_Mr. Padfoot would describe that as __awful__ if it weren't so bloody hilarious,  
and he wishes that Mr. Prongs had thought to play such a prank  
on his own parents back in 1971._**

_**Mr. Prongs would never have done such a thing,**  
**as he had no wish to get his backside tanned by two angry parents.** _

"So it would have really been that bad? For a Potter to ever be Sorted into Slytherin?" Harry said quietly.

**_Mr. Prongs remembers his Mum and Dad describing a  
Slytherin Sorting as "a disaster beyond imagining."_**

Harry was silent for several seconds. "Listen," he finally said, "I really have to get back to the dorm before curfew. I'd like to talk some more later, but I don't want ... Snivellus to catch me with this and confiscate it. Would you mind telling me the password to close it? I only got this by accident. Dad said he lost it not long before graduation."

**_Mr. Padfoot thinks it unconscionable to deprive Son-of-Prongs of any  
part of his pranking heritage. To turn the Marauders' Map back  
into ordinary parchment, simply say "Mischief Managed."_**

"Thank you, Mr. Padfoot. I think that makes you my favorite."

**_Messrs. Prongs, Moony and Wormtail collectively say "Boooo!"_**

**_Mr. Padfoot sticks his tongue out at his fellow Marauders and reminds Mr. Prongs  
that if he holds to his word, Mr. Padfoot will someday be godfather to Son-of-Prongs,  
and so he has the right to be indulgent._**

Harry sighed. "Mischief managed." As anticipated, the map returned to its blank state. Harry folded it and put it away while contemplating how easy it was to lie to a piece of paper. Then, he left for the Trophy Room.

* * *

_**Five minutes later ...**_

"Mr. Malfoy," Harry said respectfully. The other man turned to regard him with an imperious glare.

"Yes, Mr. Potter? Is there news of my son?"

"Not to my knowledge, sir. But I thought instead of simply waiting here by yourself, you might prefer to visit the Slytherin dormitory and wait in greater comfort."

"The offer is appreciated, Mr. Potter, but I have little interest in hobnobbing with students and even less in reliving old memories perhaps best forgotten."

Harry nodded. "I understand, sir. But still, I thought it might interest you to visit your old stomping grounds as it were. To see how things have changed since then. And how they've stayed the same. For instance," he paused significantly, "I've been using your old chair."

Lucius Malfoy's left eyebrow rose fractionally. "Ah. I see. Very well, I suppose it would do me good to revisit my student days, just this once. Lead on, Mr. Potter."

The two walked in silence. Malfoy obviously had no interest in small talk, and Harry wasn't sure how to engage him in it anyway. Moments later, they entered the dormitory, where they were immediately accosted by Cassius Warrington.

"Potter, you little brat, where the hell have you been?! What's been going ... on...?" He stopped suddenly as he recognized the man entering the Common Room behind Potter.

"Lord Malfoy, this is Cassius Warrignton, a Fourth Year student. Warrington, I'm sure you recognize Draco's father."

"Of ... of course! It's a pleasure to meet you, sir! I'm the eldest son of Antonius Warrington."

"Are you really?" Malfoy said languidly. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure of ever meeting the man face-to-face, though, of course, his reputation precedes him." Malfoy's polite smile belied the obvious disdain he held for the Warrington name. "Now if you'll excuse us, young Harry here and I were going to have a private chat."

Warrington swallowed. "H-Harry?" he stammered, amazed that the Lord of House Malfoy called Harry Potter by his first name.

"Yes, Warrington," Harry said, twisting the knife, "that _is_ my name." Harry and Lucius glided past Warrington and into Prefect's Row. After they left, Warrington looked around wildly.

"BONNEVIE!"he cried out calling for the Sixth Year prefect.

* * *

"I take it you're not a fan of the Warringtons, sir?"

"No," Lucius said without elaboration. Then, in a swift movement, he pulled a wand from his cane. "_**DUROS**_."

Suddenly, there was a fairly thick wall that blocked off the entrance to Prefect's Row. Harry swallowed and led the way down the corridor. Once they were at the entrance to the Lair, Harry paused and looked up expectantly towards Malfoy who simply returned his gaze. Finally giving up, Harry turned back at the fake wall, coughed lightly into his hand, and then quietly spoke the password.

"_Moldyshorts_."

He glanced back up at Malfoy, who was staring at him with an unreadable but intense expression. Harry blushed and then stepped into the Prince's Lair ...

... before stopping short in astonishment. On the far side of the table, the nine heads of the Hydra Throne were active again and even chatting animatedly, almost happily. And sitting _on_ the Throne, as if born to it was _Gilderoy Lockhart._

"Ah, Lucius! Harry! So good you could make it! Come and sit down. We have much to discuss."

As the man flashed his award-winning smile at them, Harry's brain seemed to shut down entirely at the sight of Lockhart, not only in possession of his faculties, but _here_ in the Prince's Lair where no non-Slytherin had ever set foot, and sitting in the chair that would _kill_ anyone who hadn't earned the right to be there.

"Once again, you surprise me, Professor Lockhart," said Lucius Malfoy in a tone of affected boredom that perfectly concealed his own confusion. "I was given to understand that you were a Ravenclaw. And also _a vegetable_."

Harry's attention was drawn away from Lockhart and towards the placards on the wall identifying the past Princes. Then, for the second time this evening, he had the eerie experience of a kaleidoscope shifting into clarity. Once again, he _understood._

"And you would be right on both counts," he said shakily as he looked back up at Malfoy. "Gilderoy Lockhart was a Ravenclaw. And he _is_, as you put it, a vegetable." Then, he turned towards the figure sitting on the Hydra Throne.

"Isn't that right ... _Mr. Black_?"

The DADA professor smirked and then shook his head violently in a manner very similar to how Nymphadora Tonks would reset her own appearance back to its default. Lockhart's auburn hair darkened to jet black, and a neatly trimmed black goatee sprouted around his mouth. His adorable button nose sharpened into a noble Aquiline shape. And his dreamy hazel eyes turned to a cold gray. Then, he flashed the boy a charming smile, if one not remotely winning enough to impress Witch Weekly.

"Please, Harry, we're all friends here. _Call me Regulus_."

* * *

**The next chapter will be posted sometime between May 18 and May 20, 2016. That's a slight delay as I have significant work commitments this week that may delay me on the next chapter. "Meet Regulus Black," in which hopefully every single question that people have about the DADA professor is answered. **

**AN 1: A few people guessed Regulus Black, but most people who posted their thoughts seemed to think Lockhart was either an OC Unspeakable, the missing Australian auror who was somehow possessing Lockhart, or just the regular Lockhart possessed by someone else. A few thought it might be Remus (even though I've said repeatedly that he would not show up until Year 3) or even Sirius (can't even imagine how I'd have plausibly pulled that off). A few of the clues I left include ...**

**Ch 24: Harry notes that Lucius's name is the second-to-last among the Princes, which means that there was a Prince between 1972 and 1991. Regulus is, IIRC, the only named Slytherin from that era who could plausibly have fit.**

**CH 51: Lockhart's old CoMC book survived the effects of Pandora Lovegood's use of Imago Dei due to "experimental wards" on his Gringotts vault. The Blacks are notorious for their extreme paranoia, as well as the unusual protections they place on their Gringotts' vaults. **

**CH 53 &amp; 63: Lockhart expresses sadness at the thought of sibling rivalry driving apart the Weasley Twins and later the Potter Twins. He actively tried to get the Potter Twins to cooperate by giving them both reason to dislike him.  
**

**CH 67: Augusta Lockhart has a lengthy conversation about the Conscription Act in which she strongly implies that there are other Blacks besides Tonks who have the Metamorphmagus gift but who successfully conceal it to avoid conscription.**

**CH 70: Lockhart comments that his mother would have had "a conniption" if she'd learned that he'd destroyed the family pensieve. Walburga Black was indeed known for her fits of uncontrollable rage.**

**CH 73: There are many hints that Lockhart is from Australia that all lead up to the suggestion that he is actually the missing Australian auror Lazarus White. However, that's a fake name. Lazarus is the man who came back from the dead, and White is the opposite of Black. How Regulus ended up with that name and working as an Australian auror will be answered next chapter.  
**

**CH 75: Lockhart all but announces the fact that he's a former Prince of Slytherin. **

**AN 2: The nearly universal trope about Dumbledore is that he's a ruthless bastard because of his belief that anything goes so long as its For The Greater Good. So while my Dumbledore is capable of making hard decisions, he hates utilitarianism (which he associates with Grindelwald) and is more into Kantianism, although my own grasp of philosophy needs some work before I can have Dumbledore talk coherently about the relative merits of Kant and, say, Jeremy Bentham. **

**AN 3: I hope the people heartbroken over the death of the Basilisk are placated. The Basilisk will probably return at some point, but it will be a lot ... smaller.**

**AN 4: Harry's conversation with the Map was a very late addition to this chapter. I realized at the last second that he would have no opportunity to give it to the Twins with their parents around, and if he needed to find Lucius, why wouldn't he use the Map? And then, the Marauders just started talking and talking and I was suddenly struck by the parallels between the Marauders talking through the Map and Tom talking through the Diary. I haven't decided whether anything will come of that yet.**

**UPDATE FOR YEAR THREE: Right, so here's the plan going forward. I'm estimating two more chapters spent in the Prince's Lair with Harry, Lucius and Reg, followed by two chapters to wrap up the year and set up for Year 3. After that, I'm gonna take a break for a while. I've basically been cranking out 6-10k words _every week_ since January. And I just can't do that with Year 3 because it's such a different animal and needs more advanced planning. The Secret Enemy at least followed the general time line of Chamber of Secrets and had most of the same beats. Book 3 (HP and the Death Eater Menace) will differ radically from Prisoner of Azkaban, so I need more time to story arc it out and get started. **

**With that in mind, here is my plan. The _official_ start of Harry Potter and the Death Eater Menace is scheduled for September 1, 2016. However, if I complete at least 10 chapters, before then, I will consider starting up early. On the bright side, however, this story won't be completely silent until then. Instead of devoting twelve chapters to the summer break, I will post "Interludes" about every three weeks or so which will detail what is happening over the summer with different characters that will pay off in Year 3. There will definitely be one for Jim &amp; Ron, one for Theo, and tentatively one for Blaise and Hermione, with some others if time permits. Hopefully, this will keep people interested while I'm working out the next book. **


	79. HP&TSE 45 - Meet Regulus Black

**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY **

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

**AN 1: Normally, author notes go at the end, but this chapter is an exception. First, this is easily the longest chapter I've ever written, nearly 20k words. I started to break it up, but this close to the end of Year 2, I thought some readers would go berserk if I spent three weeks talking about Regulus's backplot while Harry and Lucius were just hanging around. (You know who you are. :)) So I decided to power through and do it all in one chapter despite the extraordinary length.**

**AN 2 (****Trigger Warnings****): This may be a rough chapter for some people. Suggestions of child abuse. Significant violence. Implied sex (no lemon). Implied _cannibalism_. Character deaths. Simply put, Regulus Black has not had a very nice life. Raised by Walburga Black, inducted into the Death Eaters, and then reborn as Lazarus White, an Australian auror who life ended in tragedy after he ran afoul of a werewolf pack. In short, this is perhaps the darkest, most intense chapter I've written for the Prince of Slytherin series. Be warned.**

**AN 3: I've tried to edit this as much as possible, but the sheer length combined with how much effort it took to get this in by the deadline causes me to fear that there are an unacceptable number of typos. Sorry. I'll try to clean it up later.**

* * *

**CHAPTER 45 - Meet Regulus Black**

_**9 May 1993  
The Prince's Lair**_

"_Please, Harry, we're all friends here. Call me ... Regulus."_

"I take it, Mr. Potter, that you are ... unsurprised by this development?" drawled Lucius Malfoy.

"I wouldn't say unsurprised, Mr. Malfoy, but the pieces all fit. To sit in that chair, he would have to have been a former Prince, and the number of people who've held that position and could possibly still be alive is rather small. And then, I remembered that Nymphadora Tonks, who is descended from House Black, is a Metamorphmagus, supposedly the first one in over a century. But it was recently suggested to me that Tonks wasn't necessarily the _only_ Metamorphmagus from the Black family in all that time, just the only one to be discovered and forced to register under the Conscription Act."

"What can I say?" Regulus Black said with another smirk. "I've always been an overachiever."

"Indeed," said Malfoy. "Well, I look forward to hearing the tale of exploits that led you to return to Hogwarts while masquerading as a foppish Defense instructor, but first, there is a matter of protocol to consider."

"Oh?" Regulus responded.

"Yes. Specifically, there are strict protocols for recognizing the primacy of Princes-Emeritus when more than one of us is present in this room, as the runespoor can expound upon at length. So with that in mind, I would respectfully request that you kindly remove yourself from my chair."

"Oh come on, Lucius," Regulus said irritably. "Are you really going to pull rank on me at a time like – ACK!" The former Prince jumped suddenly as the three-headed silver runespoor suddenly leaned in and began to hiss and snap at him angrily.

"Alright, alright! Honestly!" he said as he got up and relocated to the chair to the left of the Hydra Throne. "_Of course_ the runespoor like _you_ best, Lucius. It probably admires how skillfully you hold that stick in place between your arse cheeks. Oh well, at least Delilah still loves me, don't you dearie?'

The boomslang hissed fondly at Regulus, and Harry was delighted to realize he understood her and the other snakes once more.

"Delilah loves everyone, Regulus," Malfoy said as he took his seat on the Throne. "That's part of her charm." He turned to the boomslang and tickled her under the chin (in the exact same manner that Harry often had, to the boy's surprise).

"Wait, are both of you Parselmouths?" he asked excitedly. "Or did you gain that ability when you each became Prince?"

"The latter, sort of," Regulus said as he tried to get comfortable in his chair. "_You know I don't think I ever sat in one of these chairs when I was Prince_," he muttered to himself before turning back to Harry. "When the Hydra approves a Slytherin as Prince, he or she gains a limited amount of Parseltongue. We can't talk with real or conjured snakes, but we can communicate with the Hydra or with any other of the artificial snakes of Hogwarts Castle."

He smiled. "You being a real Parselmouth – and aren't you a mean one for letting everyone think your brother was the only one around – well that just gives you an unfair advantage in claiming the Throne for yourself. Which is, of course, a perfectly Slytherin way of doing things. But there are ways of attracting the Hydra's attention without it, though typically it takes longer. Most Princes don't gain the title until Fifth Year."

"Indeed," said Lucius. "A slight majority of Princes have been Parselmouths throughout history, though there have been fewer and fewer since the passage of the Inheritance Act and other government policies meant to destroy the legacy of Salazar Slytherin. But enough about ancient history – Regulus Black, I should like to know very much where you have been these last thirteen years."

"Well, Lucius, it's a long story. One that starts with a cave in Dorset. No, that's not right. It really begins ... with a house elf."

* * *

_**17 June 1966  
12 Grimauld Place**_

"Master Regulus?" said Kreacher in a gentle voice. The house elf was always gentle with Regulus, who was his favorite of all the Black children. Sirius and Andromeda were always too rambunctious, while Bellatrix was too shy and Narcissa too mean and spoiled. But Regulus always had an inner core of ... _something_ that pleased the house elf, and so the house elf always showed him favoritism. In his sadder moments, Kreacher feared Regulus might be Sorted into Hufflepuff when his time came (he was certain Sirius would be a _Gryffindor!_), and the house elf feared how the boy's parents would respond if that came to pass. Orion and Walburga Black were quite mad, after all, and as an inevitable consequence, Kreacher was relatively mad as well. Which was to be expected, of course – that was the way of good house elves who had the misfortune of having mad masters. But Kreacher had a soft spot for Regulus, and he hoped the boy's parents would too, no matter what his Sorting.

This was a special day for Regulus. Today, he turned seven. He had already shown strong magic, and by surviving to the age of seven, Regulus had proved his worthiness to be a Black, as Sirius had the year before. And as was proper for a child of an Ancient and Noble House, Regulus's seventh birthday would be attended by a party attended by all of his cousins and by the children of all the House's allies and vassals. Naturally, of course, jealous little Sirius had already tied to ruin Regulus's special day. The night before, Sirius had gotten hold of some of Mistress Walburga's cutting scissors and used them to "trim" Master Regulus's hair. The boy's long curly locks had been lopped off, and he looked like a badly shorn black sheep. Walburga had been furious and ravaged Sirius with Stinging Hexes for an hour as the boy begged for mercy. Kreacher had watched impassively for he was a good house elf and could do naught else. Then, before sending Regulus to bed, she promised him that they would wake him up bright and early the next morning and carry him to Whithershanks, the magical barber in Diagon Alley who would fix his hair right up in time for his party.

Kreacher called for young Regulus again, and the young boy finally sat up in his bed, yawned and stretched.

"Kreacher? What is it?" the boy asked, as he'd noticed how strangely the house elf regarded him.

"Master Regulus! Your hair!" Kreacher said in surprise.

Regulus frowned. He was sure his hair still looked awful, but Kreacher had known that the night before. Had it gotten worse during the night? Regulus reached up to feel his head, and then, he was astonished to feel a full head of hair. He jumped out of bed to check the mirror on his dresser. Amazingly, his hair had grown back! In fact, it even looked longer, curlier, and more lustrous than it had the night before.

"Master Regulus must stay here," said Kreacher. "Kreacher will fetch the Master and Mistress." Regulus hardly listened, so fixated was he on his regrown hair. A few minutes later, Sirius came in, equally astonished at how his little brother looked.

"No way! You regrew your hair! How'd ya do that overnight?!" Then, Sirius yelped, as there was a flash of light and a sharp pain in his backside.

"Sirius!" shouted Walburga. "I told you last night you were to remain in your room until we gave you leave to come out again! Begone!" And she shot him with another painful hex. He started towards the door when Orion Black entered. By that time, Walburga was staring intently at Regulus, and Orion soon joined her. She pointed a wand at the boy and cast a quick spell.

"It is possible, Walburga?" Orion asked quietly.

"It is more than possible, husband. Attend to Sirius. I shall explain things to Regulus."

"Father?" said Sirius. "What's going on?"

"It's none of your concern, brat! Come with me!"

"But Father...!" Zap. "OWW!"

Regulus was suddenly nervous. Though only seven, he'd lived in Grimauld Place his whole life. He knew what Walburga was like when she was in her moods. Once Orion and Sirius were outside, Kreacher felt Master Orion's magic surge, and he recognized the faint smell of cinnamon and petrichor, which the house elf recognized as the scent of an Obliviation. Master Sirius would remember nothing of these matters. Walburga sat Regulus down on his bed.

"My son, today is a blessed day, for you have shown a rare and special gift, one that has not manifested in our family in many years. You are blessed, my son ... and also cursed. For there are those who would use you for your talent. Those who would enslave you. Tomorrow, we shall make arrangements for you to meet with your Great-Aunt Cassiopeia. She will have much to teach you, though I warn you that she may be a harsh teacher. She will not coddle you as I have these many years."

Regulus shuddered. If Walburga's parenting was "coddling," he was frightened to think what Cassiopeia would be like.

"She will help you to develop your gift," she continued. "But it is one you must conceal, must hide away forever except for when you are compelled to use it. For those _fools_ in the Ministry would be jealous if they found out. They would enslave you to their will, and you would never reach the glory expected of a son of House Black. Why, they might even force you to consort with Mudbloods!"

Regulus nodded silently. After seven years, he still wasn't sure what a Mudblood was, but he knew from his mother and father that they were the worst things in the world.

In the corner, Kreacher smiled. Long had he watched this one, and Kreacher was certain that Regulus was touched by Fate, even as Sirius was. Walburga and Orion would pay for their sins with madness, decay, and like an early death, but no matter how many Stinging Hexes the psychotic woman fired off at them, their sons would someday flourish.

Well, the two younger sons, anyway.

* * *

_**12 July 1972  
The Leaky Cauldron  
Diagon Alley**_

The young man was thin, skin and bones practically, with dark skin and hair styled into what a Muggle might describe as "an impressive Afro." In fact, had he not obviously been a wizard thanks to his fashionable robes, onlookers might have thought he'd just gotten off a boat from Africa. He made his way through the Leaky Cauldron before finding a secluded booth near the back, one that was already occupied. Said occupant appeared to be a young woman in her late-twenties, drop dead gorgeous with red hair, green eyes and a fashionable low-cut dress.

Appearances were deceptive where the House of Black was concerned.

The woman looked up. "Excuse me," she said irritably at the boy's presumption. "Do I know you?"

"You're slipping in your old age, Auntie," the boy said cheekily. "You wore that same body last year."

The woman made a face. "Did I really? My, how they all run together after a while. Hardly was a fair test now was it, my dear Regulus?"

Regulus studied his Great Aunt Cassiopeia carefully. "This was no test, Aunt Cassiopeia. You weren't even trying to conceal yourself. What's going on?"

"Don't be so paranoid, Regulus. Can't an old woman just want to say goodbye to her favorite nephew?"

"You're not _old_ at the moment, Aunt Cassiopeia. In fact, you look rather ... wait, what do you mean goodbye?"

"Hmmph. And now, I'll never know how that sentence would have ended," she said with a saucy smirk. "When I said goodbye, I meant goodbye. I've decided to leave Britain, for a while at least. Things are getting a bit dicey here with that Voldemort chappy on the rise. So I've decided to go abroad for a while."

"Why would you be afraid of from Lord Voldemort? He's supports the Purebloods. Mother says he'll ensure that the Blacks rise to the top again."

"Does she now. Well, personally, Little Regulus, I've never heard of a Dark Lord who ever wanted anyone to rise but himself. In any case, you're starting Hogwarts in a few months. You'll need to focus on learning real magic, not the trickery I've been teaching you."

Regulus shook his head in annoyance. "But where will you go?"

She studied the menu carefully. "I was thinking of Marseilles."

Regulus was quiet at that. "Marius and Alphard both live in Marseilles."

"Indeed they do, Little Regulus. And soon, I'll be there with them. Three gay bachelors enjoying the sights and sounds of the French Riviera. It will be divine."

Regulus said nothing for a moment before he finally spoke. "Marius and Alphard aren't part of the family anymore."

"No, Marius and Alphard aren't on Walburga's precious genealogy tree anymore. They'll always be family to me." Finally, she looked up into Regulus's eyes and pierced him with the intensity of her expression. "You may say I don't _look_ old right now, but that doesn't change the fact that I _am_ old. In the end, Metamorphmagic can't change who you _really are_ on the inside. I'm an old woman, and I've no idea how much time I have left. I've decided to stop squandering it in order to maintain a fragile peace with people whose narrow-minded views bore me. I mean, it's not like I have any children of my own to tie me to this benighted nation." She paused and smirked again. "Well, none that I know of."

"What does that mean?" he asked in confusion. She crooked an eyebrow at him ... and then, suddenly, the beautiful young woman transformed into a tall handsome muscular man with red hair and green eyes ... and still wearing the low cut dress.

"What are you _doing_?!" he hissed at her while looking around wildly to see if anyone had been watching. In an instant, she was in her previous form and laughing at him.

"I'll miss you, Regulus. You're so easily scandalized."

The boy sighed and rubbed his forehead. Then, he looked up suddenly. "Wait a minute. So when you say you and Marius and Alphard will be a trio of bachelors, you mean ...?"

"Yes, I am indeed planning to spend some time on the French Riviera seeing how the other half lives."

He wiped his hand over his face as if trying to erase an awful thought. "_Please_ don't share any of your ... exploits with me until I'm at least fifteen."

She laughed again and turned back to the menu.

* * *

_**1 July 1976  
Chevenoir (The Estate of Arcturus Black)**_

Regulus sat uncomfortably in the high-backed chair at the formal table in his grandfather's dining room and tried his best to look neither miserable nor frightened . He was miserable because he had just lost his brother. He was frightened because of _how_ he lost his brother. Three nights before, his mother had put Sirius under the Cruciatus Curse for seven seconds over some disagreement about politics. The next night, Sirius had snuck out of 12 Grimauld Place and disappeared. The morning after that, Walburga and Orion received an owl from Charlus Potter tersely stating that Sirius was with the Potter family, that Charlus had begun legal proceedings to make Sirius a ward of House Potter, and that Walburga and Orion would acquiesce to that unless Walburga wanted to spend the rest of her life in Azkaban for using an Unforgivable Curse. The _next_ morning, they received another owl, this one from Lord Arcturus Black informing Walburga and Orion that they and "_those two fine strapping lads of yours_" would be joining his Lordship for dinner that evening at Chevenoir ... any alternative dinner plans be damned.

Though only in his mid-seventies, Arcturus Black looked much older than a wizard of his years should. He was largely confined to a wicker wheelchair, and attached to the back of it was a strange breathing apparatus which consisted of a mask connected via a tube to a small portable tank full of a thick blue mist. Also in the tank were a dozen or so tiny faerie-like creatures the like of which Regulus had never seen before. Ever so often, Arcturus would start to cough, and then he would place the mask over his face and breath deeply. The tiny floating creatures would glow more brightly and then dim in time with his labored breathing.

Dinner was excruciatingly tense, particularly since there had been a place setting for Sirius ... and the house elves had apparently been instructed to pretend Sirius was actually there, placing each new course in turn and then returning to remove the untouched food. Lord Black himself made no mention of Sirius's absence. Instead, he made amiable chitchat about Regulus's Quidditch success, his upcoming dueling tournament on the continent, on the likelihood that he might become Slytherin prefect in his Fifth Year. Finally, when a house elf removed Sirius's untouched plate of salmon amandine with roasted asparagus and replaced it with an enormous slice from an Italian cream cake complete with a scoop of ice cream, Walburga finally snapped.

"Arcturus! Enough of these games! You brought us here because of what happened to Sirius, so say what you mean to say and be done with it!"

The old man took a long sip from his wine glass with a deliberate, almost majestic slowness.

"What ... _happened _to Sirius? And tell me, Walburga. What _exactly_ happened to my heir that should demand my attention?"

Regulus looked up in surprise. As far as he knew, his father Orion was Arcturus's heir. The old man noticed his confusion.

"Oh yes, Regulus. Your father surrendered his right to the Black Lordship many years ago, and I selected your older brother Sirius to stand in his place, though Sirius himself likely has no idea of that fact."

"Father ...!" Orion interrupted.

"Do you have something intelligent to add to the discussion, Orion?" Arcturus inquired with an oddly terrifying mildness. Orion looked down at his dessert plate and finally shook his head piteously.

"I thought not," Arcturus continued before turning to Walburga. "I have brought you here because I have things to explain to your _other _son. Things he must know. Burdens he must now carry. Sirius remains my heir, Walburga, but _you_, by your contemptible actions, have most likely made him into a sworn enemy of the Dark Lord, and few wizards survive that designation for long. Consequently, I am forced to pursue ... contingency plans."

"I hope the Dark Lord _obliterates_ him!" Walburga spat angrily but without making eye contact with Arcturus.

Arcturus laughed contemptuously. "Perhaps he will, Walburga. But _you_ will not! Hear me now both of you! I _forbid_ either of you to take any further action against Sirius! If it his destiny to die at the hands of Voldemort or his lackeys, so be it. But if I learn that either of you have done _anything_ to harm him..." He paused and then narrowed his eyes as he studied Walburga. The woman still wouldn't make eye contact with him, and Regulus thought she was wise. For the first time, he could see why so many people feared Arcturus Black.

"You know me, Walburga Black," he said in a cold breathy whisper that hinted at hidden power barely constrained. "You know the secrets I guard and the powers I command. If you challenge me in this matter, you will _wish_ I had contented myself to strike you down with the Unforgivable Curse you so foolishly used on my grandson. _I will make you beg for death._ Nod if you understand me."

Still without looking up from her melting dessert, Walburga Black nodded once.

"Good," Arcturus said. "Now leave us. Neither of you seems interested in dessert, so begone both of you. I will send the boy home via Floo when I am done with him."

Without another word, and without looking at their completely unnerved son, Walburga and Orion Black rose and stiffly walked out of the dining room. Arcturus watched them leave before turning back to Regulus.

"Finish your cake, Regulus. Ophelia, my kitchen elf, is exceptionally talented at desserts."

Regulus nodded quietly and returned to his dessert which he ate in silence. Afterwards, the two retired to Arcturus's private study where the old man's chief house elf, Catesby, provided a butterbeer for Regulus and a glass of port for the old man. Arcturus studied his grandson for what seemed like an eternity before speaking.

"Did you bring your wand, Regulus?" he finally asked.

Regulus nodded quickly and pulled out his wand.

"You will swear an oath of secrecy covering everything we say in here tonight. Now."

"But ... Grandfather ... the Trace."

"The Trace does not apply tonight. I've made arrangements."

Regulus swallowed once more and swore the oath. Arcturus nodded and then resumed his silent study of the boy. After another eternity, he spoke again.

"How ... how do they treat you?"

Regulus opened his mouth to defend his parents, but at his grandfather's look, he decided against it.

"Not ... _too_ badly. Sirius was always the one to draw their ire. They ... um, they used lots of Stinging Hexes. _Lots_ of Stinging Hexes. They didn't start with ... well, with anything I'd call _torture_ until last summer. Even then, they never used anything like the Cruciatus until the other day." Regulus looked down suddenly. "I ... I don't know if their attitudes towards me will change now that Sirius is gone."

"They will not harm you, Regulus," Arcturus said. "I will see to it. I ... apologize profusely for my role in your mistreatment and that of your brother. I should have been ... more proactive."

"It's not your fault, Grandfather," Regulus quickly said.

"Oh, but it is, my boy, it is. You see ..." Arcturus paused and, for a man of his natural power, suddenly looked quite vulnerable. "I was the one responsible for your parents' madness."

Regulus stared at the man, speechless.

Arcturus nodded as if to confirm the truth of his words. "We Blacks pride ourselves on the purity of our blood. _Toujour Pur _and all that. But there are limits to what levels of consanguinity can be tolerated either by magic and society. First cousins marrying exceeds that limit."

Regulus shook his head. "I don't understand. First cousins? I know Father and Mother are second cousins but ..."

"_First_ cousins. That family tree your mother guards so jealously and prunes so furiously contains some ... inaccuracies. Most notably, for purposes of our discussion, Pollux Black, my cousin and your putative grandfather, was sterile, the result of a curse he'd suffered when he was a young man. Rather than annul his wedding to your grandmother, Irma Crabbe, and bring scandal down upon the house – not to mention be forced to repay the exorbitant dowry she'd brought to their marriage – Pollux arranged for Irma to enter into a long-term adulterous relationship with my younger brother, Regulus, for whom you are named. Thus, your mother is not my first cousin but my _niece_, a fact which was concealed from me until after I approved of their marriage and, indeed, after their eldest child was born."

"Sirius?" Regulus said, but he was surprised when Arcturus shook his head no.

"You and Sirius had an older brother, Polaris Black. He was ... severely deformed. Worse, he was violently insane, even from early childhood."

"What happened to him?" Regulus asked. Arcturus merely gazed at him before changing the subject. The name Polaris Black would not be mentioned again that night.

"I still needed a strong heir to confirm the continuation of our line. Orion was my only son. Cygnus had only daughters, and Alphard ... was unsuitable for other reasons. _I had to act_."

Something in the old man's tone suggested that he was for some reason asking forgiveness from Regulus. A quiet fear fluttered in the boy's stomach.

"What did you do, Grandfather?"

Arcturus paused and took three long dragging breaths from his breathing mask. Then, he looked back to Regulus with a steady gaze.

"I compelled your parents each to take a rare potion. One which is not illegal per se but which is certainly ... controversial. You see, it's only utility is in facilitating incestuous relationships." Regulus looked a bit sick at the turn the discussion had taken. Arcturus continued.

"The potion had the effect of ensuring that a child born of a union that would otherwise suffer the signs of inbreeding would instead be born in perfect mental, physical, and magical health. Instead, any debilities that _should_ have afflicted the child would would manifest in the parents instead in the form of mental illness. After that, Orion and Walburga gave me Sirius, who was everything I wanted in an heir despite, or perhaps _because of_, his rebelliousness. Had they stopped there, your parents would have been highly eccentric, but not beyond the acceptable boundaries for wizarding behavior in this day and age."

"But they had me," Regulus said in a very soft voice.

Arcturus nodded. "They did. And what had been mere eccentricity became madness leavened with paranoia and a growing tendency towards sadism. Early on in Sirius's childhood, I bound them both against inflicting any true harm on either of you, but I did not anticipate Walburga's ... creativity, let alone the possibility that she would one day become so maddened as to use the Cruciatus. I ... I am sorry that I was not more attentive to your needs. I suppose that I felt the guilt of what I'd done to my own son too acutely and so wished to avoid thinking on the matter. I apologize."

Regulus sat quietly without responding. Finally, he spoke. "So ... what do we do now?"

"An astute question. I suppose it depends. What are your feelings about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

Regulus blinked in confusion at the apparent non sequitur. "I ... I'm not sure. Most of my Slytherin peers idolize him. They think he'll be the one to restore Pureblood primacy and roll back the impositions that the Mudbloods have put on our rights."

Arcturus nodded. "Will you become a Death Eater if offered the chance? If you do, it will put you at odds against Sirus."

"I am not Sirius, and his mistakes are not mine. As for the Death Eaters, I ... I suppose I will if asked. We must stand up for our freedoms, after all." He hesitated. "Does that ... displease you, Grandfather? You seem to support Sirius in his defiance."

"In this matter, Regulus, I have declared myself _Gray_. Whether the Dark Lord rises or falls, the House of Black must endure. We have a purpose that transcends the sectarian conflicts of the day, a burden we have carried since before the Wizengamot was even a word. So many of the other Ancient and Noble Houses have fallen into ruin and been lost to us. So many even today have forgotten our ancient purposes. Harfang Longbottom died before his time, and I don't even know if he passed along the ancient knowledge to his son Archimedes. Charlus Potter is a fool who raised his only son as a wastrel. The Gaunts and Gamps are extinct, and the Doges are soon to follow. Malfoy? Nott? Selwyn? Wilkes? Rosier? All given over to corruption of one form or another. You and your brother are my last hope. Can you blame me for wanting to ensure that you were powerful, healthy, and _sane_ wizards?"

Arcturus leaned back in his wheelchair. "No, Regulus. If you are not opposed to joining the Dark Lord, then you have my leave to do so, provided that you promise to be careful about it and to _survive_ at all costs. Just as Sirius has my leave to take up arms against the Dark Lord. Whether Voldemort wins or loses, _one of you_ must survive to carry on the name of Black and take your place along the watchtower."

"Along ... the watchtower?" Regulus was confused. Arcturus simply nodded gravely.

"When the seventeen Ancient and Noble Houses joined together to form the first Wizard's Council, the precursor to the Wizengamot, we had a purpose, and it was indeed a noble one. A purpose you must now be made to understand." Arcturus lifted his head and called out to his house elf.

"Catesby! Fetch the book!" A few seconds later, there was a pop, and Arcturus's favorite house elf was there bearing aloft an ancient tome with a leather cover and a metal latch to keep it closed and locked when not in use. Though the gilded letters on the front cover were faded with time, Regulus could still faintly make out two words.

_**Anathema**_ _**Codex**_

* * *

_**9 June 1979  
8:00 p.m.  
Upper Appleby**_

As Regulus listened to the screams of the victims, he narrowly fought down the urge to vomit inside his mask. As revolting as the display was, on some level he thought the worst thing might be having to admit to himself that _Sirius had been_ _right_. For years, Regulus's mother and father had extolled the virtues of Lord Voldemort, the Pureblood Messiah who would purge Wizarding Britain of all blood traitors and Mudbloods and restore the rightful ascendancy of the Purebloods and the Ancient and Noble Houses who led them. And for years, those had been just words, words he had internalized and Sirius had mocked. Better acceptance, he'd thought, than bear the lash as Sirius had seemed eager to do. In his Sixth Year, Regulus had become Prince of Slytherin in large part because he had become the most eloquent advocate for the Dark Lord's views among the Slytherins, even though he'd never met the man face to face. Granted, aspects of the Hydra Throne were ... dissatisfied with Voldemort's agenda, and as a whole, the Hydra was unwilling to share anything it might know about the Dark Lord. In the end, though, Regulus Black ruled Slytherin in Voldemort's name for his last two years of school, while Sirius seemed to continually flirt with expulsion no matter how well he did in class.

But now, all of that seemed childishly irrelevant in the face of the _reality_ of following Voldemort: pointless violent carnage. Tonight had been Regulus's very first mission as a Death Eater ... and he was already sick of it. He was not a full member yet – he would take the Dark Mark in a week's time on his eighteenth birthday – but this night was his formal introduction to the Knights of Walpurgis. Dolohov, the degenerate swine, had been put in charge. The attack had been on the small wizarding village of Upper Appleby, which had been targeted because it was located within a larger Muggle town and the wizards of Upper Appleby were assimilated into Muggle culture to a degree the Dark Lord found unacceptable.

It had been one thing for Regulus to hear his mother rant constantly about "Mudblood filth" (and oh how her rants had gotten worse since Orion had passed away just a few months earlier). But to be on an actual raid? To hear the screams firsthand? Suddenly, Walburga's bigoted rants were revealed for the ignorant hateful nonsense they truly were.

But the worst part were those twins. They weren't aurors, but they fought like aurors, powerfully and boldly. It was just the two of them, but they'd shown up out of nowhere and dared to take on five Death Eaters in order to buy time for a score or so Mudbloods to escape from the range of the Death Eaters' anti-Portkey and anti-Apparation wards. Though Regulus himself was already a champion duelist within his age group, he was genuinely impressed with the twins' combat skill. But even more so than their skill, Regulus was impressed by their bravery in fighting such odds to cover the Mudbloods and blood traitors of Upper Appleby as they fled. Then, one of the twins got in a lucky shot against Rosier with a Cutting Curse, causing the Death Eater to drop his wand. The sound of Rosier's scream startled Regulus, and more out of instinct than any intent, the boy fired off an Expelliarmus that got past the man's defense, stripping him of his wand.

"Fabian!" the other twin had cried out as he tried to throw a shield over his defenseless brother, only to leave himself exposed in the process. Dolohov lashed out with his signature Entrail-Expelling Curse, and Regulus once more came close to vomiting at the sight of the spell's grisly effects.

"Gideon! You bastards!" The other twin scrambled towards his fallen brother who was now seconds from death and tried to reach for his wand. He never stood a chance.

"_**CRUCIO!**_" Rosier's Cruciatus Curse hit the poor man – Fabian Prewitt, according to the next day's newspaper account – and his screams were ear-shattering. The other Death Eaters soon joined in, laughing at the man's agony. Rosier even suggested that they take him back to their base and see how long they could torture someone and still keep him alive. Suddenly, Regulus realized how much he hated Evan Rosier. How much he hated Antonin Dolohov. How much he even hated his mother and father for encouraging him into this life. And as he watched Fabian Prewitt scream in agony and flop around helplessly in the blood and viscera of his murdered twin, Regulus suddenly hated _himself_. Luckily, there was one spell for which absolute hatred was a prerequisite.

"_**AVADA KEDAVRA**_," Regulus said in a eerily calm voice. A bolt of green energy shot from his wand into the body of Fabian Prewett, ending his pain and his life with a single spell.

"What was that for, Mr. Blanco?" Rosier said petulantly. "I had plans for that one." Dolohov and the others also turned back to face him. Regulus ignored Rosier and instead addressed Dolohov.

"We are here on business, are we not, Mr. Farmer? This ... indulgence has cost us valuable time and also allowed many of our quarry to run far enough from our wards to escape and even to summon help. Unless you are ready to face real aurors instead of talented amateurs, perhaps its time we departed."

"Why you arrogant little ...!" Rosier fired off a Cutting Curse towards Regulus, but he batted it aside casually. It was for his skills at a duelist that he'd been recruited by members of the Dark Lord's Inner Circle, after all. Rosier, for all his exuberant brutality, was no match for him one-on-one. But if the other three joined in?

Dolohov studied Regulus and then laughed. "That's enough, Mr. Petal. Young Mr. Blanco is correct. We've made our point tonight, and it's time we were leaving."

With that, the Death Eaters left Upper Appleby and returned to their base for debriefing. From there, Regulus returned home ... where he promptly and finally threw up into a trashcan in his room. Soon after, he'd called Kreacher to clean it up, but then, he remembered that he'd loaned the use of Kreacher to the Dark Lord earlier that day, and the house elf had not returned yet.

An hour later, after Regulus had cleaned up his own sick for the first time in his life, the house elf finally returned, and to Regulus's shock, he seemed nearly dead. Carefully, he picked up the tiny creature and placed him on a nearby couch.

"Kreacher? What happened? Where is our lord?" Regulus asked desperately. The house elf could only look up at him ... and weep piteously.

* * *

_**13 June 1979  
Midnight  
A cave set in a seaside cliff near Clacton-on-Sea**_

Regulus stared into the bowl with trepidation. Beneath the strange glowing water was a golden locket that bore a stylized "S" of the sort that usually appeared in depictions of Salazar Slytherin. Kreacher had brought him here after spending days recuperating from what the Dark Lord had done to him. He had tortured the house elf, forcing him to drink some foul potion designed to drive men mad ... _as a mere test of his defenses_. Regulus had tended to Kreacher as best he could, but he feared the poor thing would never truly recover from his experience. But all that was far from Regulus's mind. All he could think about now is what the house elf had told him about _why_ the Dark Lord needed to test the defenses of this place. What on _Earth_ could he be hiding here that would need an army of inferi to protect it?! Regulus thought he knew and feared he was right.

The wizard closed his eyes and steeled himself. Then, he pointed his wand at the bowl and cast the identification spell that Arcturus Black had taught him the summer he turned fifteen. Inside its basin, the locket glowed slightly, and then a single sigil appeared in the air over the deadly potion. Regulus stared, transfixed in horror. In the summer of 1976, his grandfather had insisted that he learn all the identification sigils from the Anathema Codex. Much of the contents of that dire book were terrifying for the young boy, but as Arcturus had told him, he had an obligation to learn and recognize the spells and rituals contained within it.

_The Lament Configuration... The Bane of Sicily... The Rune of Singular Hate... The Six-Fingered Hand... The Nightmare Child... The Feast of Shadows... Imago Dei... The Inverted Mirror... The Hounds of Tindalos... The Horcrux._

And that last nightmare was what lay resting at the bottom of the basin. A horcrux. "_The Dark Lord made a horcrux,_" Regulus thought to himself as he fought the urge to laugh hysterically. "_The Dark Lord is the sort of person __even capable__ of making a horcrux! And I am four days away from taking his mark and swearing to him my undying allegiance!_" Regulus did laugh at that. The sound of his strangled giggle reverberated around the cavern eerily, and he quickly got hold of himself.

"Kreacher!" he commanded. "Tell me again everything you know about the defenses of this object."

The house elf complied, and Regulus soon understood the purpose of the trap. To secure the locket, either he would drink all of the potion, or he could command Kreacher to do it, and the bound servant would do so even though he would surely die from a second exposure to the cursed liquid. On another night, he might have made a different decision. But he had just spent days nursing the loyal Kreacher back to health. And just four days before, he had taken his first life. It didn't matter that he had saved Fabian Prewett from a fate worse than death. He had murdered, and his guilt demanded atonement. And so, at his command, Kreacher fed the repentant Death Eater bowl after bowl of Voldemort's devilish potion. With each sip, Regulus wept as he recalled every hateful remark ever made to him and every one he'd made to someone less fortunate. Every time he hid under the covers and pretended he couldn't hear Sirius crying in the next room. Every time he'd felt the sting of his mother's wand, and every time he'd _deliberately_ gotten Sirius into trouble rather than bear the lash of their mother's anger by himself. And between each memory, always, _always_ the screams of those wizards and witches from Upper Appleby who couldn't escape, and the cold lifeless eyes of Fabian Prewitt staring up at him in accusation.

Finally, the potion had been drunk, and Kreacher followed the rest of his orders. He took the locket, leaving behind the copy Regulus had transfigured and the mocking note it contained. The house elf swore that he would destroy the horcrux-locket. And Regulus, alone and wracked by agonizing thirst, would die in expiation of his sins.

Slowly, Regulus crawled over to the water's edge. He knew that if he touched the water, the inferi would take him. But he also knew that if he did nothing, the thirst would take him instead, and the inferi at least promised a swifter death. He reached his hand into the water and barely had time for a sip when a bony hand barely covered with ragged decaying flesh reached out to grab him and pull him into the lake. He had time for one breath, and though he was prepared to die, he still struggled. More and more inferi grabbed at him and clawed his skin. Still, he held his breath until his lungs were burning. But despite his earlier despair, as ever more of the disgusting undead monsters descended upon him, a new and powerful thought came bursting into his head.

"_I want to live!_"

With that thought, Regulus suddenly felt his skin burn and his muscles stretch. His body spasmed in pain, causing him to release what little air was left in his lungs. Now truly drowning, he struggled harder against the inferi who, to his surprise, released him and withdrew slowly, almost fearfully. His head broke the surface of the lake, and he gasped and greedily sucked in air. His experience in the lake, as awful as it was, seemed to have cured him of the magical thirst caused by the potion, and Regulus swam back to the shore and hauled himself back onto dry land. He looked back towards the lake in confusion, wondering what could possibly have driven back the army of inferi. Then, he looked down at his hands. They were different, thinner, unnaturally pale ... and had a number of snake scales in a random pattern across them. Regulus then carefully felt his face and head. The lack of hair was a shock. The lack of a nose, even more so. Slowly, Regulus crept towards the waters of the underground lake and stared at his own reflection. Then, once again, he began to laugh hysterically.

The face of the Dark Lord himself, Lord Voldemort, laughed with him.

Apparently, in his panic and terror, Regulus had shapeshifted into the one form that the inferi would not attack – their creator. Exhausted from his efforts, Regulus slowly stumbled over to the boat that had brought him to the island and then used it to cross the lake to safety. Once out of the cave, he closed his eyes and centered himself. It would be ridiculous to have gone through all that only to splinch himself here at the end. When his mind was ready, Regulus apparated away.

* * *

Regulus made his way first to Chevenoir. Lord Black would need to know what Regulus had learned. He would need to know that Voldemort had fashioned a horcrux, that there was no longer any place for a _Gray_ wizard if one such as he threatened to become the future of the wizarding world. But to Regulus's surprise, he found Chevenoir sealed off, its wards now reattuned to block family as well as enemies. Though Regulus would not learn the truth until much later, the elderly Lord Black had suffered a massive stroke two days earlier while Regulus was attending to his house elf in seclusion. The old man had feared for years that the more ruthless of his children and grandchildren might seize any moment of weakness as a chance to end him and claim his legacy, so when he fell, his own house elves followed their instructions to the letter, warding Chevenoir against all intruders and attending to the round-the-clock needs of the now bedridden Lord Black.

From there, Regulus made his way to Grimauld Place which he entered stealthily so as not to alert his mother to his arrival. Kreacher was there and overjoyed to see him, for the house elf had thus far failed in his efforts to destroy the locket. Regulus himself was just as flummoxed. If house elf magic couldn't destroy the thing, Fiendfyre was the only other option Regulus knew of. Unfortunately, while he knew _how_ to cast Fiendfyre, he was not personally able to do so. The spell was esoteric and required a very particular mindset to cast, one Regulus was not presently capable of maintaining. Reluctantly, Regulus was forced to conclude that destroying the horcrux was beyond his ability, so he charged Kreacher with continuing to do everything he could to destroy the locket, and then he Obliviated the house elf of the knowledge of his own continued survival.

That left Regulus with only one question left: _what should he do next_? A part of him thought he should inform someone, Dumbledore perhaps, of what he'd learned, but as soon as the thought entered his head, he felt the oaths he'd sworn to Arcturus tighten around his heart. The Anathema Codex was a matter for the Ancient and Noble Houses. Consequently, the number of people about whom he could discuss such matters was frighteningly small, and of those people he knew of who he _could_ conceivably speak to about the horcrux, there were none he considered reliable. Indeed, the only plausible one was Sirius, and it was absurd to think that Sirius would listen to anything he had to say. As far as Regulus could tell, Sirius would be more likely to arrest him as a Death Eater than listen to him about the Dark Lord's horcrux. If nothing else, Regulus still carried the wand used to kill Fabian Prewett just a few nights earlier, and he had no idea whether the aurors could still identify it as a murder weapon.

Regulus quickly realized that for the time being, flight was his best option. He would need to be out of Britain before Death Eater were sent to look for him. He laughed. "_After all_," he thought, "_I'm to be branded with the Dark Lord's mark in just a few days! Of course, he'll want his guest of honor there!_" Regulus shook his head and practically snarled his rejection of that idea. Then, he through some clothes into a bag and apparated to Diagon Alley and Gringotts. From the goblin bank, he emptied out the secret vault Arcturus had given him as emergency money in case Walburga or Orion became "_difficult_." Then, he made his way to Knockturn Alley, to a small shop he knew of where, for the right amount of gold, one could acquire uregistered International Portkeys. Every Slytherin knew that there was one place a wizard on the run could go to lose his pursuers and find himself – Australia. When the shady wizard who provided the illegal portkey asked what name should go on the papers accompanying it, Regulus hesitated for a second before seizing on the surname he was now rejecting, as well as the fact that he had just effectively come back from the dead to start a new life for himself.

"White," he said. "Lazarus White."

* * *

_**2 January 1980  
Wagga Wagga Township  
New South Wales, Australia**_

Having lived his entire life in Britain (and having lived an insular life even by the standards of most Brits), to say "Lazarus White" was out of his element in Australia was a bit of an understatement. Australia's total wizarding population was slightly smaller than Britain's, and it was spread across a whole continent. But then again, Australia's Muggle population was only about a third of Britains, which meant that the the wizard-to-Muggle ratio was much higher. The largest wizarding settlement in Australia was Horizont Alley in Sydney, which housed over 500 wizards and witches, about the same number as Diagon Alley. There were sizeable communities across the continent, but he was amazed to learn that in most of them, wizards seemed to split their time evenly between wizarding society and Muggle society – working in Muggle jobs, partaking in Muggle entertainment, and dallying with Muggle partners to a degree that would make Voldemort want to scour Australia from the face of the world.

Purebloods, or at least Purebloods as he'd recognized the concept were rare, as the vast majority of wizards had at least one Muggle grandparent. Australia's wizarding population overwhelmingly consisted of Muggleborns and Halfbloods mainly of British descent who'd decided beginning in the middle of the 19th Century that there was no future for them in England. Europe was considered just as bad, while the various wizarding governments of the Americas all had reputations for intrusiveness of a different sort that put the British Ministry to shame. Here in Australia, however, wizards and witches integrated themselves freely into the Muggle world while proudly rejecting the efforts of what passed for a wizarding government to push them around. The Obliviate spell was widely known, so the Statute of Secrecy was protected, but other than that, anything seemed to go. Training himself to resist using the word Mudblood proved to be a challenge, and after his second month in Sydney, Lazarus White finally broke down and purchased a used Muggle Studies textbook and got a flat in the city that actually had a television (a man had laughed in his face when he'd asked about "fellyvision" which Sirius had once assured him was what the device was called).

After six months in Horizont Alley, however, Lazarus found that city life disagreed with him. Aside from the fact that he was blowing through his reserves of galleons at an alarming rate, there were just too many people who constantly seemed to want to know where he came from. Most of them were just being friendly (he found the Austalian Muggles and wizards alike to be disturbingly gregarious compared to the Slytherins he'd grown up with), but a few seemed to think the mysterious stranger might have a secret that was valuable enough to seize by force. Luckily, Hogwarts' defense classes, while in decline, were still superior to anything available at the few small magical academies located Down Under. Still, Lazarus was inclined to relocate to someplace quieter, which happily was when he found out about Wagga Wagga.

After enjoying Christmas and New Years in Sydney (and wasn't the Muggles' fireworks show a treat!), Lazarus packed up his meager belongings and, after having the concept of "bus" explained to him, took one to the Muggle town of Wagga Wagga. Actually, Wagga Wagga was the name of _two_ different towns. The Muggle Wagga Wagga was a town of about 40,000 located halfway between Sydney and Melbourne. _Magical _Wagga Wagga was actually located almost 200 miles further inland in the middle of a particularly inhospitable part of the Australian Outback. The two were connected by a permanent portkey link which connected a particular door marked "Janitorial Supplies" in the back of a Muggle petrol station to a freestanding doorway situated in the middle of the Magical Wagga Wagga's town square.

The wizarding population was nearly 200, but there was also a decent number of squibs who had been turned out by their wizarding families but who still preferred wizarding culture to Muggle. While Lazarus lacked the knowledge of Muggle pop culture to fully appreciate it, any Muggleborn who visited the wizarding village of Wagga Wagga would have thought it was something out of an old movie Western, complete with horses, men (and women) in cowboy hats and dusters, and a saloon with swinging doors. It wasn't all like the Old West though. There were plenty of wizards and witches in contemporary Muggle clothing, as well as some in the traditional clothing he'd have expected in Diagon Alley. To his surprise, there was a motorcycle parked in front of the saloon next to two saddled horses. The sign over the saloon identified it as "_Waltzing Matilda's_," and there was a Help Wanted sign in the window.

Lazarus walked across the street from the magical doorway into the bar. It was surprisingly clean, if rustic. The ambience reminded him of the nicer bars in Knockturn Alley. Behind the bar, to Lazarus's surprise, was a beautiful young witch, seventeen at the most, with dirty blond hair and the prettiest bluest eyes he'd ever seen. She was wearing a T-shirt with the logo of the Wollongong Warriors, an Australian Quidditch team. She was also wearing distractingly short cut-off blue jeans.

"Matty! Another round!" yelled out a rough-looking local who was part of a crowd sitting at a table underneath a black-and-white television (_not a fellyvision!_) that seemed set to some Muggle sporting event. Football? Or soccer? Lazarus could never remember what it was called down here. He made his way to the bar, as "Matty" poured four beers and then levitated them over to the group with her wand. Lazarus walked up to the bar, and she smiled as he sat down. He smiled back, suddenly conscious of the fact that the face he'd adopted for "Lazarus White" was quite a bit better looking (and also a few years _older_ looking) than the one he'd worn as Regulus Black.

"What'll it be, mate?" the girl asked in the omnipresent Australian twang that Lazarus had so far been unable to master.

"Just a beer," he said. "Matty, was it?"

She snorted. "Yeah, I reckon I'll answer to that if I have to, pretty boy. I prefer Matilda."

He nodded. "So the bar is named after you?"

"Ha! Other way round, actually. Mum and Dad had the bar for ten years for I showed up!" They both chuckled. "So what's your name, pretty boy."

"White," he said. "Lazarus White."

She snorted softly. "Lazarus? That's a bit morbid, isn't it? And the accent's a bit posh too! You must be one of them Brit Purebloods."

"Brit, yes. I ... don't worry too much about blood status. Do you?"

She shrugged. "Dad's a Halfblood. Mum was a Muggleborn. Not entirely sure what that makes me."

Lazarus imagined that somewhere far away, Walburga Black was screaming in horror. "Makes you a witch. That's all that matter, right? And what's wrong with _Lazarus_? It's a fine old Biblical name."

"It was a guy who _died_ and then _came back from the dead_. Mum read that story to me when I was a little girl. It was supposed to be '_religiously moving_' but I just thought it was creepy."

He chuckled and took a sip of his beer. It was ... not good, but he swallowed it down. "It's a good name for second chances," he said quietly.

"Is that why you picked it?" she asked. Lazarus blushed slightly, and she laughed again. "C'mon, it's Australia, mate. Half the blokes what come in here have got different names than what they were born with."

"I suppose so." He glanced back at the sign in the window. "So what sort of help you need, Matilda?"

"Bartending. Cleaning up. Breaking up the occasional fights. Doesn't pay much, but it comes with room and board. What, you interested?"

"_Servants work_," he thought. "_Do they even have house elves in Australia? Still, it's out of the way, quiet, and will give me time to decide what I want to do next. Maybe a little manual labor will be good for the soul._" Lazarus pushed aside any thought that his decision to accept what was essentially a servant's position might be motivated by the blue of Matilda's eyes.

"Yeah, I think I am."

"Really?!" She seemed genuinely surprised. "I wouldn't have thought a Pureblood dressed as clean as you would be desperate enough for a job like this."

"Like I said – I'm interested in second chances. So what's your last name, Matilda?"

"MacMillan. Matilda MacMillan, at your service."

"MacMillan. I think I knew some MacMillans back in England."

She snorted softly. "I'll bet you did. They were one of those high and mighty _Ancient and Noble_ _Houses_ that run everything back there."

"Pretty sure they're just a Noble house," he said without thinking. Then, he coughed in embarrassment at the look she gave him. "So you're related to them?"

"Only by name and blood. My grandad, Jacob MacMillan was a squib. Not good enough for the ... _Noble_ House of MacMillan. So when he was twelve, his folks gave him about twenty galleons worth of Muggle currency and put him on a boat to Melbourne with nothing else but the clothes on his back. He worked his way up from being a stable boy to owning this bar, married a Muggleborn witch, and they had my dad who was a full-blown wizard." The wooden doors swung open. "And speak of the devil..."

Lazarus White turned and blanched. An older, heavy-set bull of a man had just entered the saloon. Looking to be about forty or fifty, he had a thick bushy moustache and a cigar hanging out of his mouth. His clothing was a mishmash of cowboy gear, contemporary wizarding clothing (including a black fedora) ... and a brown leather duster that was identical to the ones worn by aurors back in Britain, save for the fact that the DMLE badge on his chest had an outline of Australia instead of the British Isles.

And walking along beside the man was something Lazarus had expected to see at some point but was still shocked by – a domesticated Tasmanian wolf complete with a blue bandana around her neck. When he'd first heard about Wagga Wagga, Lazarus had been told that the wizards of the region had set up a magically hidden nature preserve for the animals which had been driven nearly to extinction by Muggles. He's also been told that a handful had actually become domesticated and had bonded with wizards as familiars. But to see such a creature in the flesh? Lazarus's eyes widened, and when the marsupial predator looked towards him and growled softly, he swallowed hard.

"G'day, luv," the big man said in a deep voice as he walked behind the bar and kissed Matilda on the cheek. "Looks like another day has passed without you burning down my bar." She gave a loud "_hmmpf_" at that and then turned to Lazarus.

"I found us a new bartender and bouncer, Dad. Allow me to introduce Lazarus White." Then, she smiled mischievously. "Though he prefers to go by _Rusty._"

Startled by his sudden rechristening, Lazarus ("Or _Rusty _now , I suppose.") almost missed the other man's introduction.

"I don't blame ya, lad, with a name like Lazarus. Pleased to meet ya, Rusty. Brian MacMillan, though most folks call me Buck_._"

The two men shook hands, and Rusty winced at the strength of the other man's grip. He also noticed the wand holster wrapped around the man's arm only partially hidden by his sleeve. The thylacine padded over to the young wizard and sniffed at him.

"And that there's Daisy! Don't mind her, Rusty. Her bark's worse than her bite." As if in response, "_Daisy_" opened her jaws almost ninety degrees and yawned, showing off razor-sharp teeth as she did. "Matty, you look after the bar for a spell. Daisy and I'll take young Rusty back to my office for a ... formal interview." The look in the man's eye promised questions about whether the handsome stranger would be trustworthy around his daughter. Rusty smiled weakly, while Matilda laughed.

* * *

_**25 December 1980  
Matilda's room at the MacMillan Homestead  
Wagga Wagga, NSW  
Midnight**_

"Happy Christmas, Rusty," Matilda said in a dreamy voice as she rubbed her hand across his bare chest. "It's midnight. Officially Christmas morning."

"Hmm," he said with a smile. "And I didn't get you anything."

She leaned in close and whispered. "I know something you can give me."

They both giggled at that. The two were lying together in her bed. Buck was expected to be gone until the New Year on a mission for the Auror Corps. After eleven months of constant flirting, Matilda and Rusty had consummated their very discrete relationship just a month earlier, but this was the first time they'd been together for days at a time without paternal supervision.

"You're incorrigible," he said.

"Don't pretend you're not aroused by my feminine charms, Lazarus White," she laughed.

"Liar," he replied lustily. "We both know I'm the pretty one."

She laughed again, and they leaned in together to kiss once more when there was a knock on the door. They froze.

"Merry Christmas, Matty!" Buck MacMillan exclaimed jovially from outside her bedroom door. "I hope you're having a pleasant and enjoyable holiday. Now, if it ain't too much trouble, could you send Mr. White downstairs so I might have a word with him?"

"Daddy? I don't know _what_ you're insinuating?" Matilda called out loudly while Rusty rubbed his hands over his face in horror.

"Well, sweetheart, first of all, you only call me '_Daddy_' when you know you're in trouble. Second, and I think this might be even more suspicious, you and Lover Boy left all your clothes downstairs in front of the fire before you relocated to your bedroom. Rusty? You've got two minutes."

One minute and forty-five seconds later, a profoundly abashed Rusty White descended the stairs in the MacMillan home clad only in white linen sheet. By the time he arrived, Buck MacMillan was sitting comfortably in a chair next to the fire with a glass of firewhiskey in one hand and his wand in another. Rusty's own wand was laid on a table beside Buck's chair, and Daisy was resting peacefully at his feet. Rusty took a deep breath and sat down in the chair opposite his lover's angry father.

"Well now, not as fancy dressed as you were the day we first met, Rusty, but I do thank you for not coming down to face me starkers."

"Buck ... Mr. MacMillan. I am _so terribly sorry_ about all this."

"About what, Rusty? Taking liberties with my daughter? Or getting caught at it?"

"Sir, I am not ... taking liberties with Matilda. Over this last year, I have come to care about her a very great deal."

"Oh have you now?! White, _she's just seventeen_. Her eighteenth birthday won't be for another three months. And how old are _you_ now, eh? Twenty-five? Older? You don't call it taking liberties when you have your way with someone that much younger than you?"

Rusty buried his head in his hands. Eventually, he looked up into Buck's eyes. "I turned nineteen last June."

The man scoffed. "_Nineteen_? What kinda galah do you think I am?!"

Rusty White sighed dejectedly and then leaned back in his chair. Then, he shook his head forcefully ... and suddenly became Regulus Black once more. Buck's eyes widened in shock. Even Daisy lifted her head in surprise before yawning and returning to her former position.

"I'll be stuffed," Buck said quietly. "You're a bloody shape-shifter! A Metamorphmagus!"

"Shhh!" Regulus said urgently.

"Matty doesn't know?"

"Except for three or four relatives who were all old and may be dead by now for all I know, no one else has ever known about this. I'm only telling you because..."

Buck crooked an eyebrow, and Regulus fumed at him.

"Because I love your daughter, okay?"

Buck studied the young man's face and the emotions that played across it. "So that's why you came here from England. You'd have been conscripted if anyone ever found out. But we don't have a Conscription Act down here, lad. You don't have any reason to hide who you are and what you can do."

Regulus looked away. "That wasn't my only reason, Buck." He closed his eyes and concentrated for a few seconds, and then Regulus was gone and Rusty White was back in his place. "I wanted a new life and a fresh start. I didn't want to be ... that other person anymore. Is that so much to ask for?"

"No, son. No it's not. But the past always has a way of catching up with us. Can you promise me that your past won't catch up with my daughter?"

Rusty nodded resolutely. "Absolutely."

"In that case, there's only one thing I want to know."

Rusty braced himself for the man to ask who he really was, what awful thing he'd done that had led him halfway around the world. But that wasn't the question.

"How many Outstandings did ya get on your NEWTS?" Buck asked with an intense look on his face.

"What?!" Rusty asked, surprised.

"You _did_ sit for NEWTS, right? You're a Pureblood from an old family. One with money too, I reckon. I could always tell that just from the way you talk. And I wager Daisy's favorite bone that you had a Hogwarts education. So how did ya do on your NEWTS?"

Rusty raised his chin almost defiantly. "Six NEWTS. Four Outstandings. Two Exceeds Expectations."

Buck grinned almost excitedly. "Okay then. So here's how this will go down. I will conditionally grant you permission to court my daughter, subject to the following terms. One: You treat her like a queen on a throne or else I feed you to Daisy. Two: You will _always_ use Contraceptive Charms until you're married, and even afterwards until you and she know you're both ready to have kids." he took a deep breath. "And three: You apply to become an auror ."

"_What?!_" Rusty exclaimed. "I'm a nineteen-year-old expatriate bartender who fled his homeland with nothing but the clothes on his back! What the hell makes you think I'm auror material?!"

"Six NEWTS with four O's and two EE's, for a start. I've also seen how you handle the crowd at the bar when some arsehead's had too much." He grinned. "_And_ I've also followed you under a disillusionment spell when you've snuck out before dawn to that little secluded spot just outside of town where you practice your dueling for an hour every morning. I know a champion-caliber duelist when I see one, and I think you've got some moves. And frankly, we need that down here. Our aurors don't get the same training as British aurors do. We're outnumbered and outwanded. _Plus_ there's bunyip, Australian water vampires, yowies, and even rumors of werewolves out in the bush, on top of all the normal dark wizardry!"

"Buck!" Rusty tried to interrupt, but Buck just talked over him.

"But _most of all_, Rusty, I want _more_ for my daughter than some slacker who's content to sweep the floors and pour beer and occasionally toss out a drunken bum. I want someone_ respectable_ for Matilda. Is that so wrong? And does it not say something that I _have faith _that you can be that someone if you'll just get off your lazy Pureblooded arse and work at it? You're a wizard, Lazarus White. And you've got an obligation to wizarding society and to _yourself_ to be the best damned wizard you can be."

"I ... I don't know, Buck. Me? An auror? You don't know where I come from. What I've done."

"No, lad. No I don't. And so long as you can promise me that it won't come back to hurt my Matilda, I'll never ask. But I think I can make at least one educated guess." He leaned forward in his chair with a look of earnest compassion in his eyes. "Rusty, between you and me – is there anything back home in England that you maybe feel like you need to ... atone for?"

Rusty's mouth gaped. "How...?"

"I'm an auror, lad. Reading people is something they'll teach you. I've known you for almost a year now. And I believe you're a good person. But you're also someone with demons that need facing."

Rusty's breath caught in his throat, and for just a moment, he saw the empty eyes of Fabian Prewitt staring up at him as if asking why he'd done nothing with his life since they'd last met. And that was followed by another image, one of a golden locket hidden away in Grimauld Place that he had sworn to destroy – an oath he'd set aside in favor of hiding like a child in a foreign land. Buck was right. He _did_ have things to atone for, and maybe becoming an auror would teach him what he would need to know to destroy Voldemort's horcrux for good.

"Alright. How do I start?"

* * *

_**2 November 1981  
Rusty White's Room above the Waltzing Matilda**_

_**DARK LORD VOLDEMORT BELIEVED DEAD.  
JIM POTTER PRONOUNCED "BOY-WHO-LIVED."  
BRITISH MINISTRY BEGINS TO REBUILD.**_

Rusty stared at the headline in astonishment. It was not a banner headline. In fact, it was buried on page four of the Uluru Gazette, which, like most wizarding newspapers in the former British colonies resolutely underplayed the importance of anything that happened in "the Old Country." Apparently, the Dark Lord had sought to murder James Potter and his family only to somehow be slain by the magic of Potter's younger son. Well, for some values of "slain" – Rusty knew and was likely the only one who knew that the Dark Lord was immortal until his horcrux was destroyed.

"_I just hope Sirius is okay_," the young auror trainee thought idly. "_Ah, who am I kidding? He's probably debauching himself in celebration with a case of Firewhiskey and as many lovers as his bed can hold at one time._"

Sighing to himself, Rusty put the paper aside and returned to the textbook on memory charms he was reviewing. He had an exam on the topic in than two days, and he planned to ace it.

* * *

_**1 August 1982  
Australian DMLE HQ**_

Lazarus White held himself stiffly at attention along with three of his cohorts as the Australian Minister of Magic, a severe witch named Beatrice Kemper, walked down the line, handing off a badge to each one in turn and then shaking the new auror's hand, turning as she did so that the photographer could get a picture of each cadet's induction. Australia did not have an Auror Academy as such – the population was too small and too spread out for a dedicated academy. Instead, each recruit who passed the fairly grueling entrance exams was assigned to a succession of senior aurors, six in all, who each oversaw his or her student for a month-long master-apprentice relationship. At the end of the six-month rotation, the cadet had one final month of physical training and exit exams before being approved by the Ministry and awarded a badge, a wand holster, and a magically armored long coat.

Rusty's auror companions all wanted to go out for the night to celebrate – "paint Horizont Alley purple," as Jack Cornwallis had said – but Rusty begged off. His first rotation had been with Buck learning the basics about law enforcement in Wagga Wagga, but after that, his next five rotations had carried him the length and breadth of Australia, followed by one final month spent in the barracks at DMLE headquarters in Sydney. In short, six long months since he'd spent any time with Matilda longer than a Floo call. And so, he declined the offer of a pub crawl, although he did find time to stop off in one particular jewelry store in Horizont Alley.

That night, when Matilda got home from the saloon, she arrived to a home-cooked romantic dinner for two. Delighted, she rushed into Rusty's arms and kissed him passionately. As they ate, she peppered him with questions about what auror training had been like, and he asked her questions about the happenings of Wagga Wagga in his absence. But despite his happiness and their amiable chatter, Rusty was nervous, and Matilda noticed.

"Rusty, what's the matter? This should be a joyous day for you. But you're all tense and edgy. What's on your mind?"

He took a deep breath. "Matilda... there's something I need to tell you." She looked at him expectantly. "It's ... it's about my past ... and I guess my present too."

Pushing down his fear of rejection, he shook his head violently, and for the first time since the previous Christmas, Lazarus "Rusty" White was replaced by a nervous-looking Regulus Black. Matilda just stared at him.

"How the hell did'ya do that?!" she finally exclaimed.

"Well," he replied. "I'm a Metamorphmagus. My real name is Regulus Black."

She nodded. He hesitated and then coughed nervously before continuing.

"Of the, ah, Ancient and Noble House of Black."

She crooked an eyebrow at that. "Are we related?" she asked suspiciously.

"No! Of course not... Well, I mean ... _distantly_?"

"_How_ distantly?"

"I'm pretty sure your grandfather and my grandmother were first cousins."

She exhales. "Okay, I think I can live with that." Then, she gave him an oddly appraising look.

"So you're a Metamorphmagus, then?"

"Yeah. Is that a problem?"

"Not at all. I'm actually pleased to see that you're only prettier than me because of an unfair advantage. So can you look like whoever you please?"

"Within reason. I have some limits based on body size and mass. Why?"

"Can you do Mel Gibson?"

"What? That Muggle from the _Mad Max_ movie you took me to see?"

"He was also in _Gallipoli_! He's a serious actor!"

He pursed his lips and concentrated, and with a slight popping sound, Regulus Black became a perfect copy of Mel Gibson, the current Australian movie heartthrob.

"Ooooh," she cooed. "This is going to make our after-dinner activities _very_ interesting!"

"_Matilda!_" he exclaimed, instantly shifting back into his true form, which was now blushing furiously. "I'm ... I'm not a _piece of meat_!"

She laughed and pulled him into an embrace. "I'm just _teasing_, Rusty. Or Regulus. Or whoever you want to be today. Now why did you suddenly decide to tell me all this?"

"Because I don't want there to be any secrets between us. I don't want you to feel later that I might have misled you or something. And if it's all the same, I'd rather you call me Rusty." He shifted back into the form of Lazarus White, the form that now felt more comfortable than his original skin ever had. Then, he dropped down to one knee and removed a jewelry box from his coat pocket.

"Matilda MacMillan, will you marry me?"

* * *

_**5 November 1983  
Headline of the Uluru Gazette**_

_**WEREWOLF PACK ATTACKS MAGICAL COMMUNITIES NEAR PERTH.  
SURVIVORS SPEAK OF HORRORS THEY ENDURED.  
MINISTRY URGES CALM.**_

* * *

_**16 May 1984  
The newly built home of Lazarus and Matilda White  
Wagga Wagga, NSW**_

"Altair?"

"No."

"Aries?"

"No."

"Castor?"

"Good God, no!"

"Corvus?"

"No. Why are we doing this again?"

Rusty sighed and put down the list he'd written. "Look, I may not be an active member of my family – and you may not care about any stuffy old Pureblood traditions anyway – but the fact remains that our son will be descended from the Ancient and Noble House of Black, and it is a tradition in my family that we name children after stars and constellations. He may someday need to draw upon the resources of House Black, and I think it might ... smooth the wheels if he had a name that showed our respect for my lineage."

"Uh-huh," said Matilda with a dubious expression. The young Mrs. White, who was now four months into her pregnancy, was leaning back in a recliner while reading a magazine about motorcycle repair. "Didn't you say your parents were crazy and used to abuse you and your brother _and_ said brother hates you because you used to be a bigoted Pureblood wanker?"

"I'm pretty sure I've never used the word _wanker_ to describe _myself_," Rusty said testily.

"Well, of course not, sweetie. You're far too polite for such honesty. And anyway, no offense, pretty boy, but I don't think I want your crazy mother anywhere near our future baby boy."

"But you're okay with him going to Hogwarts? Right?" Rusty said, suddenly anxious. "I mean, it's the most prestigious magical school in the world and as a Black, he's guaranteed to get in!"

She sighed. "Yes, yes! I know all about Hoggy Warty Hogwarts and how important it is for our offspring to get in. I won't _like it_ when our son moves off at _eleven_ to spend nine months out of the year on the opposite side of the bleeding planet, but I'm ... okay with it. But I _still_ don't see what that means we have to name the poor tyke after some blessed heavenly body."

"It's like I said, love. Tradition! Now then – Draco!"

"What?!"

"Draco. It's a constellation near Hercules. It's named after Ladon, the dragon who guarded the Apples of the Hesperides."

"If I ever met someone who named their child _Draco_, I would call Child Services! And before you ask, _no, we will not name our son Hercules either_!"

Rusty cleared his throat and looked down at his list. "Fornax?"

"No!"

"Herc – I mean, Hydrus?"

"NO!"

"Indus?"

"_NO!_"

"Leo?"

"... Leo." Matilda paused, her mounting anger at her husband temporarily forgotten. "Leo White. Leo Brian White. I think I could live with that."

"Leo _Brian_ White?" Now it was Rusty's turn to sound dubious. Matilda narrowed her eyes.

"Surely, _dear_, you're not suggesting that we should _only _use names from _your_ side of the family, are you?" she asked frostily.

"No! No, not at all. Leo Brian White is _perfect_." Rusty smiled winningly at his wife, who went back to her magazine.

"_We'll just tell everyone that __Brian__ is the name of a Constellation in the __Southern__ Hemisphere,_" he muttered under his breath.

* * *

_**4 July 1984  
From the Uluru Gazette**_

_**WEREWOLVES AT LARGE IN MELBOURNE!**_

_At least four wizards and witches were killed yesterday and another fifteen seriously injured in a daring daylight assault on the Golightly Travel Agency in Unuzyu Alley marketplace in Melbourne, Victoria. The attackers are believed to have been members of a nomadic werewolf pack led by Eustace and Clarence Tully, wizards and brothers who contracted lycanthropy in the early 1970s. Although the werewolves were not fully transformed as it was still daylight, all seven of the pack members were partially transformed at the time of the attack. Exactly how the Tully gang was able to penetrate into the heart of Unuzyu Alley is unknown, but anonymous sources at the DMLE note that two or more of the gang members are wizards and are thus likely able to apparate themselves and presumably side-apparate their comrades. These sources furthermore expressed concern in light of the fact that two witches and one wizard (Mr. and Mrs. George Golightly and their employee, Rose Abernathy) were missing after the attack. All three are licensed portkey artificers, and while it is possible the three simply portkeyed to safety, authorities are concerned that the Tully gang may soon have new members who are able to make portkeys at will._

* * *

_**25 July 1984  
The home of Lazarus and Matilda White  
Wagga Wagga, NSW**_

Rusty and Matilda were sitting at breakfast when, to their mild surprise, an enormous silver rabbit about the size of a dog appeared on their kitchen table. Their surprise was only mild because both of them were familiar with Big Jake, Buck MacMillan's Patronus which for some reason took the form of a Flemish Giant Rabbit.

"Rusty!" said the rabbit. "I know it's your off day, but we need ya to come in. We gotta line on one of the Tully gang, and your our best man for a fight against a dark creature. Meet us at apparation coordinates 260.50 by 113.09 by 4.00, ASAP. Get Matty to send a response so we can know when to expect you."

The rabbit faded away, and Rusty frowned before looking up at his wife. "Would you mind?" he asked.

"Not at all. But when are you going to master the Patronus yourself?"

"I'm working on it! I can do the ... the foggy part of it!"

"Oh Rusty! Have ... have I not made you _happy, _my love?" she asked with mock sadness.

"Very funny. Now send the message, please?"

She laughed and then summoned her own meerkat Patronus to convey a response to Buck. When she was done though, Matilda turned serious.

"Be careful, pretty boy. Werewolves are _dangerous_."

"That's why I need to leave _now_ so we can catch the bastard before That Old Devil Moon comes out." He bent over to kiss his wife and headed for the Floo.

* * *

_**Later that evening in Horizont Alley...**_

The good news was that the tip had paid off. A squad consisting of Rusty, Buck (accompanied by Daisy), and three other aurors (Cornwallis, Ogden, and Nguyen) had found a member of the Tully gang as he was apparently casing a shop in Horizont Alley that sold portkeys, and they'd managed to lock down the whole neighborhood with anti-apparation and anti-portkey wards. The bad news was that the gang member was actually Clarence Tully, who was a fairly skilled wizard backed up by the raw physical power of a half-transitioned werewolf, and he had evaded capture in the labyrinthine alleys and warehouses of Horizont Alley. In the course of pursuing him, the aurors had already come across three corpses plus one seriously injured man who'd already been sent to hospital and put under observation to see if he'd contracted lycanthropy. The _even worse_ news was that tonight was a full moon, and if they couldn't capture and incapacitate Tully before 5:45 p.m., he was at risk of fully changing in the middle of the largest wizarding community in Australia.

They'd finally tracked their quarry to a warehouse full of tall shelves stacked with boxes and crates when they realized the _worst _news. Apparently, the auror who'd been responsible for finding out the time for moonrise had botched the job. Rusty rounded the corner just as Clarence let out a scream of pain accompanied by a cracking noises as all of his joints popped at once and several of his bones spontaneously snapped and reformed into new shapes. Rusty fired off his most powerful Stunner, but Clarence moved like lightning and dodged the spell. Then, he leaped up and scaled the ceiling high shelves in three bounds, pulling himself up and over the side. Rusty put his back to the shelves, grasped his wand in both hands, and pointed it at the ground.

"_**VENTUS!**_" A powerful blast of air shot out of his wand and propelled him up to the top of the shelves. He grabbed the top edge and pulled himself up. Clarence was already jumping from shelf to shelf, easily covering the ten-foot gap between each one, a feat that Rusty couldn't possibly match. Taking in his surroundings, he pointed his wand at a ceiling beam just above the shelf ahead of Clarence.

"_**CARPE RETRACTUM!**_" A strong rope shot out of his wand and wrapped itself around the beam. Rusty yanked, and then the rope, which was still attached to the top of his wand, retracted and jerked him through the air until he released the spell and dropped onto the shelf below just as the werewolf landed on it. But by then, the transformation was nearly complete. Clarence Tully's rippling muscles tore through the seams of his clothes, sprouting shaggy black fur as they did, and there was a horrifying crack as his jawbone extended into a wolf's snout. The werewolf threw back his head and howled ... and Rusty almost panicked as unholy unnatural terror washed over him like a black wave. He managed not to piss himself or void his bowels, but in his fear he took a step back.

Right off the top of the thirty-foot-tall shelf.

He screamed as he fell, only to stop halfway down and then float down quickly the rest of the way thanks to a Levitation Spell from Jack Cornwallis, who'd been Rusty's best mate during training. Rusty barely had time to yell out his thanks before an angry Tully leaped down from shelf onto Cornwallis, knocking him to the ground. Rusty could only watch in horror as the werewolf started tearing at the screaming auror's flesh. The screaming was suddenly cut short as Tully bit down on the auror's throat and tore it out. Pulling himself together, Rusty fired off his most powerful Stunner, but it had absolutely no effect. The rest of the aurors had arrived by now, but there spells were equally ineffective against a fully transformed werewolf.

The creature let out another howl, and while Rusty literally shook with terror, he managed to control himself. Odgen and Nguyen were less poised, and they turned tail and ran in a panic. By that point, Rusty and Buck had the werewolf in a crossfire, and they had both resorted to borderline dark spells, mainly Bludgeoning Hexes, but to no avail. Each hex would visibly shatter one of the werewolf's limbs, but they would reset themselves and heal within seconds. They were causing the creature terrible pain but not really slowing it down. Suddenly, Tully reached out with an enormous clawed hand, grabbed a heavy crate, and hurled it towards Buck. The impact knocked the older man down to the ground and stunned him. Tully quickly started towards Buck to finish the auror. Daisy interposed herself between the two, barking furiously the whole time. But before Tully could reach them, the werewolf howled in pain once more when Rusty shot it in the back with an Incendio. The flames did no significant damage beyond scorching off the fur on its back, but it definitely caught the beast's attention. Tully turned and with a snarl began running towards Rusty as fast as the beast could. When Tully was less than twenty feet away, Rusty fired off the most lethal spell he knew that wasn't Unforgivable: Dolohov's Entrail-Expelling Curse.

"_**EXVISCERA!**_" The dark curse hit Clarence Tully dead in the chest, and immediately, a two-foot-long gash opened across his mid-section out of which the werewolf's intestines tumbled. Tully howled in pain once more but continued advancing towards Rusty albeit a bit slower. To the auror's amazement, the werewolf even seemed to be regenerating from near-disembowelment, as his organs were slowly being sucked back up into his stomach cavity and the thick gash was already healing itself. Tully lunged, and at the last second, Rusty threw up a Protego spell.

Tully landed on top of the shield, and the sheer weight and force of the impact knocked Rusty to the ground. The pain of maintaining the shield soon became excruciating, but just as Rusty was about to lose his shield and become vulnerable, Tully howled again in pain. He backed away from Rusty and spun around wildly, and Rusty saw why: Daisy was on his back, and her powerful bone-crushing jaws were clamped down on the back of his neck as she tried to snap his spine. Unfortunately, she only lasted a few seconds before Tully reached around, pulled her loose, and hurled her against a nearby brick wall with enough force to crack the brickwork, but that was enough time for Rusty to catch his breath and climb to his feet.

Tully whirled around to face Rusty once more, but the auror was ready. He ducked under the werewolf's grasping arms, darted forward, and jammed his wand-hand _inside_ the rapidly closing wound left by the Entrail-Expelling Curse all the way up to his elbow.

"_**INCENDIO MAXIMUM!**_" he cried out in a righteous fury. Instantly, the werewolf went rigid and began to convulse as flames as hot as any blow torch set fire to his lungs and heart before pouring up his throat. The werewolf threw its head back, but no howl came forth. Instead, blue flames shot out of its mouth straight up ten feet in the hair. Then, it was Rusty's turn to scream, as the now-boiling liquids inside the werewolf's chest cavity poured down onto his hand, burning it. Finally, the werewolf fell backwards to the floor. Rusty staggered back, tears of pain pouring down his cheeks from the third-degree burns that covered his wand hand. Within seconds, Buck was by his side to cast healing charms.

"NEVER MIND MY BLOODY HAND! MAKE SURE THAT BASTARD IS _DEAD!_" Rusty bellowed.

Grimacing, Buck turned towards the still smoldering werewolf and cast a diagnostic spell.

"Dead as a dodo, Rusty. Good work. Now _shut up, _and let me heal your bloody hand!"

Seconds later, Rusty's hand, while still tender, was mostly healed. Then, he turned as Buck gasped in shock. Some twenty feet away, Daisy was lying still against the brick wall into which she'd been hurled. The two aurors raced to her side, but she was already gone. Buck was heartbroken.

"My Daisy," he said softly as he stroked her matted fur. "My beautiful Daisy."

"I'm so sorry, Buck," Rusty said softly. "She saved my life."

"Course she did," Buck said with a sniff. "She was a good girl."

Rusty put his hand on his father-in-law's shoulder and squeezed.

"That she was, Buck. That she was."

* * *

_**26 July 1984  
From the Uluru Gazette**_

_**WEREWOLF CLARENCE TULLY SLAIN IN DUEL WITH AURORS.  
AUROR LAZARUS WHITE TO RECEIVE COMMENDATION.**_

Below the headline was a picture of Lazarus White from Wagga Wagga NSW accepting a handshake and a medal for "Exceptional Bravery" from the head of the DMLE. White looked like an auror posterboy in his formal robes with his perfect hair slicked back and his pearly grin shining out of the picture. In the interview, White was modest and genial, giving thanks to his fellow auror and father-in-law Brian "Buck" MacMillan (also of Wagga Wagga) for his assistance, as well as that Auror Jack Cornwallis, who was sadly slain by the rampaging werewolf, and even MacMillan's familiar, a police-trained Tazmanian Wolf named Daisy who tragically died in the fight against the werewolf. According to the article, there was to be a memorial service in Jack Cornwallis's honor in two days time. In addition, Daisy will be honored with a plaque at DMLE headquarters on a wall designated for auror familiars who have displayed exceptional heroism in defense of their masters and wizarding society. In his interview, White had downplayed his own heroism, stating that he was proud to serve the Australian people and to have a chance to protect his community and especially his family. The reporter congratulated White on his recent marriage and on the upcoming birth of his first child.

* * *

_**26 July 1984  
Terrawanda (an abandoned ghost town located deep in the Outback)**_

In an ramshackle building hundreds of miles away, a black inch-long talon delicately punched a hole through the top of Lazarus White's picture and then neatly sliced along the top of it, down, across and back up again. The talon's owner carried the picture over to a nearby wall and carefully affixed it with thumbtacks in each corner. Next to it was a map of New South Wales with the location of Magical Wagga Wagga circled in red.

"I know how you feel, Auror White," Eustace Tully said in a raspy unpleasant voice. "Family's important to me too."

* * *

_**20 November 1984  
The home of Lazarus, Matilda &amp; Leo White  
Wagga Wagga, NSW  
2:00 a.m.**_

The sound of the baby crying woke both Rusty and Matilda almost at the same time. Matilda started to crawl out of bed, but Rusty stopped her.

"No, no," he said with a loud yawn. "You went last time. It's Daddy's turn."

She nodded gratefully and went back to sleep. Rusty pulled on his bathrobe (he jammed his wand into the robe's pocket in case any diaper-changing charms were needed) and staggered to the nursery still half asleep. Barely one month old, Leo was crying up a storm, but his diaper was still dry. Rusty yawned again and then sat down with the baby in the rocking chair next to the crib and began rocking while singing a soft lullaby. Gradually, Leo calmed down and fell back to sleep. Rusty looked down into his sleeping son's face and smiled. For a moment, he tried to recall where he'd heard the lullaby he just sang. Surely neither Orion nor Walburga would ever have sung a lullaby to him! And then, he remembered – it had been Kreacher. Just as it had been Kreacher who'd practically raised him while his mother and father descended into madness.

As Rusty continued to look down at Leo, he absent-mindedly wiped his face with his free hand and was surprised to realize that he'd been crying. It took him a second to realize why. He had a son. He had a wonderful wife, a home, and a son who would not be raised by a house elf in a four-story mausoleum but by two parents who loved him unconditionally. That Regulus Black could have come from being torn at by inferi at the bottom of freezing lake to reach this moment seemed impossible, a miracle of unimaginable proportions. And Regulus Lazarus Rusty White Black realized that he was weeping over his baby boy in a nursery at 2:00 a.m. because he was so happy it felt like his heart might break from joy.

Carefully, Rusty put the sleeping babe back in his crib and turned for the door. Then, he stopped and thought some more about the epiphany he'd just had. He took one more look at the crib, and then, with a dopey grin on his face, he pulled out his wand and pointed it at the middle of the room.

"_**EXPECTO PATRONUM**_," he whispered. The familiar glow of the Patronus Charm filled the room before collapsing into the brilliant form of a Tasmanian wolf. Rusty's grin grew even broader.

"Hello, Daisy."

* * *

_**13 April 1985  
DMLE HQ, Sydney  
Friday the 13th**_

It had been a long week for Rusty White. On Monday, he'd had to perform his first Tabula Rasa, the total memory wipe spell that Wizarding Australia used to "psychically execute" criminals convicted of capital crimes. Death of Personality as they called it. And while it was definitely better than sending criminals to languish in Azkaban, it was still unsettling to cast a spell on someone and cause them to forget their entire lives. When the appeals ran out and it came time to carry out the sentence, aurors on site drew lots to see who would carry out the sentence, and on Monday, it had been Rusty's turn. He'd been required to swear an Unbreakable Oath to only ever use the spell as part of a lawful judicial sentence before he was allowed to even learn the Tabula Rasa spell.

Well, sort of, anyway. Because he wasn't _really_ Lazarus White, the oath he swore didn't take, but since the oath was administered by his father-in-law who knew his secret and was willing to help keep it, no one really cottoned onto the fact. Buck _did _pull him aside and threaten a horrible beat down if he ever misused the Tabula Rasa Curse (which itself was a crime that carried a penalty of personality death), and Rusty reassured the man that, of course, he wouldn't. After Rusty carried out the sentence, healers took the now mindless criminal (formerly Mortimer Travers, a British ex-pat and probably a former Death Eater) away to a special facility where he would be given new memories and a new face before being reintegrated into Magical Australia, hopefully as a less awful person.

After that, Rusty had been on edge all week leading up to today, Friday the 13th. Naturally, it was also a full moon, so he was expecting weirdness. He was _not_ expecting Horizont Alley to burst into flames. Starting at four o'clock that afternoon, explosions rocked the small magical community, and every auror was called to active duty. By seven, Rusty had sent his Patronus Daisy to let Matilda know he would be late and to not wait up. By ten, he'd been to see Healers twice for injuries. Finally, just before midnight, they'd caught a suspect, a lower class wizard named Edgar Farnaby who'd had a history of magical arson-for-hire. He was caught red-handed leaving the scene of one of the fires. Rusty still had a fresh bandage on his off-hand when he got to the interrogation room.

"Here's your authorization for the use of Veritaserum, White," said Nguyen as she handed him some papers.

"Me? Why isn't MacMillan handling this? He's the ranking auror."

"Which is why he's the one delivering a report as we speak to the Minister and her cabinet. He sent word that you're in charge until he and the other seniors get back."

Rusty scowled at that. He just wanted to be an auror, but sometimes he wondered if Buck was "grooming him for greater things" or some such bullshit. He took the file and reviewed it. Then, he, Nguyen, and the Ministry official assigned to administer the truth serum entered the interrogation room where Farnaby was waiting, handcuffed to an immobile chair and with a Silencio spell blocking the sound of whatever obscenities he was shouting towards them. Rusty sat down at the chair opposite, organized his papers on the small desk, and tapped a small glass globe with his wand.

"Recording commences. Auror Lazarus White speaking. It is Friday, April 13, 1985 and the time is 23:45. We are convened to take the Veritaserum testimony of suspected arsonist Edgar Farnaby. Also present are Auror Nguyen Park and Mediwizard Frank Burnside. I have before me a _Writ of Permission to Use Veritaserum_ signed by Chief Auror Woolsey, DMLE Director Scott, and Magistrate Judge Ezra Mattingly. Mediwzard Burnside, please proceed."

The Mediwizard stepped forward and waved his wand in a complicated pattern over the belligerent suspect. A number of sigils appeared in the air above Farnaby. Burnside nodded and gestured with his wand, and the sigils floated through the air to manifest as markings on a blank piece of parchment in front of White.

"Let the record reflect," said Mediwizard Burnside, "that I have performed a Level 3 diagnostic charm on the suspect, the results of which have been transcribed for the file. Mr. Farnaby is in good health and has no apparent allergy to any of the components of Veritaserum. Based on his size and weight, it is my professional opinion that three drops of Veritaserum may be administered for an interrogation period of up to seven minutes without any harm to the suspect."

"So noted," said White.

Burnside then pointed his wand at Farnaby's head. "_**ABIERTONGUE.**_" At that, Farnaby's mouth shot open and his tongue flopped out. He was otherwise immobilized. Burnside pulled out a stopper and placed three drops of Veritaserum on the man's tongue and tilted his head back. Then, he released the man from his bindings. Already, Farnaby's eyes were becoming glassy. Burnside checked his pocket watch, and after twenty seconds, he removed the Silencing spell from the man.

"The Veritaserum has taken effect. Seven minutes of interrogation will commence now, after which the antidote will be given." He nodded to White.

"What is your name?" White said, addressing the prisoner.

"Edgar Farnaby," he replied in a dreamy voice.

"What is your address?"

"218C Beekman Way, Horizont Alley, Sydney."

"Are you the same Edgar Farnaby who was convicted of arson in 1973, 1977, and 1980?"

"Yes."

"Did you have any connection to the fires that were set earlier this afternoon and this evening in Horizont Alley?"

"Yes, I set them all."

"Why?"

"I was paid to."

"By whom?"

"I dunno. Scary guy. Showed up in my room but stayed in the shadows. Left me a bag with 100 galleons, promised me more if I started a bunch of fires tonight. Also promised to eat me for dinner if I said no."

White looked up sharply from the legal pad he was using to take notes.

"Did he assign the buildings to be burned?"

"No. Told me to use my best judgment. Just so long as all the aurors were tied up tonight."

White and Nguyen looked at each other.

"Clarify," said White urgently. "The man who hired you did so for the _purpose_ of distracting the Sydney DMLE? And specifically tonight?"

"Yeah, but not just them. He wanted enough fires to ensure that all the off-duty aurors got pulled in from the outlying communities."

White's blood suddenly ran cold. "Why?"

"He wouldn't say exactly. He just said it was a _family matter_."

_Eat me for dinner. Full moon tonight. Family matter. Matilda!_

White jumped up out of his chair, nearly knocking the table over.

"Get Buck!" he roared. "Tell him to get to Wagga Wagga immediately with as much reinforcements as he can get!"

"Rusty, what's...?"

"_DO IT!_" With that, White ran out of the interrogation room and bolted up two flights of stairs to the Staging Room, a circular room with doors labeled with the names of every wizarding community in Australia. He opened the door marked "_Wagga Wagga"_ and stepped through with his wand drawn.

He exited into the town square of Wagga Wagga, with Buck's field office behind him and the Waltzing Matilda in front. The doors of the saloon had been ripped off their hinges and a window had been broken in. Lying on the ground in front of the saloon was the bloody corpse of Bill Freeland, the squib bartender Matilda had hired as his replacement when he started auror training. Bill's left arm was lying on the ground about ten feet away. His right leg was missing altogether. Looking up and down the street, he could hear the sounds of the dying and smell the spilled blood of the already dead. He quickly apparated home.

When Rusty arrived, his breath caught in his throat. The front door to the house had been ripped off its hinges. Struggling to control his panic, Rusty crept into the darkened house. The furniture in the living room and kitchen had been broken to pieces. Carefully, with his wand hand shaking, he crept up the stairs. There were no sounds of any movement (perhaps a good sign, he tried to tell himself, since werewolves were not known for subtlety). The first door on the left was Leo's nursery, and the door was open. Bracing himself, Rusty whirled into the room with his wand drawn only to freeze at the sight. The rocking chair and changing table were smashed, there were bloody claw marks on the walls, the crib was in pieces, and ...

and...

and...

and...

and...

Rusty's mind nearly shut down, unable to process the scene before him. His knees started to buckle, and his breath was short. His chest burned as if the sight of his world collapsing around him would cause his heart to burst into flame just like Clarence Tully's had. Then, just as he was on the verge of breaking down completely, he heard a sound, a very soft cough, coming from farther down the hall. He turned and staggered away from

_don't think about Leo_

_don't think about Leo_

_don't think about Leo_

to the master bedroom. There, he let out an incoherent cry as he saw Matilda's torn and broken body laying on the floor in a pool of blood. The broken fragments of her wand was on the floor just a few feet from the bleeding stump where her wandhand had been. And yet somehow, she was _alive_. Perhaps only for seconds, but she was _alive_. He knelt beside her and gingerly picked her up into an embrace.

"_Rus... ty_," she gasped, her every sound a ragged whisper. Her eyes were closed, yet somehow she recognized her lover's touch.

"I'm here, love. I -_sniff_\- I'm here. Just ... just stay calm. Help's coming."

That was a lie, of course. There was no help coming from anywhere for wounds this severe.

"_Is -cough- is ... Leo ... o...okay?"_

Rusty opened his mouth, but the words froze in his throat. He felt like he was being strangled. And then, from deep inside, he heard or perhaps felt a voice. One that sounded like Buck and a bit like Auntie Cassiopeia and, strangely, a little bit like Albus Dumbledore. And that voice whispered.

"_Be kind, Regulus Lazarus Rusty White Black. The woman you love is dying in your arms. Be strong enough to give her peace._"

He took a deep breath. "Leo's fine, Matty. He's ... he's safe. They never got near him. He's perfectly ... safe."

She sighed. "_I knew you'd come... pretty ... boy. I ... knew you'd ... save ... our son._" And with those words, Rusty's heart broke a little more.

"Yeah, luv -sniff- I saved him. Our l-little Leo will grow up big and strong and ... and be an _auror_ someday. Just like his Dad and Grandad. But ... he'll also be ... be kind and caring and clever and _oh so_ good-looking. Just -sniff- just like his Mum."

"_Liar..." _she said softly. He looked down suddenly in shock at what he thought was an accusation, but then she opened her eyes as if to grace him with one last look at them.

"_We ... both know... you're the pretty..."_

And then, the light in the prettiest bluest eyes he'd ever seen went out forever. Rusty was sure he felt something, her soul perhaps, pass through him. It felt as though it was taking every last bit of his happiness with it as it fled. He gripped her broken body tightly and shook with silent heaving sobs as her blood soaked through his shirt. Then, finally, when he could sob no more, Rusty threw his head back and _screamed_ into the night.

No mere werewolf had ever howled with such pain and fury.

* * *

_**14 April 1984  
From the Uluru Gazette**_

_**MASSACRE AT WAGGA WAGGA!  
MORE THAN 20 DEAD! INCLUDING FAMILY  
OF STAR AUROR LAZARUS WHITE! **_

* * *

_**13 May 1984  
From the Uluru Gazette**_

_**TULLY GANG ATTACKS MAGICAL COMMUNITY IN ADELAIDE!  
FIFTEEN DEAD! DOZENS INJURED! SEVERAL TAKEN AWAY!  
WEREWOLVES HAVE ACCESS TO PORTKEYS!  
IS ANY WIZARDING SETTLEMENT SAFE?**_

* * *

_**15 June 1985**_

_**Terrawanda**_

"Eustace!" the girl whined. "I'm _hungry_!"

"You'll eat soon enough, Rose," said Eustace Tully almost indulgently. "Just as soon as you finish that portkey. Then, we'll feast on the fat juicy wizardfolk of Unuzya Alley. Same drill as last time brothers and sisters. We wait until two minutes before moonrise and then portkey in. Take what we want. Kill what we want. And then we're out. The reverse portkeys will bring us back here after an hour of hunting."

With that, he jingled the necklace that served as a timed reverse portkey. Everyone in the pack wore one, and they were enchanted to stay on and grow with the werewolf during the change.

"Oh, and if possible, bring some food back to the larder. We're running a might low." Several pack members grunted their assent. George Golightly merely shrugged and returned to gnawing on his favorite femur. Some tiny part of him recalled that it used to belong to his wife back before the pack brought the Golightlys and their young employee Rose here. That had been almost a year before, back when he'd still been a prey animal himself instead of the predator he quickly became. His wife had not adapted so well, and so they'd eaten her in short order, but he still kept her femur as a memento and also a chew toy.

"Alright, Eustace," said Rose cheerfully. "It's ready." On the table in front of her was a long braided rope which would also serve as the portkey to take them all a secluded rooftop in the wizarding village that was hidden in the heart of Melbourne. There, they would await the Change and then feast until the reverse-portkeys brought them home. She could hardly wait. Except for a few Muggle hitchhikers, the pack had not eaten man-flesh since the last full moon.

"Right then," said Eustace to the group. "If you're wearing anything you'd rather not see shredded, better shuck 'em now." The werewolves began to strip. The shy ones kept their underwear on, or even more, but most of the pack was nude when the chime alarm on Eustace's pocket watch said it was time. He placed the watch down next to his wand.

"Alright, everybody get ready. Grab on to the rope. Dinner is served!"

But to everyone's surprise, the appointed time came and went, and the portkey didn't work. Eustace looked at Rose angrily, and the girl quailed at his expression.

"It wasn't my fault, Eustace! Honest it wasn't!"

George walked over, still idly gnawing on his late wife's femur out of habit. He picked his wand up off the table and cast a spell. Then, he looked to his alpha in concern.

"Anti-portkey ward, Eustace! Anti-apparation, too!"

At that exact moment, there was a crash as Lazarus White kicked in the door and stepped into the shack, his wand already drawn. He said nothing at first, merely taking in the room with a hateful glare.

"Well, well, well," said Eustace. "Lazarus White, I reckon. We've never met face-to-face, but I've still got your picture on my wall. How's your family, Lazarus?"

Lazarus held up his wand. "How's yours? Oh wait, I remember. He screamed as he burned."

The other pack members rose and arranged themselves in a line, growling angrily at Lazarus as they did.

"He was one, lawman," said Eustace with a sneer. Then, he jerked suddenly, as several of his bones began to crack and his fingers began to stretch. The others began to change as well. "We -_ah- _are many! Plus -_hurk_\- moonsign is upon us -_hurk_\- boy. The Change has started. You _really_ should have come earlier if you wanted to do this. And also brought a bloody army!"

"I wanted to see you change, Tully. I want to kill you as you really are."

Tully and the other werewolves laughed at that, even as some of them began to snarl and moan through the agonizing transformation into their lupine forms.

"You're _that big a fool_, White?!" Tully snarled, his voice deeping into a growl. "You think you got a spell in that stick that can take out a dozen transformed werewolves before we eat you alive?"

The auror lifted his chin defiantly. "Yeah, I've got one." And with that, he whirled his wand around over his head before bring it down in a slash. "_**FIENDFYRE!**_"

And Hell came to Terrawanda.

Students of the Dark Arts know that some spells, most notably the Killing Curse and the Cruciatus Curse require that the caster truly _hate_ someone. It need not be the person targeted by the spell when it is actually cast, but the wizard must have _someone_ who he truly hates enough to see dead or tortured, respectively, for either spell to be successfully cast on any target. Such an emotion is inadequate for Fiendfyre, however. It is one of the few spells for which the spells's name and its effect are synonymous, for there is almost no danger of accidentally casting it due to its rare and difficult esoteric requirements. It is not enough to hate someone or something to cast Fiendfyre. The wizard must hate someone or something so much that _any amount of collateral damage is acceptable_ if it means destroying the object of his hatred. It means that the wizard would be happy to _die himself_ if he can only see the object of his hatred be annihilated first. Of course, the wizard doesn't need to die to cast Fiendfyre, only be _willing_ to do so. Which, at the moment, Rusty White absolutely was.

The spell hit the floor in the dead center of the assembled werewolves, and the unholy laughing flames erupted right underneath them all. White quickly took three steps back and pointed his wand at the open door, putting as much magic as he could spare into the spell. "_**COLLOPORTUS TRIMENDIUM!**_" The Three-Fold Locking Spell surrounded the entire shack. In the blink of an eye, the front door slammed shut, and then all the doors and all the windows were sealed shut and locked by the spell. Once that was done, Lazarus White apparated back fifty feet from the shack to watch as the flames started to rise and listen as the screams turned into angry impotent howls. After about ten seconds, the flames had damaged the door to the point that it was no longer structurally sound enough to support the locking charm. It was at that point that Eustace Tully, now fully transformed, blasted through the door with his body. The werewolf was still on fire and was not long for this world, but right now, he was fueled by pure hate. He and Lazarus locked eyes, and then, with a mighty howl, Tully began running towards him on all fours. Lazarus simply pointed his wand at the approaching werewolf.

As Tully drew nearer, Lazarus suddenly recalled one of the last nights he'd been Regulus Black, when his hatred for Dolohov and Rosier and all the rest had been enough to fuel the Killing Curse that ended the life of Fabian Prewett. How weak his concept of hate back then seemed to him now. How pitiful his understanding of the word back then had been compared to the burning purity of his hate for the werewolf that was now less than ten feet away.

The flaming werewolf leaped up towards him.

"_**AVADA KEDAVRA**_."

* * *

_**26 June 1985  
The home of Lazarus White**_

Buck found Lazarus asleep on the couch in his living room. The door to the house was still off its hinges, the window behind the couch still shattered. A half-dozen liquor bottles were on the floor. Buck summoned a waste basket from across the room and then levitated the bottles into it. The loud crash of the bottles dropped into the metal can startled Lazarus awake.

"Get up, son," Buck said. "We need to talk."

"About what," he replied while staring off into the distance with reddened eyes.

"They finally found the Tully gang, Rusty. What's left of them, anyway. Fiendfyre burned everything a quarter mile in every direction from their hideout. The whole pack's dead, including Tully. _However_, there was just enough of Eustace Tully left to determine that he died of the Killing Curse."

"He was a killer and a werewolf. We don't do personality death for animals like that."

"We don't use the _Killing Curse _either, Rusty! It's still an Unforgivable, even on a werewolf!"

"You here to arrest me, Buck." The other man looked deeply offended.

"NO! Damn you, _NO_!" he yelled, causing Rusty to wince from his hangover. Then, Buck looked away for a second to get hold of himself. "But somebody will. Nguyen is slow-walking the investigation, but you'll have a day at most before they come to take you in for questioning."

Rusty said nothing.

"Dammit, boy! Do you not care that they will _erase_ you for using that curse! No matter what your provocation!"

"Good," he said. "I don't want to be me anymore. Maybe forgetting everything is for the best."

Buck glared at his son-in-law in mounting fury.

"You _bastard!_ Do you hate me that much?!" Rusty lifted his head to look at Buck in shock. The older man continued.

"For ten years since my Nora died, I've lived for Matilda and nothing else. And in one night, I lost my daughter and my grandson! Hell, in this past year, I even lost _Daisy_! And now, you expect me to just lose you as well, Rusty! Because that's what will happen if they erase everything that makes you _you. _I ... I can't lose ... _everything!_"

Rusty sat up, surprised at the man's attitude. "You'd lose me anyway, Buck. I have no defense. It's personality death or just ... run away."

"But if you ran, I'd have _hope_, Rusty! Hope that you were still out there alive for Matty's sake." Buck's voice broke and he struggled to keep his composure. "You're not just my son-in-law, Rusty. You're my _son_. You're the boy I watched grow into a man just to become good enough for my Matilda, and I love you for it!" The man began to weep openly now. "I would rather you be Rusty White on the run for the rest of your life than for them to erase you and turn you into some fucking green grocer or pig farmer on the far side of the continent who would live and die without ever remembering Matilda and Leo's _names_. Please, lad! Don't ... don't leave me with ... with _nothing_!"

At that, the powerful man finally broke down into heaving sobs, and after a few seconds, Rusty began to cry as well. The two men – now father and son – held each other as they wept over what they had lost. Once they had recovered a bit, the two talked and made plans. Buck would delay the investigation into whether Rusty was the one who used the Killing Curse against Tully, while Rusty packed up everything he cared to take with him (which wasn't much) before vanishing into the night with a new face. When he was settled, he would send word to Buck that he was safe. And then, he would live his life.

For Matilda and for Leo.

After an hour had passed, Buck departed, and Rusty started cleaning up to see what was salvageable and what would be left behind. There wasn't much. He would be starting over ... _again_. It wasn't as though a brand new life would fall into his lap or anything. Then, later that afternoon, there was a knock at the door Rusty had only just repaired. He opened it carefully, half expecting it to be an auror squad with a warrant for him. Instead, to his surprise, it was a man who looked even more out of place in Wagga Wagga than Lazarus White had when he first walked into the Waltzing Matilda five years earlier in all his Pureblood finery.

"Good day, sir!" said the fop who was sporting lavender robes with a gold satin vest underneath. "By any chance, would you be Lazarus White?"

"Who wants to know?" Rusty said cautiously.

"_ha-Ha_! A perspicacious question, my good man. I'm an author and an expert on the Dark Arts and how to fight them, and I wish to interview you for my upcoming treatise on werewolves. Lockhart's the name. _Gilderoy Lockhart_, at your service."

Bemused, Rusty opened the door and let the ridiculous popinjay into the wreckage of his house and his life. The next day, when the aurors came for Lazarus White, he was already gone.

* * *

_**25 December 1985  
The Lonely Home of Buck MacMillan  
**_

Buck MacMillan awoke early on Christmas morning to the sound of a soft yapping from downstairs in his home. He crept downstairs and, to his vast surprise, found a small Tasmanian wolf pup with a red bow around his neck sitting under the small Christmas tree. The tree itself was also a surprise, as Buck had not felt inclined to put one up this year. He went over to examine the pup and saw a small wrapped package next to it with his name on it. Inside was a book: _**Wanderings with Werewolves**_ by Gilderoy Lockhart. Just a few pages inside was a card which simply said:

_The pup's name is Regulus, but you can probably just call him Reggie.  
Happy Christmas._

The card was located next to the dedication page, and he gasped at what was written there as well.

_To Matty, Leo and Daisy, who all live on in my heart._

Buck smiled and wiped a tear from his cheek. It was a Happy Christmas after all.

* * *

**The next chapter will be posted on May 27, 2016. "Three Princes" in which Harry, Lucius, and Regulus compare notes and come to some hard decisions.**

**Updated to include the Cast List (which I had forgotten):**

**The part of Regulus Black will be played by Joseph Fiennes (currently; you'll just have to use your imagination for 19-year-old Regulus).**

**The part of Regulus as Lazarus White will be played by Ryan Gosling.**

**The part of Matilda MacMillan White was played by Indiana Evans.**

**The part of Brian "Buck" MacMillan will be played by Russell Crowe.**

**The part of Walburga Black was played by Kathy Bates (as a cross between Molly Brown and Annie Wilkes from "Misery").**

**The part of Arcturus Black was played by William Hickey.**


	80. HP&TSE 45 - Three Princes

**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY **

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

* * *

**CHAPTER 80 - Three Princes**

_**9 May 1993  
The Prince's Lair**_

"_But enough about ancient history," said Lucius. "Regulus Black, I should like to know very much where you have been these last thirteen years."_

"_Well, Lucius, it's a long story. One that starts with a cave in Dorset. No, that's not right. It really begins ... with a house elf."_

* * *

"In 1979," Regulus began, "the Dark Lord demanded the use of a house elf, so I sent my family's servant Kreacher to do his bidding and then return to me when he was finished. The poor thing showed back up around midnight nearly dead. You see, Voldemort needed the elf to test the magical defenses of a treasure he wanted protected, and apparently, in his arrogance, Voldemort failed to realize that house elves could easily bypass any and all wards if ordered to do so by their masters. I had ordered Kreacher to return, and the fact that he was poisoned almost to death was not enough to keep him from fulfilling his duties. By that point, I was already ... ambivalent about continuing my association with the Death Eaters, and I was incensed at what had happened to Kreacher, so I decided to follow his footsteps and find out exactly what Voldemort considered so important as to hide under such extreme security."

Regulus paused as if collecting himself. "It turned out to be a golden locket bearing the crest of Salazar Slytherin ... and containing a fragment of the Dark Lord's soul."

Lucius's eyes flashed in a fury. "You mean...?" he hissed.

Regulus nodded.

"It was a horcrux?" Harry asked in clarification. Both men turned to look at him as if he'd just sprouted horns.

"As I believe I mentioned, Harry Potter," Regulus said after a long pause, "you are _dangerously well-informed_. How in the name of Morgana's lacy underthings did you ever learn that word?!"

Harry shrugged. "Actually, I picked it up less than an hour ago from Rufus Scrimgeour. It was the word he used to give a name to an object Headmaster Dumbledore described to me." He paused and turned to Malfoy. "The diary was a horcrux as well."

Lucius closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

"I take it you didn't know, Mr. Malfoy?" Harry inquired.

"_Of course not!_" Malfoy snapped. "I knew it was a dark object which the Dark Lord had ordered my father to conceal and, as he put it, to treasure more than the lives of all his family members combined, a fact that Father was only to happy to share with me. When the aurors began raiding Pureblood homes in the aftermath of that debacle at your birthday party last summer, I elected to rid the house of everything that I thought might lead to censure or worse. Narcissa doesn't know I removed it or that I ever even had it. Most of the items I stored in the secret vaults beneath Borgin and Burkes, but they flatly refused to keep the diary on the premises. I later learned that it was because Tom Riddle had once been an employee of theirs, and they feared keeping the diary onsite might implicate them in his disappearance."

"Woah, woah, woah," said Regulus angrily. "I've been on the run from the aurors for two days and am obviously a bit behind. What's all this about a diary that's also a horcrux?"

Harry briefly filed him in on what they'd learned about the diary, its effects on Ron Weasley, and how it had made its way into his possession. Regulus turned towards Lucius. "You gave _a horcrux_ to an eleven-year-old girl?!"

Lucius looked at him with a sour expression. "Keep a civil tongue, Regulus. At the time, I had no reason to think it was a horcrux. My father, in a depressingly typical failure of his paternal obligations, never taught me the identification spells. I knew only that it was a dark object I no longer wished to keep under my roof. Unfortunately, I subsequently had that ill-timed encounter with Arthur Weasley in front of Flourish &amp; Blotts. Between my desire to be rid of dangerous contraband and the force of the Oath of Emnity I was under, passing the diary off to one of his children suddenly seemed an entirely reasonable course of action. My assumption was that the diary would be discovered when the girl tried to carry it through the school's wards. I thought that it would be personally and professionally embarrassing to Weasley and might well derail his Muggle Protection Act. But I never dreamed anyone would actually be able to penetrate the school with an object so obviously cursed. As governor, I am well-aware of how sensitive Hogwarts' wards are to dark objects."

"Not anymore they're not," Harry said. "Apparently, the Headmaster deactivated those wards last year in order to bring in a dark artifact that he wanted to use to capture You-Know-Who's soul."

The two Princes stared at him practically bug-eyed.

"Long story," he said.

Lucius shook his head. "I swear, that man will be the death of us all! Never mind. Let us return to the diary later. What happened after you learned of the Dark Lord's locket-horcrux, Regulus?"

"I stole the thing, left a copy behind, and charged Kreacher with destroying it. Then, having no further desire to associate with the Death Eaters, I faked my own death and left for Australia, where I forged a new identity under the name of Lazarus White, eventually becoming an auror. That lasted until my run-in with the Wagga Wagga werewolves, which drew the attention of Gilderoy Lockhart who came to interview me about what had happened. He was a wanker of gargantuan proportions and a thoroughly awful person, so I stole his identity, wandered the world as an author-adventurer-dilettante and eventually came here. That's pretty much all of the important bits."

Harry studied the man carefully. He knew there was _much_ more to the story, since James Potter had said that Lazarus White's family had been "_massacred_" by those same Wagga Wagga werewolves, but Regulus clearly had no desire to discuss that and Harry wouldn't be the one to push that part of it.

"What happened when you met Lockhart?" he asked.

"Like I said, he was an unbelievable prat and, worse, a sociopathic loon. Except for the bits pertaining to Hogwarts, all the things that I had Lockhart confess to at the Daily Prophet were things he'd actually done and had confessed to me under Veritaserum. He really did, as your father suspected, make it a habit of tracking down heroes and learning all their secrets about how they'd destroyed monsters or what have you, before Obliviating them so that he could take credit for their accomplishments. Plus, there were other ... even less savory Obliviation crimes I won't go into now on account of your youth. He tried to do the same to me, but I managed to get the best of him. An hour and three drops of Veritaserum later, I knew his whole sordid story. A few more days in a secluded spot and quite a few more vials of Veritaserum, I knew enough to pose as him for the next seven years. Frankly, knowing full well what a fraud he was, I rather enjoyed roaming the world fighting the forces of darkness under his name and actually being the dashing hero he only pretended to be. Plus, I also got to try my hand at creative writing. Turns out I'm quite good at it judging by how much Lockhart's sales improved after I took over things."

"But where was the real Lockhart during all this?" Harry asked.

"Hidden away in a private Muggle hospital in Zurich and pumped full of Draught of Living Death," he replied with a smug expression. "The doctors believed him to be in a '_persistent vegetative state_.' I retrieved him yesterday, gave him the antidote, and used the Imperius Curse to make him confess to his misdeeds – plus a few other things that I needed a patsy for – and then inflict personality death on himself with the Tabula Rasa Curse. Since that's the penalty that would have been imposed on him had he been arrested in Australia, and also a damned sight better than the room in Azkaban that would have awaited him if he'd gotten caught here in Britain, I can't bring myself to feel too badly about it."

"Not even about your admitted use of the Imperius?" Lucius said mildly.

"Yes, yes," Regulus said, waving his hand airily. "I used an Unforgivable Curse which is a one-way ticket to Azkaban, and I'd feel quite worried about my future if I thought there was the slightest chance of me getting caught. Or do either of you have plans to tattle on me?"

Lucius snorted contemptuously at that. "Ethical objections aside, perhaps it would be best if we return to the more pressing issue of the Dark Lord's ... horcruxes? Horcroi? I must confess that I do not know the plural form of horcrux. I hadn't thought it possible to create more than one."

"Neither had I," said Regulus. "It's a Medieval French translation of a forgotten Greek word, so I assume horcruxes is correct. So now that we've gotten the _proper grammar_ out of the way, would you mind telling us, Harry, what exactly Dumbledore and Scrimgeour had to say about the topic?"

Harry shrugged. "Not that much, to be honest." He closed his eyes and mentally summoned up the memory. "Dumbledore's exact words were '_Voldemort did place a fragment of his soul inside this book, using the most foul and despicable of arts and a spell whose name I will not repeat_.' And then, a bit later, Scrimgeour mentioned that the ritual Voldemort used was called the Horcrux Ritual. I think he was just trying to tweak Dumbledore for some reason. Dumbledore got mad at him and mentioned that the spell was from the Anathema Codex and that he shouldn't be talking about it in front of students."

Malfoy shook his head. "No. Scrimgeour was testing you to see if you showed any signs of recognizing the word _horcrux_. He wanted to know if you'd had access to the Codex." Regulus nodded in agreement. Harry opened his mouth and then closed it again. Now that he thought about it, that _did_ make more sense than someone as canny as Scrimgeour accidentally blurting out in front of a twelve-year-old boy something that, based on Dumbledore's reaction, seemed very much like a state secret.

"_Regulus was right when he lectured me as Lockhart in his office yesterday_," the boy thought. "_I really do need to up my game and start paying closer attention. Wheels within wheels and all that._" He shook off that thought and returned to the matter at hand.

"But why would he even think that I might know anything about horcruxes? I'd never even heard about the Anathema Codex before you talked about it this year in DADA."

"You are the Heir Presumptive to the Ancient and Noble House of Potter, Harry," said Regulus. "The Ancient and Noble Houses _created_ the Wizengamot in large part to fashion a state-run mechanism to control and suppress knowledge of the Anathema Codex and the information within it. Other nations have similar bodies, but Britain is the only one where it evolved into the hereditary aristocracy that runs the country. It was plausible to think that your father might have briefed you on the topic."

Lucius snorted. "Assuming the man himself knows anything about it. Setting aside your notorious estrangement from James Potter, I seem to recall that Charlus Potter died before James reached the age of twenty, and the younger Potter was still known for his rashness and immaturity even then. It is possible that Charlus did not entrust him with any knowledge of the Codex prior to his death and that James Potter has failed to locate the Codex in his family vault or to understand its significance if he has seen it."

"Okay," said Harry somewhat testily. "We'll just add that to the list of ways my father has failed in his duties as Lord of the House and move on. Now what _can_ you tell me about the Horcrux Ritual that Dumbledore describes as the most foul and despicable of arts? Or do you _also_ think it's something no innocent twelve-year-old waif should know about?"

"Don't get peevish, Harry," said Regulus. "We'll tell you what we think you should know which will be more than what 99% of the wizards in Britain will ever hear. You're scion of an Ancient and Noble House and also a promising candidate for Prince of Slytherin, so I think you're entitled." He looked over at Lucius, who nodded his assent. "A horcrux is a soul anchor. If you've created one and later get killed, it will prevent your soul from moving on from the material plane. You're not a ghost exactly. You're much more, well, _active _than that, able to move about freely and to possess animals and weak-willed people. The centuries-old friendly and genial Hogwarts ghosts – Bloody Baron aside – are atypical, the result of the castle's magic. Most ghosts either dissipate harmlessly after a few years or go insane and maintain themselves on the fear they produce by haunting people. A horcux-bound soul doesn't have to worry about that. And unlike a ghost, you _can_ be restored to life if a suitable new body is fashioned for you. The main requirement for making a horcrux is that you kill someone who did nothing to wrong you and you show no regret for having done so. That destabilizes your soul in such a way that it allows you to shear off a portion of it and store it inside a prepared magical object."

"It has to be magical? Voldemort couldn't make a horcrux out of any random pebble or something?"

"No, the Codex says it has to be a magical item. In fact, it would be wasteful if he _didn't_ use a magical object. Aside from the benefits of having a soul anchor, you can access whatever magical properties the object originally had even if the object isn't in your possession, and if the horcrux gets destroyed, it's possible that you will _permanently_ gain whatever those powers are. The locket, for example, improved the wearer's facility with Legilimency, and the Dark Lord's skill at that is legendary." Regulus paused. "Which begs the question of what Tom Riddle's old diary could do that made it an attractive choice for a horcrux?"

Harry hesitated and then spoke cautiously, watching the other two men for their reactions. "In the Chamber, Voldemort said that Tom Riddle originally enchanted the diary to record his notes and thoughts in order to help with his homework and essays."

Regulus frowned. "Hmm, still pretty weak magic for a horcrux. You can use things you enchant _yourself_ if they're important enough to you, but I don't see how a random student's study aid would be powerful enough." Lucius said nothing but looked thoughtful.

"Lord Malfoy," said Harry carefully. "What do you know about Tom Riddle? When we talked after Draco's petrification, I was pretty sure you knew the name then. Obviously, you recognize it from the diary, but was there anything else?"

"Very little. I, of course, knew that Tom Riddle was my predecessor as Prince, though the Hydra was oddly reluctant to speak of him. When the Dark Lord presented the diary to my father, I inquired about the name. In retrospect, it was terribly foolish of me, and I'm surprised that neither of them placed me under the Cruciatus for my impertinence. Instead, the Dark Lord laughed and told me that Riddle was a Mudblood and a blood traitor who had somehow found his way into Slytherin, and that he had murdered Riddle years earlier for disgracing our House and fashioned the man's diary into a magical artifact of great power. That was all he had to say, and I chose not to inquire further at that time."

Harry stared at Malfoy, as if trying to confirm that he was being truthful. When he was satisfied that the man was, Harry pulled his wand, cast the Pyrologos spell, and wrote the words _Tom Marvolo Riddle_ in the air in flaming letters.

"You, um, might want to brace yourselves," he said as he slashed his wand through the air. The letters moved around to spell out "_I AM LORD VOLDEMORT_." Upon reading the words, Lucius appeared thunderstruck, while Regulus immediately became excited.

"OF COURSE!" he exclaimed before jumping out of his chair to examine the list of former Princes. "Tom Riddle was Prince from 1943 to 1945. Then, he just disappeared. And _then,_ years later, the Dark Lord showed up out of nowhere with no apparent history and claiming to have killed Riddle. And no one made the connection, even though they're both British Parselmouths and incredibly powerful wizards!" He whirled back around to face Harry as if suddenly frustrated and annoyed.

"So _WHY_ did no one make that obvious connection?!" he asked as if suddenly realizing how his deductions didn't add up. Harry had the answer.

"The Headmaster's theory is that Voldemort first put his soul fragment inside the diary and then used it to give the diary self-awareness and a personality just different enough from his own that it could serve as Secret Keeper for a Fidelius, one that concealed the connection between Riddle and Voldemort."

"A Fidelius," said Regulus in wonderment. "Would a Fidelius even work that way?"

Lucius looked thoughtful. "Quite possibly, I would think. The horcrux, after all, invokes principles of Wild Magic. I should think it could easily be used to bypass the normal restrictions on any conventional spells cast upon it, especially one as free form as the Fidelius."

"Okay," interrupted Harry. "Wild Magic. Is that from the Anathema Codex or what?"

Malfoy looked to Regulus, who shrugged. "He's a good Third Level Occlumens, and since you're on the Throne, he'll be protected by the Lair's defenses. I say tell him what he wants to know. We'll need someone we can trust on the inside of Hogwarts, I suspect."

Malfoy considered that and turned back to Harry. "I presume, Potter, that you experienced accidental magic as a child, as most of us did." The boy nodded. "_That_ is Wild Magic in its most simplistic form. You cast no spell. You held no wand. And yet, you wished for something and it came to pass, quite likely in a seemingly impossible manner. Magic in its _raw_ form, freed of the restrictions placed upon it by the techniques taught here at Hogwarts and at other magical schools, can be summed up in eight simple words: '_As I will it, so mote it be._' Our kind have spent millennia striving to limit magic's potential, to ensure that magic is irrevocably linked to wands and incantations, defined as charms and transfigurations and potions, and restrained by the principles of arithmancy and runic matrices. The minute you picked up a compatible wand at Olivander's, those sparks that shot out represented your promise as a wizard that you would work magic according to the principles taught you here at Hogwarts. After that, I dare say you never experienced accidental magic again except perhaps under the most extreme provocations. Even if you should one day master wandless magic in some form, it will _still_ be based on your sense memory of casting the same spells with a wand in your hand."

"But ... why?" Harry asked in confusion. "Why go to all that trouble to ... _bind_ Magic?"

"It's like you said after we saw the _Imago Dei_, Harry. If every wizard or witch could work magic just by wishing really hard, it would tear the world apart."

"Imago ... Dei?" Lucius said weakly. "You have encountered by a horcrux _and _the Imago Dei this year?!"

"Like Harry said, long story," Regulus said with a grim expression. "And one I can't say much about due to an oath, but yes, we have both witnessed the memory of the Imago Dei being cast. It was every bit as terrifying as you might expect."

Lucius shook his head. "You realize, of course, that it is _significant_ that you and Potter have both encountered Codex spells within such a short span of time. There are no coincidences where Wild Magic is concerned. Fate is but an instrument of the Wild."

"I know," Regulus said solemnly. "And can I assume from your reaction to all this that you now agree that the Dark Lord must be fought, whatever our prior allegiances?"

Lucius sighed heavily. "My prior support for the Dark Lord was _never_ the result of ... allegiance, Black. But you are right. Voldemort's creation of multiple horcruxes marks him as the foe of all wizarding kind. Indeed, perhaps an enemy of the entire human race. We must proceed cautiously against him, at least until the horcrux situation is fully examined and resolved. And it goes without saying that this is a matter for Slytherins with no room for Gryffindor foolishness or heroics. But yes, I am in agreement with you."

Harry raised his hand as if inquiring of a professor. "Um, question: Can you expand on that whole '_enemy of the human race_' business?"

"Given your experiences with the Dark Lord, Harry, surely you agree that he is a monster who must be fought and defeated," said Regulus. "Especially now that you know of his horcruxes."

"Well that's just it. I _don't_ know much of anything about horcruxes except what you just told me. I know you kill someone, and that lets you put part of your soul inside a magical object that anchors you against dying. But you two and Dumbledore talk about horcruxes like they're the most evil things ever devised."

"Have you encountered something worse, Harry?" Regulus said with some surprise.

Harry shook his head as he struggled to express himself. "Look, I understand that the horcrux basically calls for a human sacrifice, and that is undeniably horrible and evil. But Voldemort personally killed _hundreds_, and the movement he led killed _thousands. _I guess I'm having trouble seeing why the fact that he used some of those murders to extend his own life is so much worse than the mere fact that he committed all those murders in the first place."

Regulus opened his mouth to respond, but Malfoy interrupted. "He raises a valid point, Regulus. It occurs to me that we have danced around the most salient point of the Horcrux Ritual, which is also the reason for our revulsion at our former master."

Black thought about that and nodded. "Alright then. The truth, Harry, is that we don't really know much about what we call the Horcrux _Ritual_. Part of why I came to Hogwarts disguised as Lockhart was to gain access to the Restricted Section of the Library, but there wasn't much useful information there. Even _**Magick Moste Evil**_ didn't have much to say and I had to handle that book with gloves just to touch it safely. The Anathema Codex says the horcrux is created through Wild Magic, so there's probably not much of a ritual to it at all. In fact, it's possible that all you physically need to do is kill someone and then concentrate hard on sending a part of your soul into a suitable vessel. There wouldn't be anything that we could consider spellwork as part of the process. But what we _do_ know is that creating a horcrux is esoteric magic. Like the Patronus Charm, it requires a certain mindset to properly cast. More than that, to _keep_ a horcrux, you have to maintain this mindset constantly for the rest of your life and even _after your death_."

"What mindset?" Harry asked cautiously. He suspected he wouldn't like the answer.

"An absolute certainty that out of the entire human race, your life is the only one with any value," said Lucius bluntly. Harry's eyes widened in surprise as the implications of such a mindset became clearer.

"Or to put that another way," Regulus said, "if there is a single man, woman, or child in the entire world who you might refrain from brutally murdering in order to make a horcrux, then you would never be able to create a horcrux at all. Moreover, if something ever happened to cause you to feel that degree of empathy for anyone else, any of your existing horcruxes would lose their soul-anchoring properties."

"Got it," said Harry in a shaky voice. "A technique for achieving immortality that can only be used by murdering psychopaths. I can see what people wanted that spell suppressed."

Lucius nodded. "In fact, it is a rare psychopath indeed who can possess such a level of absolute detachment from even the most basic forms of empathy. In retrospect, it seems astonishing that Tom Riddle could have risen as far as he did as a student without his true nature being discovered."

"I don't think he was a psychopath at all in the beginning." Quickly, Harry told the other two Slytherins what he'd learned about the circumstances surrounding Moaning Myrtle's death. "Riddle was a natural but self-taught Occlumens. Completely by accident, he killed someone who was at the very least a friend, and from the way Myrtle talked, possibly more than a friend. And rather than deal with the trauma, he inverted his Occlumency and used it to permanently burn out his ability to feel empathy or affection in any form. Would _that_ have allowed him to maintain the horcrux mindset?"

The two men looked at one another. "Easily," Regulus said with a frown. "And once he did so, his newfound lack of regret over killing the girl would have allowed him to perform the soul-manipulation later even if he didn't actually kill the girl for the purposes of making a horcrux." He looked back and forth between his two peers. "So what do we with the knowledge that Voldemort made at least two horcruxes?"

"Three," Harry interrupted, causing the two men to turn to him once more in shock. Regulus spat out an expletive while Harry continued.

"In the Chamber, Riddle _also _said that he had the Ravenclaw Diadem but that it was hidden far away and he could still access its powers. That sounds like he made it a horcrux too, right?"

"Lucius," Regulus said, while massaging his temples, "how many horcruxes is it possible to make?"

"I haven't a clue. We'd have to consult an Arithmancer to determine what number might be the most magically stable, assuming that in his hubris, the Dark Lord even concerned himself with matters of stability. Any more than one is a sign of suicidal madness, since each additional horcrux further damages the integrity of the soul and increases the likelihood that it would degenerate or even fall apart."

Suddenly, he assumed a thoughtful expression.

"You know," he said to Harry, "it's possible that your brother might have had _nothing at all_ to do with the Dark Lord's destruction. I suspect he planned to use the Killing Curse on Jim Potter as a prelude to creating another horcrux. Killing the so-called Child of Prophecy and using his death to further strengthen his immortality would have amused him. Only on that occasion, he rolled the dice one time too many, and his soul ruptured in a backlash of uncontrolled Wild Magic."

Harry shook his head. "There might be something to that, but Jim definitely has some sort of '_Voldemott-killing_" power. There was an incident last year involving Voldemort possessing a teacher who got incinerated when he tried to kill Jim and me. And there's also ... another fact I'm not at liberty to discuss."

"An oath?" asked Regulus.

"I ... really couldn't say."

"Noted."

"Let us move on to the next matter for concern: How did the Dark Lord even acquire knowledge of the Horcrux Ritual?" Lucius asked.

"Well, the copy of him from the diary said he spent years searching the world for rare occult knowledge, but he wasn't a very reliable narrator, and it's not something the real Voldemort would have wanted shared." Harry thought for a moment. "You were talking earlier about how the Ancient and Noble Houses were the guardians of this information, right? Does each Ancient and Noble House keep a copy of the codex?"

"No," said Lucius. "Only those which date back to the founding of the Wizengamot?"

"Were the Gaunts part of the founding families?"

Lucius and Regulus looked at one another. "Yes," said Regulus. "Why?"

"Tom Riddle's mother was a squib, but his maternal grandfather was Marvolo Gaunt, the last Lord Gaunt. And Dumbledore said that when Riddle returned to Hogwarts as a rising Sixth Year, he was already wearing the Gaunt family ring. Could he have gotten a copy of the Codex that way?"

"Yes," said Lucius eagerly. "Almost certainly so if he obtained his family ring." Then, Lucius barked out a laugh. "Everyone was so awestruck by the Dark Lord's grasp of obscure magic ... and it turns out he simply read it all out of a book, a copy of which many of us kept locked away in our vaults because we were afraid to touch it."

Lucius shook his head and turned back to Regulus. "What became of the locket?"

"As far as I know, either Kreacher found a way to destroy it or else it's hidden at 12 Grimmauld Place, the home I grew up in. And, unfortunately, the home I can't get into. The wards locked the place down when my mother finally passed away in 1985. Arcturus died last year, which means that Sirius is Lord Black now, despite his imprisonment, and he's the only one who can get into Grimmauld Place to retrieve it. Which brings me to my _next _question. Lucius, can you kindly explain to me how my brother Sirius came to be sentenced to Azkaban for being, and I quote, '_You-Know-Who's right hand man_'? Because unless he changed a great deal indeed in the two years after I left, I find that description highly improbable."

"Frankly, I thought it implausible myself. He was arrested based solely on the testimony James and Lilly Potter and a sworn statement from Peter Pettigrew. That was sufficient to hold him over for a secret trial under the Death Eater laws, in the course of which he apparently confessed to many crimes, most notably the use of the Imperius against a number of Wizengamot members found to have Dark Marks, including myself. I know for a fact that at least six of us who were freed by his testimony were, in fact, Death Eaters, and most of the others who served the Dark Lord and were acquitted thanks to him were much more ... more _enthusiastic _than I." He turned to Harry.

"Tiberius Nott, the father of your young friend, Theodore Nott, was among them."

"I know. By the way, thank you for taking Theo in last summer."

"I was happy to do so and am just as happy to do so again for the foreseeable future." The corner of Lucius's mouth twitched slightly. "His mother and I ... were students together. I was saddened by her passing."

Harry nodded. "Tiberius killed her, you know."

"I'd thought as much, Potter, but it's not something I can address in the near future save by doing what I can to protect young Theodore from his father's brutality. In any case, Regulus, to answer your question, I was quite surprised to learn that Sirius Black was a Death Eater. But then, I was equally surprised to learn the same about Barty Crouch's son. It seemed obvious at the time that the Dark Lord had been more successful in recruiting outside Slytherin House than had been generally thought."

"So you can't tell me anything about Sirius's conviction," Regulus said rather testily. "Other than the fact that it saved you and a bunch of other Death Eaters from Azkaban."

"Sirius saved more than me, Regulus. He saved _Slytherin House itself_. In the last days of the war, when it seemed clear that the Dark Lord drew preferentially from the House of the Snakes, there was a move in the Wizengamot to abolish Slytherin House entirely."

"How would _that_ have worked?" Harry asked in shock.

"Oh, rather easily, I think. Simply brick over the passages leading to the dungeon. Then, reassign all the remaining Slytherin students randomly to other houses and do the same to any students who were later Sorted as Slytherins by the Hat. Those should-have-been Slytherins would spend their entire school years mis-Sorted into the wrong Houses and suffer the scorn of their Housemates for their dark natures that were insinuated by the Hat's original declarations."

Lucius took a deep breath as he recalled those days.

"And _then,_ a miracle took place, as one of the most prominent Gryffindors of his generation was revealed to have been the Dark Lord's lieutenant and, moreover, confessed to being the one who used the Imperius on so many '_innocent Slytherins_' thereby besmirching our House's reputation. To be honest, I'm quite grateful for Sirius's actions, even though I find it improbable that he was a Death Eater and impossible to believe that any of his confession was true."

"It wasn't," Harry said. "Last year, Voldemort acted like he'd never even heard Sirius Black's name before."

Regulus laughed in amazement. "You actually _interrogated_ the Dark Lord about Sirius?!"

"More like struggled to come up with questions to stall for time before he decided to kill me. But yeah, he didn't recognize the name Sirius Black. And more importantly, he said that the Potters' Secret Keeper was someone who came to him only a week before he attacked Godric's Hollow, not someone who'd been working for him for years as Sirius's trial testimony seemed to show." He thought for a moment. "Is it possible to _fake_ Veritaserum testimony?"

Regulus thought about it. "It's possible to fake your own testimony if your Occlumency is good enough. Just alter your own memories about what happened and then testify to the fake memories rather than what actually happened. But I can't imagine why Sirius would have done that to himself and altered his memories to make himself _think_ he was a Death Eater when he wasn't. False Memory Charms might fool Veritaserum, but part of the trial testimony procedure is making the witness hold a Remembrall prior to testifying. Veritaserum trumps the Imperius and the Confundus, and I can't think of any other techniques that could get Sirius to confess to all those crimes that would neither have been completely obvious nor impossible to do in the amount of time available."

Then, Regulus smiled almost mischievously.

"Maybe I'll ask him about it when I see him."

Lucius looked at him severely. "Regulus? What are you scheming?" The other man didn't answer, but he did give a mean grin. Harry's eyes widened as once more connections slide into place.

"The research teams," he said in a quietly awestruck voice.

"What?" asked Lucius.

"All year long while disguised as Lockhart, Regulus has kept the top students here at the school working on various research projects. Some of them were just advanced defense techniques, but he also had people working on research into Memory Charms, the Patronus, an improved Portkey that can pass through anti-Portkey wards, even a group working on Polyjuice Potion that provided him with gallons of the stuff!" He turned to Regulus with an amazed expression.

"You plan to bust him out!" he exclaimed. "The real reason you came to Hogwarts was to gain the means _to break Sirius Black out of Azkaban_!"

Regulus laughed. "Oh Harry. You've hardly scratched the surface of my ambitions!"

* * *

_**Meanwhile in the Infirmary...**_

Ron opened his eyes cautiously and then sat up to look around the Infirmary. George was snoring softly in the bed next to him, and Jim looked like he was asleep in the bed on the opposite side of the room. The rest of the Weasleys ... were gone.

"_Figures,_" he thought miserably. "_They must know what I've done by now. That there's not a single member of our family I haven't betrayed in some way._" He glanced over towards Jim's bed again_. "Nor any friend._"

Now that the power of the diary was broken, Ron found that he was starting to remember more and more. Not the inner thoughts of the dark wizard who had manipulated and enslaved him, thankfully. But he remembered everything he'd said and done while influenced by the diary, only now without the false emotions it had forced upon him. Worse, he was starting to remember the times when Tom had been in direct control. Hazy nightmarish memories, but they were there. The memories of riding around as a helpless passenger in his own body. Of sending the basilisk to petrify classmates. Of mocking Dumbledore before striking him down. Of stealing George's explosive runes and then using them to blow up the Mandrakes ... and nearly his own brothers. Of shooting Jim in the back with a Stunner. Of sending the Basilisk after the entire faculty. Of ordering it to _kill_ Jim and Harry. But as bad as Ron's shame over his actions was, and as bad as his worry was over what everyone would think of him, his dominant emotion at the moment was fear. Not for himself, but for his friends. Voldemort had turned him into a weapon against Hogwarts, and there was nothing the boy could possibly do to stop the evil wizard if he decided to do it again.

Then, Ron's breath stopped for a second. "_No,_" he thought. "_There is one thing I can do. Something that's right instead of what's easy._"

He sat up in his bed and looked around the room. The few inhabitants were either asleep or still petrified. Carefully, he slipped out of his bed. He started to reach for the wand sitting on his bedside table, but then he changed his mind and left it behind. It might get broken, and if it were intact, his parents could perhaps resell it. At least they'd have gotten something worthwhile from him. As quietly as possible, Ron crept to the door and out of the Infirmary.

Seconds later, as if alerted to some new danger, Jim awoke and looked around the room. Instantly, he saw Ron's empty bed, and his blood ran cold. "Bugger," he said under his breath.

* * *

_**Back in the Lair ...**_

"Okay," said Harry. "It's been a very long day, and I'm kind of exhausted. Plus, I'm going to have nightmares about everything we've talked about _including_ Regulus's little bombshell. But before I go to bed, there's one last thing I'd like to talk about, and ... well, it's kind of sensitive."

"Oh?" Lucius asked, intrigued.

"Yes. There's ... no delicate way to put this, Mr. Malfoy, so I'll just come right out and say it. Last summer, someone tried to kill me with a doxy swarm and then with a cursed toy train a month later, and then they tried again at the Slytherin-Gryffindor Quiddith match." He took a deep breath. "Did, ah, you have anything to do with that by any chance?"

Lucius looked surprisingly offended. "Certainly not! I am, of course, aware of those ridiculous events, but while I have committed my fair share of sins, Mr. Potter, I am no fan of Le Grand Guignol!"

Harry blinked. "I have no idea what that means."

"He's offended that you would think he'd try to kill you by such clumsy, melodramatic, and horrific schemes," Regulus said with an amused chuckle.

"Oh," Harry replied nonplussed. "Sorry?"

"Mr. Potter," Lucius said patiently but firmly. "While I have not researched your life in depth, I have naturally made a preliminary study. If I had been inclined to kill you, I would have paid a visit to your late uncle at his place of employment, placed him under the Imperius Curse, and then instructed you to murder you in your sleep along with his own wife and son before setting fire to the house and killing himself in a way that would make the whole thing look accidental."

Harry adjusted his collar with one finger. He wasn't sure if the wards Dumbledore had put on the house would have prevented that fairly straightforward murder plot, but it certainly _sounded_ like it would work.

"Now," Lucius continued, "what leads you to suspect that I might wish to kill you? And under such ludicrous circumstances?"

Harry hesitated. "If I tell you, will you ... I dunno, promise not to seek a terrible revenge against anyone?"

"No," Lucius said flatly. "But I will promise that any actions I take will be proportionate."

Harry figured that was the best deal he would get. "Your house elf Dobby came to me and warned me about the doxy swarm. And later, he put up a barrier at King's Cross Station in a failed effort to stop me from coming the Hogwarts. And I think he was involved in the rogue bludger incident somehow. Not the spiky one but the other one that seemed like it was trying to defend me at times before it finally knocked me out cold."

Lucius nodded and then turned to look at the center of the table. "Dobby!" With a crack, the strange little house elf appeared. It noticed both Lucius and Harry and immediately looked terrified.

"Dobby," Lucius said again, firmly but not unkindly. "I am not angry with you, but I do have questions that you will answer. Be advised that I am officially exercising Clause 19 of my marriage contract with your Mistress Narcissa. If you believe yourself forbidden to answer any question pursuant to the terms of the marriage contract, you will say '_Dobby is barred from answering_.' If you find yourself unable to answer for any other reason, you will say '_Dobby cannot say._' Do you understand?" The elf nodded.

"Now, did my wife play any roll in the attacks on Harry Potter?"

"Dobby is barred from answering."

"Did she use Mogli to attack Mr. Potter?"

"Dobby is barred from answering."

"Did you attempt to protect Harry Potter even without being ordered to do so?"

"Yes, Master."

"Because you learned that he was in danger?"

"Yes, Master."

"And you learned this while at Malfoy Manor?"

"Yes, Master."

"Why did you feel compelled to protect Mr. Potter?"

"Dobby cannot say."

Lucius was silent for a moment before his next question. "Does your desire to protect Harry Potter outweigh your desire to be a good and loyal house elf in the service of House Malfoy."

Dobby didn't answer aloud, but after a brief hesitation, he shook his head yes.

Lucius sighed. "Mogli!" he called out. There was on response. He called again twice more before calling out "Lemmy!" Instantly, there was another house elf standing next to Dobby, one Harry didn't recognize. It was a female elf who looked somewhat distraught.

"Lemmy," Lucius said, "where is Mogli? Why does he not respond to my call?"

"Begging your pardon, Master Lucius, sir. But Mogli now answers only to the Mistress. She has exercised her rights under Clause 19 and is leaving Malfoy Manor as we speak. Oh, Master Lucius! What's to become of us?" The female elf seemed on the verge of tears.

Lucius grinned almost wolfishly. "We shall persevere, Lemmy. We shall rebuild. And one day, we shall take our revenge. Return to the Manor. Prepare a meal consisting of all my favorite foods. And dry your tears! For tonight we celebrate!" Lemmy nodded and then popped away.

"What the hell was all _that_ about?" Regulus asked in confusion. "Why are you so chipper all of the sudden?"

"Because as of ten seconds ago, I am divorced. And I have also just lost approximately seventy-five percent of the gold in my Gringotts Vault."

"That's awful!" said Harry in a horrified voice.

"Yes, well, it certainly _would_ be if that were still where I kept the bulk of my liquid assets," the man said with a somewhat vicious smile. He studied Dobby who swallowed nervously, before turning back to Harry.

"Now then," he said. "I have a quandary. I cannot tolerate a disloyal house elf in my service, but neither can I allow my wife to continue her efforts to kill you, Mr. Potter. If nothing else, it might reflect badly on me if she succeeded. The solution to both these problems is simple. How would you like to purchase a house elf?"

Dobby looked at Lucius in confusion. Then, a light seemed to go off as he understood what the man was saying, and he turned to Harry with a hopeful expression.

"Um," Harry said uncertainly. "I don't know if that's such a good idea."

"Well, the alternative is for me to simply kill Dobby. Is that preferable?"

"Eek!" squeaked the now terrified Dobby who looked like he was about to start wailing. Harry scowled.

"That's manipulative and underhanded, Mr. Malfoy."

"Thank you, Mr. Potter. Your compliment is appreciated."

Harry sighed. "So how much do house elves go for?"

"Generally between five and ten thousand galleons depending on the elf's age and general competency, but I'm feeling magnanimous so ... one sickle?"

Harry felt for his money pouch and then remembered it was in his trunk. He looked up at Regulus sheepishly. "By any chance, do you have a sickle I could borrow?"

Regulus laughed and reached into his pocket.

* * *

_**Meanwhile atop the Astronomy Tower ...**_

It was cold up on top of the tower, despite the warm May night. Ron stared out into the distance to take in the view. The moon was bright, and even at night he was struck by the beauty of the Scottish countryside and the lights of Hogsmeade in the distance. Then, he looked down out of the window towards the grounds far below and shuddered. It was a long way down, and he wondered how much it would hurt to hit the bottom. He wished he'd had the time to write a goodbye note, but he was afraid of being discovered and interrupted. And anyway, in light of what he'd done, Ron assumed that the reaction of most people to his death would be relief that the Heir of Slytherin would trouble them no more. An actual suicide note might perversely cause people to miss him and feel guilty about his death, and he didn't want that. With luck, his family would assume that some residual mind control of the diary made him do it and that it wasn't anything that could have been prevented. He hoped that no one would think him a coward, but they probably would anyway. Which was ironic in a way, since Ron felt that this might be the bravest thing he'd ever done – killing himself to ensure that Voldemort could never use him again.

Slowly and carefully, he climbed up onto the parapet, almost laughing at his own caution. It was as though he was afraid of falling accidentally before he had a chance to jump of his own free will. He looked down again and felt just a touch of vertigo, but he closed his eyes to shut it out. He took a deep breath ...

... and jumped.

"_**ACCIO RON WEASLEY!**_"

For a second, Ron felt weightless before the spell caught him and yanked him back onto the tower. He landed near the doorway and looked up into the face of a furious Jim Potter.

"YOU _IDIOT_!" the other boy bellowed in a rage. "Do you _know_ what I went through to _save your life!_ I took a _BLOODY BASILISK FANG _for you! I was willing to _DIE_ to save you! And now you want to _THROW IT ALL AWAY!_"

Ron closed his eyes and laid back on the cold stone floor of the Astronomy Tower. "You wouldn't have _had_ to face the Basilisk if you'd just killed me to start with. Harry had the right idea."

"What?"

"It means, while you were fighting the Basilisk, Harry was keeping Tom occupied. I don't remember what they talked about, but I remember Tom feeling afraid of Harry. Because Harry knew I was Tom's real weapon, not the snake. And if he'd killed me, I'd have deserved it."

"The hell you would have!" Jim snapped. Then, he paused and tried to rein in his anger. "Ron, what happened to you _wasn't your fault_. People a lot older and more experienced and stronger than you have been taken in by Voldemort. Experience adult wizards and witches who he put under the Imperius and made do all kinds of horrible things. No one is going to hold any of this year against you!"

Ron barked out a broken laugh. "Yeah, Jim. Pull the other one. I know _exactly_ how people are going to treat me after this year because I know first hand how every treated _you_! I know because _I got them to do it_! And I know first hand how everyone in this school will absolutely _hate_ someone who they think is a future dark wizard and a servant of You-Know-Who."

Jim sat down on the floor next to Ron. "Ron? Would you have done _any_ of that if you hadn't been under Voldemort's control?"

The boy shook his head.

"Look, Ron. Do you remember leaving the diary in my room this morning?" Ron nodded again. As he thought about it, it seemed incredible that it had just been this morning. It seemed like a lifetime away. "Well, I used the diary myself, and Tom pulled me into one of his memories and tried to keep me trapped there."

Ron's eyes went wide. "Oh Merlin, Jim! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean ...!"

"Shut up! That's not what I wanted to talk about. I wanted you to know that Tom talked about how he was able to control you by reshaping your emotions. But he said that the one thing he couldn't make you do, at least not at first, was to turn against _me_. He was only ever able to do so because of the shock you felt when I got outed as a Parselmouth. And that was _my own damned fault!_ If I'd been honest with you about it – if I hadn't been so ashamed of my Parseltongue that I couldn't even tell my best friend – you might have resisted for longer and we might have figured things out even before the petrifications started."

"You're just blaming your self to cheer me up, Jim, but you don't know ..." Ron broke down at that point, his tears flowing freely. "You were in the diary, I know, but you were fighting back. And ... and so he came for me. He ... came and wanted to take me over. Needed my body to stun you – sniff– And I tried to fight him. But he... but he..." By this point, the boy was sobbing and barely able to talk.

"He put spiders _inside me_! They –sniff– would crawl _up my throat and fill my mouth! _And ... and... I couldn't breathe and there were so many of them and all those hairy little legs!" Jim darted forward and pulled the other boy into a hug before he could go into a full blown panic attack. "And I said _yes_! I couldn't stand it and I said yes if only he'd stop even though I knew he was evil and was going to hurt people and hurt _you_! Oh God, Jim! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

Jim didn't speak. He just held Ron in a tight hug and said "_Shhh_" over and over until the boy began to calm.

"It's okay, Ron. I forgive you. I _promise_ I forgive you for anything you think you need to be forgiven for. He _tortured _you and you fought him better than most people could have. You may not believe it, but I'm _proud_ of you. I'm proud and ... like I said on your birthday, I want my friend back!"

Ron pulled back. "You can't. You need a better friend than me, Jim. How could you _ever _trust me again? _I had V-Voldemort __inside my head_!"

"You're the best friend I've ever had or ever will, Ron Weasley. And I do trust you. Voldemort's gone. You don't have any part of him inside you anymore."

Ron put his head down into his hands for several seconds as he thought about Jim's words. Finally, he looked back up into Jim's eyes. His own were red-rimmed and wet with tears, and there was something in them that looked so full of despair that it nearly broke Jim's heart.

"_Are you sssso ssssure of that, Jim Potter_?" Ron hissed.

Jim stared hard into the shattered, tear-stained face of Ron Weasley, Hogwarts' newest Parselmouth.

"Huh," he finally said in a remarkable feat of understatement.

* * *

**The next (and possibly last) chapter of Harry Potter and the Secret Enemy will be posted sometime between June 1 and June 3. It's the Year 2 epilogue that will wrap up the last loose ends and set up Year 3, but at this point, I'm not sure if it will all fit in a single chapter. We'll see how it goes. **

**AN 1: I got horribly behind this week, so I'm afraid this chapter is riddled with typos. Let me know in comments if anything looks horribly wrong and I'll fix it by Monday. **


	81. HP&TSE 47 - The Power of Friendship

**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY **

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

* * *

**CHAPTER 46: The Power of Friendship**

_**10 May 1993**_

_**JIM POTTER SAVES THE DAY! SLAYS BEAST OF SLYTHERIN!  
RETRIEVES ANCIENT RELIC THAT REVIVES PETRIFICATION VICTIMS**_

**By Rita Skeeter, reporting for the **_**Daily Prophet**_

Faithful readers have no doubt been following the nightmarish events that have taken place over the past few days at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. The recent petrifications of several students and a cat, followed by that of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore himself. The astonishing revelation that famed adventurer and author Gilderoy Lockhart was the architect of the petrifications followed by his shocking self-Obliviation here in the very offices of the Daily Prophet. And worst of all, the horrifying development that Lockhart's foul machinations survived even after his fall, as nearly the entire Hogwarts staff was petrified leaving the students defenseless.

Luckily, once again our hero and national treasure, Jim Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, was on the case. Taking the initiative when it was revealed that Aurors were unable to penetrate Hogwarts security, Jim bravely fought his way through to the legendary Chamber of Secrets where he personally slew Slytherin's Monster, which turned out to be _a Basilisk!_ That's right, gentle readers, Salazar Slytherin created a Basilisk and hid it in the bowels of Hogwarts, no doubt for some malign purpose. Fortunately for all concerned, the Basilisk was only able to petrify rather than kill outright. It was this creature that Gilderoy Lockhart used against our children.

And then, the perfidious Lockhart found an even _worse_ way to harm our younglings – turning them against one another. For it turns out that Lockhart had an unwitting accomplice, an innocent student to whom he had passed a book cursed with the darkest of magics, one which Confunded the child so that he would continue with Lockhart's masterplan even after his eviction from Hogwarts. The child's name is currently being withheld for privacy reasons, but authorities assure this reporter that there are no further signs of dark magic affecting the boy, who is the son of a respected Ministry official. In a brief interview conducted via Floo, Peter Pettigrew, solicitor and spokesman for the Potter family had this to say:

"_When the teachers were all petrified and one of Jim's good friends was taken down into the Chamber of Secrets and the Ministry was unable to assist, __of course__ Jim did what he had to do. He is the quintessential Gryffindor, and he does what is right instead of what is easy. The real scandal here is that his heroism came despite months of slander and defamation from across the nation over his Parseltongue gift, one he acquired as a result of his victory over You-Know-Who that saved our nation from destruction. Jim was only able to enter the Chamber of Secrets __because__ he was a Parselmouth, and had he not possessed that gift, or worse, been afraid to use it because of the opprobrium of narrow-minded individuals, disaster would have befallen the entire Hogwarts student body. As Albus Dumbledore is fond of saying, 'It is our __choices__ that define us, not our abilities.' I hope as a result of Jim's heroism, the people of Magical Britain will become more open-minded about Parseltongue which, while unusual, is clearly not inherently evil._"

Mr. Pettigrew reassured the Daily Prophet that Jim is none the worse for wear from his titanic battle against the deadly 100-foot-long Basilisk and that Jim also wanted my readers to know of his personal gratitude to two people who accompanied him to the Chamber to provide moral support: his twin brother, Harry Potter, and First Year Slytherin, Jennifer Weasley.

_For more information about Parseltongue as it is viewed around the rest of the world, see page 7._

* * *

_**The Hogwarts Great Hall  
8:45 a.m.**_

"Jennifer? Jennifer?!" Ginny Weasley exclaimed in disbelief as she read Skeeter's article.

"Hey, at least you're in there," Amy Wilkes replied with a smirk. "I'm not mentioned at all."

Tracy Davis just shook her head. "See! It's like I told you. If you'd just been going by _Ginevra_ all this time, they'd have gotten your name right." Astoria Greengrass nodded sagely in agreement while Daphne just shook her head.

The group was soon joined by Harry, Theo, and Blaise all of whom found the article endlessly amusing, as Harry had filled the other two in on everything that had happened down in the Chamber the night before. The specific word _horcrux _went unmentioned, but otherwise Theo and Blaise knew everything of importance.

"Well, well, well," said Daphne Greengrass. "The Silver Trio finally graces us all with their presence."

"The Silver Trio," Theo said incredulously. "Is that really something people call us?"

Blaise laughed. "I like it. I want to get T-Shirts made."

"That can be your project for the summer," Harry said before sitting down opposite Daphne. Casually, he took a small roll of parchment from his pocket and passed it to the girl. She gave him a bemused look and then unrolled it. As she scanned the sheet, her eyebrows rose in surprise. It was a list of everyone in the voting bloc Lady August had quietly assembled in the Wizengamot who supported elevating House Greengrass to Ancient and Noble status … a list to which House Malfoy and his vassals had been added. She looked up at Harry questioningly, and he winked at her. Without another word, she put the list away.

"Apropos of nothing, where's Draco today?" she asked.

"He didn't come back to the dungeon last night," Theo said. "Apparently, after he was revived, Lord Malfoy took him straight home for a few days. Pansy threw a fit over it."

Their conversation was interrupted when the Boy-Of-The-Hour, Jim Potter himself strode into the Great Hall, and immediately the entire Gryffindor table stood up to give him a standing ovation. He grimaced slightly but then took his seat without comment. In point of fact, the previous night had been rather tense in Gryffindor Tower. When he finally returned to his dorm, it was in the company of Professor McGonagall who read the whole House the riot act over how they'd all turned on Jim and acted like a mob during a moment of crisis. She'd also informed them that Ron Weasley had been influenced by a cursed object given to him by Professor Lockhart the previous summer, that nothing that had happened was his fault, and that anyone who found bullying Jim or Ron or anyone else in the future would be suspended.

Jim sat down next to Neville and Hermione and started loading eggs and bacon onto his plate.

"So how are you two?" he asked. "Recovered from the petrification?"

"Yes," Hermione replied. "It was a very odd sensation. I remember lots of people screaming and then big yellow eyes … and the next thing I know, I'm in the Infirmary being fed a potion. I'm just glad we were revived so quickly. Can you imagine if this had lasted until the end of the month and we'd have had no time to revise for exams?!"

Neville laughed. "I'm sure in that case they'd have made some arrangements. Maybe even cancelled exams altogether as a school treat or something."

Hermione looked at him aghast as if he'd suggested cancelling Christmas. Shaking her head, she turned back to Jim. "How's Ron doing?"

The boy shrugged. "He'll stay in the Infirmary for another day or so. There's no sign of any magical damage, but the whole thing was, well, let's just call it traumatic and leave it at that."

Breakfast preceded, but as Jim was leaving the hall for his first class, he noticed a familiar face giving him a dubious look. It was Harry, who stood waiting across the foyer with his arms folded.

"I suppose I should be grateful that the Prophet at least spelled my name right," Harry said drily, "unlike poor Jennifer. And incidentally, it was sixty-feet-long _at most_."

Jim waved his Housemates on and moved over to his brother. Soon, everyone else had gone ahead, leaving the two alone.

"I had nothing to do with all that, Harry. I just told my story to Uncle Pete – well, an edited version – and he passed it along to Skeeter. With … some embellishments, I suppose. That's Uncle Pete for you. Tell Ginny that I'll be sending a letter to the Prophet this afternoon correcting her name _and_ making it clear that you and she gave a lot more help than just moral support. I don't know if it will help. The Prophet's pretty invested in me as the shining golden boy, but I'll do what I can." He studied Harry's expression.

"Are you … jealous over this article, Harry?" Jim asked hesitantly and with what seemed like a certain amount of embarrassment.

Harry scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. Of course, I'm…." He frowned in consternation. "Alright, yes! I am jealous, okay? You went down to the Chamber with no plan, with no _wand, _and only survived because of help you got from other people, none of whom get any real acknowledgement from your adoring public. You'd have died three times over if Ginny and I hadn't come with you!"

"Yes, I would have," Jim said simply. "Thank you. I haven't really had a chance to say it before, so I'm doing it now. Thank you for saving my life and Ron's. I owe you and Ginny a great deal."

Despite himself, Harry was taken aback by the boy's obvious sincerity. "Yes, well… think nothing of it. If I'd just stood by and let you get killed by Slytherin's Monster, James and Lily would never have let me hear the end of it."

Jim laughed at that, and finally Harry chuckled as well.

"Well, we'd better get to class. Double Potions today. I'm sure Professor Snape will be extra cranky after having been petrified for two days." Harry nodded at his brother and then started down the hall.

"Come home with me, Harry," Jim said suddenly. Harry's head jerked around in surprise.

"What?"

"This summer. Come home to Potter Manor. Or if that won't work – and I guess after that fiasco at Christmas, I can't blame you – ask Lady Longbottom if I can come to visit there for a few weeks."

"Why?" Harry asked suspiciously.

Jim rolled his eyes. "Because you're my _brother_, and I want to get to know you better. I'm tired of us being at each other's throats because of what our parents did to split us up. What you said after that last detention with Lockhart? About how all we can hope for is to not be enemies? I don't accept that. I _want_ us to be like brothers. I always have, even if I haven't been brave or honest enough to admit it."

"Always?" Harry said skeptically.

"Always," Jim replied in a firm voice. "Last year, in front of the Mirror of Erised?" He bit his bottom lip. "I didn't see myself as an only child. I saw our whole family together like a _real_ family."

Harry said nothing. Jim rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment but then persevered.

"Granted, you were wearing Gryffindor robes and didn't have your hair all, you know, _dandified_ like you wear it. But we are all together, and you and I were like best friends."

Harry remained quiet for a long moment. Then, he closed his eyes and sighed loudly. "Well, in the interests of disclosure, I suppose I can tell you that I saw us all together as well. Except that I was still a Slytherin and everyone was okay with that. Which is a problem because I think getting James Potter to accept a Slytherin son is on par with me getting resorted in terms of possible things."

"So screw James Potter!" Jim said to Harry's shock. "I mean, I love my dad and I always will – even though he's been a right pain all year about me being a Parselmouth – but he was _wrong_ to send you away and he was _wrong _to reject you last year. And I was an ass to go along with it like I did. _Brothers should stick together_."

Harry's eyes widened in visible surprise at his brother's comments. "I'll … talk to Neville and then send an owl to Lady Augusta. And of course, James will have to sign off on it." Jim nodded appreciatively. Then, Harry looked thoughtful for a moment.

"I tell you what, though. If we're going to work at this _being brothers_ thing, can I ask you for a favor?"

Jim looked at him suspiciously but not unkindly. "What?"

"Nothing major, I think. Have you decided what you want to do to Derrick and Bole over the way they jumped you before Christmas?"

The other boy was surprised. "No. Honestly, I'd forgotten all about it. Why?"

"Let me handle them instead. They're just a couple of minions anyway. It's the ringleaders you want."

Jim smirked. "Sure. I leave it to your Slytherin cunning and discretion."

"Thanks. I appreciate it."

"Any time." Jim paused. "Oh, one last thing Harry."

"Yes?"

"Can you underssstand what I'm sssaying now?" Jim hissed.

Harry stared at him blankly. "Was that supposed to mean something?"

Jim laughed. "Just an idea. At the door to the Chamber, you talked like you understood what I said to open the secret passage in Myrtle's bathroom. I've, um, been wondering if you might be a Parselmouth too but just unwilling to admit it."

"Why? Do you think it might ease the pressure on you if your Slytherin brother had the same power?"

"Nah, I just thought it would be cool to have something we could share besides bone structure and a surname. See you in class." He strolled past Harry whistling to himself. To Harry's surprise and amusement, the tune was _God Save the Queen_.

* * *

_**Office of the Minister of Magic  
2:00 p.m.**_

"So there you have it," said Cornelius Fudge to his guest. "According to the current and incoming Chief Auror, Hogwarts in a time of crisis is generally off-limits to our law enforcement officials until _after_ someone has been killed. Now, I have always had the utmost faith in Albus Dumbledore. But this incident has forced me to face the fact that the man is neither invincible nor infallible. There have been incidents _nearly every year_ with the DADA instructor, not to mention the fact that Dumbledore keeps a '_reformed_' Death Eater on staff. And now I find out that if anything goes wrong, the only defense for the future of Wizarding Britain lies in the hands of a bunch of school teachers who would have no backup of any sort until it was too late. It's _intolerable_!"

"I can certainly see why you find these matters upsetting, Minister. But, well I'm sorry, but I still don't understand why _I'm_ here. I'm not in law enforcement. I'm just an archivist and a historian from the Department of Magical Education."

"That is _precisely_ why you are here! I've looked through your file. Solid grades from Hogwarts. Not spectacular, but very solid. But more importantly, you hold a History of Magic NEWT, which I'm sad to say is somewhat rare. Such a pity that Cuthbert Binns is such an unengaging teacher, but what can one do? No, I've called for you because I _need_ an archivist and historian _and_ someone with expertise in the field of education. The treaties between Hogwarts and the rest of Magical Britain are _old_. The eldest of them predate the Norman Conquest! I _need_ someone who can go through those treaties with a fine tooth comb and find for me any loopholes or ambiguities that will allow the Ministry to exercise greater control of Hogwarts. Our children's future demands nothing less!"

The woman paused before answering slowly. "So … you want me to begin researching the Hogwarts treaties in addition to my other responsibilities, Minister?"

"No, no, no," he said waving his hand dismissively. "I want to give you a _promotion_! With a commensurate raise of course. You'll work on this full-time and answer only to me. How does the title of Senior Undersecretary to the Minister sound to you, Madam Umbridge."

The plump woman sat up in her chair as her face lit up with a beatific smile. "Senior Undersecretary Umbridge! I _do _like the sound of that, Minister." Then, she tittered softly. "Though I would be just as pleased if you were to call me … Dolores."

* * *

_**Marcus Flint's room  
7:00 p.m.**_

"You wanted to see us, Captain?" Lucian Bole stepped into Marcus's room with Peregrine Derrick right behind, when the two stopped short. Harry Potter was sitting in a chair next to the prefect and Quidditch captain, and neither looked happy.

"Yeah, Bole, I did. So what's all this crap about you two berks beating the crap out of Jim Potter last term and pretending you were Gryffindors doing it?"

Both boys went pale, but Bole decided to bluff his way out. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Flint," he said defiantly.

Harry sighed loudly. "Jim finally wised up and looked into a pensieve. He knows it was you two and not a pair of Gryffindors."

"Bullshit," Peregrine spat. "We put a bag over his head!" Immediately, Harry and Marcus both closed their eyes and started massaging their temples while Lucian thumped his friend and partner-in-crime on the back of the head.

"Pensieves combine memories and time magic, Derrick," Harry explained. "Even if Jim was blindfolded, anyone who looks into his memories can see what happened around him. That's why _successful_ criminals either wear masks, glamour or disillusion themselves, or don't leave witnesses alive. The only reason you two haven't already gotten expelled is because Jim owed me a favor and gave me a few days to handle it in House. He's a Gryff so he's very big into giving people a chance to '_do the right thing_.'"

"He expects us to _confess_?!" Bole spluttered.

"Yeah, and to McGonagall rather than Snape," Marcus snapped. "You're going to repent of your sins, throw yourselves on her mercy, and _name names_."

"What do you mean?" Derrick asked grimly.

"Oh come on," Harry said. "I think we all know that you two aren't the type to do something like this on your own. You're more the '_hex 'em from behind the bushes_' types. Someone put you up to viciously attacking the Boy-Who-Lived, and you can either give up your mastermind or risk expulsion. So what's it going to be?"

The two Slytherins looked at one another for a second. "It was Warrington," they said in perfect unison.

* * *

_**The Slytherin Common Room  
8:30 p.m.**_

Cassius Warrington was sitting alone reading when Harry Potter walked up. Warrington practically snarled at the boy's approach.

"What do you want, _Potter_?" he spat.

"To give you some friendly advice, Warrington," Harry said quietly but firmly. "When the time comes, blame everything on Bonnevie. It's your only chance."

"What are you talking….?" Warrington started to ask, but Harry had already walked off after delivering his warning. Cassius Warrington looked around the room nervously before returning to his reading.

* * *

_**11 May 1993  
The Headmaster's Office  
9:00 a.m.**_

Irma Pince sat stiffly in her chair and declined the Headmaster's offer of a sherbet lemon. She had not been in the Headmaster's Office in a very long time. In fact, she had seldom been seen anywhere in the castle outside of the Library in a very long time. Her rooms were attached to the Library, and she even took her meals there from house elves. She didn't care for the Headmaster's Office. While there were a decent number of books on the shelves, the room lacked the oppressively comforting smell of volume upon volume of musty parchment.

"I asked you to meet with me, Madam Pince, because I had a question about one of the books in the Restricted Section. Specifically, about the 1st edition of _**Hogwarts: A History**_. I took the opportunity to peruse my own copy of the inventory for the Restricted Section, and I don't see it listed there. I was wondering if you could explain that discrepancy for me."

"Certainly, sir," she said in a voice as dusty as her books. "That volume is customarily kept within that part of the Restricted Section known as the Forbidden Archive."

"The … Forbidden Archive," Dumbledore said as he studied the reclusive librarian over the top of his spectacles. He had always found Irma Pince an odd duck even by the standards of Hogwarts faculty members. For one thing, other than Binns, she was the only faculty member from his student days who was still on staff, though Binns was a ghost, which Dumbledore thought gave him an unfair advantage when it came to establishing seniority.

"Yes Headmaster," Pince replied in a vaguely condescending tone. "The Forbidden Archive."

"Could you, perhaps, expand on what this … Forbidden Archive _is_?"

She sniffed softly. "The Forbidden Archive consists of seventeen volumes in the Restricted Section which are kept in a separate location and concealed via powerful Notice-Me-Not Charms. I myself do not personally know what volumes are contained in the Forbidden Archive, as I am subject to a modified Obliviation Charm that causes me to forget about the Forbidden Archive except when the Headmaster specifically inquires about it, and to forget what volumes are in it unless one is specifically asked for by an authorized student or faculty member. I _can_ tell you that the total number of volumes is seventeen and the one most recently checked out was _**Hogwarts: A History**_, first by Professor Lockhart on March 8th and then one day later by Harry Potter pursuant to a Restricted Section pass he presented and which had been signed by Professor Lockhart.

The Headmaster stared at the woman in amazement. "You have Restricted Books in the Library and you yourself do not know what they are or what information they contain?!" Dumbledore asked incredulously. "Who was responsible for Obliviating you of this knowledge?"

"You, sir," she sadly flatly, "at least with regard to the most recent addition to that section." And with that, she reached into the sleeve of her robe and extracted a rolled parchment which she handed over to the Headmaster. He unfurled the parchment, and his eyes widened even more as he read the contents which were written in his handwriting and on his personal stationary.

_TO: A.P.W.B.D.  
FROM: A.P.W.B.D.  
RE: The Forbidden Archive  
DATE: April 1, 1981_

_This memo is to confirm that on this date, I added a book which came into my possession to the Forbidden Archive. By the time you read this, I will have Obliviated myself of all knowledge of said book's presence in Hogwarts and will modify the memories of Madam Pince to ensure that the book can only be recovered under special circumstances. Please don't waste a lot of time trying to circumvent these protections. We both know I'm perfectly able to make myself forget something until such time as I need to recall it, so if you don't remember writing this memo, just assume that time has not yet arrived._

_Oh, and no, this is not an April Fools prank. It is, in fact, a very serious matter of the gravest concern._

At the bottom of the page were additional words written in a special invisible ink that only Dumbledore could possibly have read.

_Confirmation Code: Ariana likes woolen socks._

Dumbledore read the note three times to himself before exhaling loudly and returning it to Madam Pince.

"I do hope I haven't made it a habit of doing things like this to myself," he said with some minor irritation. "It is most vexing to find that one has been outwitted by one's own past."

* * *

_**Professor McGonagall's Classroom  
2:55 p.m.**_

The Fifth Year Transfiguration Class was done for the day, and most of the students were already out the door when McGonagall noticed to her surprise that two Slytherins were nervously approaching her desk. It was Bole and Derrick, the two Slytherin beaters.

"Yes, Mr. Bole? Mr. Derrick? Can I help you two gentlemen?"

The boys looked at each other nervously before Bole spoke up.

"Yes, Professor. We'd actually like to speak to you in your capacity as Deputy Headmistress. You see … Derrick and me, well, we sort of got mixed up in something we shouldn't have. And after everything that's happened this year, we feel really badly about it." Bole licked his lips and summoned up as much sincerity as he could muster. "We want to do the _right thing_."

McGongall crooked an eyebrow and waited for the boys to continue.

* * *

_**Outside the Great Hall  
7:00 p.m.**_

"Headmaster?" said Mr. Filch in a tight voice. "I was wondering if you knew why it was taking so long to get Mrs. Norris depetrified."

Dumbledore looked surprised. It had been two days since the students and faculty had been revived, and he'd quite forgotten about Mrs. Norris who he now remembered was on a shelf in his office. He'd carried the feline there just a few days after she was petrified on the previous Halloween to study her and see if he could figure out how the magical effect was accomplished. After several futile weeks, however, he was forced to abandon that line of inquiry, and he now remembered to his embarrassment that the kneazle had been left on one of the shelves in his office ever since.

Ten minutes later, Dumbledore entered the Infirmary with the frozen cat under his arm and a seething Argus Filch following behind. Using the Ewer of Hufflepuff, Madam Pomfrey soon revived the cat, which promptly had a sneezing fit due to a thin layer of dust that had accumulated during its time forgotten on a shelf.

"_Thank goodness for the house elves who regularly clean my office,_" Dumbledore thought, "_or the poor thing would be covered in dust an inch thick!_"

Madam Pomfrey cast a quick spell to clean the animal.

"There you are, Argus," Dumbledore said, "right as rain."

"You forgot her," Filch said accusingly. "My only friend in the whole world, and you forgot _all about her!_"

Abashed, Dumbledore tried to apologize. "I am truly sorry, Filch, but after I was revived myself there was simply so much going on…." He never got to complete his apology, as the Caretaker scooped up his cat and strode quickly out of the Infirmary. Dumbledore turned to Pomfrey who gave him a reproachful glare to which he responded with an embarrassed Gallic shrug.

* * *

_**12 May 1993  
The Potions Classroom  
12:45 p.m.**_

The interrogation of Cassius Warrington soon led to the joint interrogation of Warrington and Sixth Year prefect Miranda Bonnevie which lasted most of the morning. Present were the Headmaster, McGonagall, and a livid Severus Snape. Weak defenses turned into bitter accusations and blame-shifting. Before everything was said and done, Bonnevie had painted Warrington as the ringleader of a plot to turn Jim Potter into a dark wizard and also that he'd really been behind the prank against the Slytherin Quidditch team for which Lockhart had inexplicably taken the blame. Then, Warrington one-upped her by revealing what he knew about Miranda cheating on her OWLS, about how Miranda had made money on the side illegally selling Pepper-Ups and Calming Draughts she'd illegally brewed to students prepping for exams, and about how her family had blackmailed Selena Harper, a fellow Sixth Year with better grades but a less impressive family tree into declining the prefect's position when it had been offered to her. And such crude blackmail at that! Apparently, Miranda's father had bluntly told Selena's father that her little brother Niles (who'd just started as a First Year) might not make it make it to his Sorting with both legs attached if Miranda didn't get the prefect's slot.

An hour later, the parents of Miranda and Cassius were in the Headmaster's office as well and were alternately pleading for mercy and threatening legal action against both the school and each other's families. An hour after that, Miranda and Cassius were in their respective dorm rooms packing, while Harry Potter was reading a message that his immediate presence was demanded in Snape's office. As soon as he entered, Snape got straight to the point.

"Miranda Bonnevie has just been expelled. Cassius Warrington has been suspended for the remainder of the school year and will likely have to repeat his Fourth Year. What was your involvement in these outcomes?"

"Begging your pardon, sir, but what makes you think I had _any_ involvement?"

Snape snorted contemptuously. "These events were set in motion when Peregrine Derrick and Lucian Bole felt compelled to confess their own involvement and … _do the right thing_, a course of action so wildly out of character that at first I thought they must have been subjected to the Imperius. However, a brief discussion with Marcus Flint revealed that _you_ met with them the night before their sudden and otherwise inexplicable turn towards ethical behavior. Now then, I shall ask again and rephrase the question. Since you _are_ involved in these matters, I ask you _how_ were you involved and _what_ were your motives?"

Harry sighed. "I learned by happenstance that Warrington was behind the Quidditch prank and that he'd framed the Weasley Twins for it. Since I nearly got frostbite out of that, I took it personally. Later, Bonnevie provoked a confrontation with me a few nights ago and suggested that if she became Head Girl next year, she planned to make things difficult for me. When I learned that she was involved in Warrington's idiotic plan to turn Jim Potter into a dark wizard, I saw a shot and took it. To be honest, I'm amazed it worked so much better than I'd anticipated. I figured Slytherin would have just lost a bunch of House points with their names attached and that Miranda might lose her prefect's spot. I never dreamed she'd get kicked out of Hogwarts."

"And Derrick and Bole? They will be in detention for the remainder of the year, though thankfully, they will not lose their Quidditch spots. How did you ensure that they would do as you asked?"

Harry shrugged. "I told them that Jim knew or would soon know that they were the ones who jumped him and that their best bet for avoiding expulsion was to rat out Warrington. They're both fairly easy to predict."

"I've no doubt. I wish to see your memories of that conversation."

Harry nodded and looked around the room. "Do you have a pensieve handy, sir?"

"No," Snape replied while staring intently at the boy. "I wish to review the memory _directly_ through your eyes. Will you permit it?"

Harry froze in surprise. Snape wanted to use Legilimency on him without him doing anything to resist other than guiding the man to specific memories and hoping he didn't abuse the privilege.

"Well, Potter? You told me once that you did not fear me knowing your secrets. Is that still the case or not?"

The boy considered Snape's words for a moment before nodding. He did his best to relax his mental shields despite his apprehension, although he did maintain those shields which protected his knowledge about the Prince's Lair and the Hydra. "_**LEGILIMENS.**_" Instantly, Snape was inside Harry's mind reviewing his interactions with Derrick and Bole. But then, to Harry's surprise, other memories rose to the forefront of his mind, memories connected to those of Bole and Derrick in Marcus's room by tenuous connections Harry didn't immediately understand. He remembered telling Amy Wilkes that he had complete faith in her and earlier saying much the same thing to Draco Malfoy back during the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match. He remembered how with just words he reduced the specter of Tom Riddle to frothing anger and how, the year before, how he'd done the same to Quirrell. Finally, he remembered two of his first year interactions with Snape himself, the conversation in which Snape first introduced him to the concept of Occlumency and the conversation they had at the conclusion of Harry's very first Potions class about his upbringing with the Dursleys and his feelings about the Potters. Finally, Snape withdrew, and Harry reasserted his shields while simultaneously suppressing the sudden burst of anger he felt over Snape meandering through his mind far outside the areas he'd discussed.

"You saw quite a bit more than my conversation with Bole and Derrick … sir."

Snape did not respond at first. He sat with his elbows propped on his desk and his fingers interlaced together. His head rested against his hands which obscured the lower half of his face. His eyes were focused on Harry's.

"I reviewed your conversations with those two … which inevitably led me to other similar memories."

"Similar? How so?" Harry's asked with surprise. None of those other memories had anything to do with how he'd manipulated the two Beaters.

Snape didn't answer directly. "Tell me, Potter," he said instead. "What do you know about Legilimency?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders. "Not much beyond what I need to know to defend against it. It's a form of mind-reading that usually requires eye contact."

"Incorrect, or rather, inadequate. The term Legiliency refers to the art of using the mind to acquire information directly rather than through sensory input, while Occlumency refers to the art of using the mind to both organize and conceal information. Like Occlumency, Legilimency is a seven-tiered skill. But while the seven degrees of Occlumency must be learned sequentially, Legilimency is instead a cluster of closely-related skill sets, the most infamous of which allows the Legilimens to directly study the memories of another. I mention this because it is important you understand what you are doing and how, since it seems that you are a natural Legilimens in addition to all your other annoying forms of precociousness."

Harry shook his head. "What makes you think I'm a natural Legilimens, sir?"

"Well for starters, there's the fact that we are presently conversing, yet if you look closely, you will notice that my lips aren't moving."

Shocked, Harry reviewed his recent memories more closely, and sure enough, a closer inspection showed that the last few things Harry heard from his mentor had not been spoken aloud.

"You're projecting your thoughts to me?"

"I am allowing my unfiltered thoughts to be heard, Potter. And you are receiving them. I first suspected you might have latent Legilimency powers in November of your first year when you intentional broadcast a thought to me just to see if I could hear it. That is actually a common and useful Legilimency trick that allows two people trained with the skill to communicate non-verbally. I understand you did the same thing with the Headmaster the other night. That trick can _only_ be done if both parties to the communication are Legilimens, although it can, obviously, be done with minimal or even no training. That was in part why I chose to offer you preliminary Occlumency instruction that day. Aside from the need to protect your thoughts from the Dark Lord, it was essential for you to develop a basic competency with Occlumency before you began to develop your Legilimency beyond the foundational level. Poor Occlumency technique can endanger your own mind. Poor Legilimency technique threatens the mind of everyone around you who thinks thoughts of which you disapprove."

Harry wiped his hand across his face as he sought to process this.

"Professor Snape, I've never had any experience I can recall in which I read someone else's thoughts."

"As I said, Potter, Legilimency is a cluster of interconnected but disparate skill sets of which mind-reading is only the most advanced and difficult. You may not yet have the power to read thoughts directly, but you show clear signs of two other common foundational skills. First, you have the magical equivalent of what Muggles would describe as '_deductive genius_.' You analyze your surroundings and especially the words, reactions, and body language of those around you and synthesize those observations with seemingly trivial and unrelated prior observations in order to make remarkable intuitive leaps. It was this characteristic that led you as a mere First Year to realize that Voldemort was not only alive but actively possessing Quirrell. If you review your memories, you will no doubt recall other occasions in which you had sudden epiphanies as your mind assembled seemingly random facts into a coherent body of evidence."

Harry nodded slowly. Immediately, he thought of two: his realization in the Infirmary that Lucius Malfoy had given the Diary to Ginny Weasley and his later realization that Gilderoy Lockhart had actually been Regulus Black who was a Metamorphmagus.

"And the other skill?"

"You have a natural facility for manipulating people into doing what you want simply through the power of spoken words."

"I… what?!"

"Don't be coy, Potter. After I realized that you had a talent for Legilimency during your first year, I immediately realized that you had the skill of which I speak because you had previously used it _twice on me_ without my realizing it at first!"

Harry stared in shock. "When?!"

"The first incident occurred at the end of your very first Potions class. At the start of that class, I was frankly inclined to hate you on principle simply because of your resemblance to your father combined with the personal umbrage I took from the idea of a Potter having been Sorted into my House. But as you were leaving, you _just happened_ to say all the right things to divert my anger away from yourself and in such a way that I was offended on your behalf by your parents' abandonment of you. You did the same thing the following Halloween after the troll incident. As we left the bathroom for the dungeon, I was furious with you and inclined to dock you House points. While en route to the dormitory, you revealed your observations about Quirrell and about the Cerberus in such a manner that I became impressed by your intellect, your poise, and your sense of wit, so much so that I ended up _giving_ points instead of taking them."

"Professor Snape, I _promise_ you, I never _intentionally …._"

"Of course you didn't, foolish boy. Do you not understand what I am saying? This aspect of your power is entirely passive and uncontrolled. You do nothing at all to the person against whom you use this skill. You simply study them and intuitively know what to say in order to naturally instill within them the mindset you desire. _That_ is why it is essential that you accelerate your Occlumency training this summer and that you also begin formal Legilimency training. Because according to the Headmaster, you casually used this power on Lucius Malfoy and Arthur Weasley to induce them to end a 200-year-old blood feud and _did not even realize that you were doing so._ And what's more, you recklessly did so in front of Albus Dumbledore _and_ Rufus Scrimgeour, both of whom realized at once what you had done._ You are getting noticed,_ Harry Potter. Noticed by people who remember the_ last_ wizard to publicly display such facility with both Occlumency and Legilimency."

"_Voldemort_," Harry said in a soft voice.

Snape nodded with a grave expression. "There were _reasons_ why so many otherwise intelligent wizards and witches flocked to the banner of the Death Eaters despite the incoherent bigoted nonsense underlying their philosophy. By the end of the War, a sizeable percentage of those who _opposed_ the Dark Lord nevertheless agreed with him on the '_natural inferiority of Mudbloods_' because of the power of his persuasion. A power you seem to mimic."

Harry kept his face free of emotion as he assimilated this information. "What would you have me do?" he finally asked.

"You have a tutor already, Potter. A good one I am told though his identity is hidden. Discuss with him a training regimen for the summer to learn to control these powers. To learn to use them effectively and to learn how _not_ to use them when doing so is detrimental or dangerous."

"Dangerous, sir?" Harry asked with a tight voice.

"Yes, Potter, Dangerous. Or have you forgotten that last fall you gave Draco Malfoy a pep talk during the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match that _inspired him to use the Suicide Slam maneuver in a student competition_?"

Harry went pale. He'd thought he was simply giving words of encouragement to a teammate. Only now that Snape was connecting the dots did Harry realize how much of a realignment had taken place in Draco's attitude over the past year. Then, a shudder went down his back when he recalled that night in the Prince's Lair after the first year Easter Break. Up until that night, Olivia Kolumbiko and he had exchanged less than a dozen words, yet after ten minutes in the Lair, she was ready to kill at his command! Granted, she seemed more in awe of the Hydra Throne itself than the impudent firstie who sat in it, but even that gave credence to Snape's claims – even before Olivia entered the Lair, he'd known about her ancestor who'd been Prince and suspected she might be suitably awestruck by the whole experience. Then, a nasty thought entered his mind.

"Professor Snape, could these … abilities … have anything to do with my … my _Muggle problem_?"

Snape spoke carefully. "I personally cannot see how. If anything, you should be able to manipulate Muggles even more easily than wizards and witches, since there is no possibility of them having any form of psychic defense. That said, your _Muggle problem_, as you call it, is so unprecedented that I cannot exclude any possible cause at this time."

Harry physically winced at Snape's use of the word "_manipulate._" He _loathed_ mind control as a concept. The idea of twisting someone into doing something against their nature was sickening to him, partly because of how some inexplicable effect caused ordinary Muggles to a cruel hatred for him on sight, but also because of how a simple Confundus had tricked Neville and Hermione almost to their deaths the year before and how a pair of cursed mind-altering books had caused even worse havoc this past year. Then, an even worse thought occurred to him as another memory from his first days at Hogwarts popped into his head.

* * *

_"I have three conditions, Mr. Longbottom__"__ said Harry somewhat imperiously. "__One: we do not sit anywhere near my brother unless absolutely necessary.__"_

_"O...okay, um, Mr. Potter,__"__ stammered the nervous boy._

_Harry took a step forward. "__Two: From now on, you keep your chin up, you look people straight in the eye, and you always speak with confidence, whether you feel it or not. Because you are Longbottom of Longbottom, Heir Presumptive to an Ancient and Noble House. Just as I am Potter of Potter. And if the two of us are going actually __earn__ the legacies our family names have left us, we__'__d both better get started now."_

_And with that, he put his hand out. "__And Three: You call me Harry.__"_

_Neville blinked several times. Then, he straightened his back, took a deep breath, and shook Harry'__s hand. "__Just as you will call me Neville, I hope.__"__ Harry smiled. He wasn'__t sure, but he could have sworn the boy just grew an inch-and-a-half._

* * *

And so Neville had. He wouldn't complete his transformation until after the troll incident at Halloween, but it had _started_ the first week of school with Harry's three conditions that had been offered as way to gain an ally ("_Or maybe a minion_?" whispered the most Slytherin part of his brain) instead of a friend. Harry looked up at Snape who gazed at him impassively.

"Well, Potter? Something is on your mind. Out with it."

Harry froze. How could he ask Snape about this? But if not Snape, who else?

"My friends, Professor. Neville, Theo, Hermione, Blaise, Marcus, and others. Are … are they _really_ my friends? Or did I just … _make them _like me?"

"Potter … Harry... you have not been _making anyone_ do anything against their will. This power is not like the Imperius or even the Confundus. It doesn't directly do _anything_ to those you affect. The change is _within you_ as you intuitively sense how to act and what to do and say to achieve the desired effect. You must learn to control it so that you do not use it in unintended ways that lead to unintended results. But there was already something inside of Draco Malfoy that was capable of using an insanely reckless Quidditch maneuver to secure victory. You simply … unleashed it."

Unfortunately, whatever this effect was called, it seemed obvious that Severus Snape didn't have it, as his desire to raise Harry's spirits failed completely.

"I see. Thank you, sir, for bringing all this to my attention. I'll discuss this with my Occlumency tutor this summer. Was there anything else?"

Snape hesitated and then shook his head and sent the boy on his way. Harry trudged back to the Slytherin dungeons, his thoughts in turmoil beneath his flawlessly composed mask. For ten years living with the Dursleys, he'd thought he didn't have a friend in the world. Now, for the first time since coming to Hogwarts, he worried that he might not have a single friendship that was real.

* * *

**The next and final chapter of Harry Potter &amp; The Secret Enemy will be posted sometime between June 8 and June 10. **


	82. HP&TSE 48 - Goodbyes

**HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY**

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

* * *

**AN 0: _This was not my fault!_ For some inexplicable reason, this site does not believe that the .docx files I've been attempting to upload are actually .docx files. After hours of struggling, I finally broke down and converted this chapter to freakin' _.txt_ and then had to go through and fix all the formatting, which includes little things like adding back in all the _quotation marks and apostrophes!_ Very frustrating. But it's done now, so enjoy.**

* * *

**CHAPTER 48: Goodbyes**

* * *

_**13 May 1993  
The Great Hall  
8:00 a.m.**_

On Thursday, it was the Slytherins' turn to applaud (though far more politely than the rambunctious Gryffs had for Jim Potter the previous Monday) as Draco Malfoy entered the Great Hall for breakfast. He glanced over at the Hufflepuff table and nodded almost imperceptibly at Justin, who nodded back with the same level of discretion. Then, the Malfoy Heir made his way to the middle of the Slytherin table where he took a seat by himself. Crabbe and Goyle looked at each other in surprise at their mutual snubbing, at which point they both noticed that Pansy Parkinson had not come down for breakfast yet.

"Draco," said Harry evenly from a few feet away. "Welcome back."

"Thank you," the boy said. "My father sends his regards." At that, several nearby Slytherins looked at one another sharply.

"Please tell him I return them," Harry replied.

"Are you free this afternoon after lunch?" Draco asked as he started loading his plate. "There are some matters I wish to discuss with you."

"Of course. We, um, don t actually have a DADA class anymore - it s been cancelled for the remainder of the year - so that hour's free."

Draco nodded and ate quietly by himself.

The sight of the boy who had once been such a social animal now sitting alone caused a quiet buzz among the Slytherins which only ended when something even more unusual happened. An enormous horned owl with black and gold plumage of a breed none of the students had ever seen before swooped through the window and down towards the Gryffindor table to land in front of Jim Potter. The boy s surprise was exceeded only by that of his housemate, Parvati Patil.

"That s my Uncle Gupta's owl, Indra!" she exclaimed. "Why is my uncle sending you owls all the way from India?!"

Jim ignored the girl while taking the message from the owl's talon. After tossing the great raptor a slice of bacon, he watched it fly off and then opened the letter. He read over it carefully twice before turning to look up at his mother who was sitting at the faculty table staring at him in surprise.

* * *

**Twenty minutes later in Lily Potter s Office**

"You want to go to India!" Lily said in shock.

"Yes, Mum, I want to go to India," he replied almost placidly. "Gupta Baskar is the uncle of two of my classmates. He's also one of the most respected healers in the world and someone who taught himself how to speak Parseltongue. And he's invited me to India for a month this summer to study with him."

"Study _what_, exactly?" she asked suspiciously.

"Parseltongue, for a start. He wants to spend time talking with a natural Parselmouth to see if there's any differences that might change how Parselmagic might work for us."

"Parsel-_magic_?"

"Yeah, apparently there are some spells you can say in Parseltongue. Mainly healing spells, but also a few combat spells. Actually, pretty much any spell that has a lot of S's in the incantation."

"I don t know about this, Jim. After everything that's happened, do you really want to ... _flaunt_ your Parseltongue like this?"

"I'm not _flaunting_ it, Mum! I'm just ... refusing to live in fear of it." The boy looked away for a few seconds. "There's another reason I want to go. Actually, two reasons. Gupta Baskar isn't just a celebrated healer. He's also a celebrated mind healer. I ... need to see one, I think. And if I can go to one who lives on the other side of the world instead of somebody here that just sees me as the Boy-Who-Lived, that's ... that's better right?"

Lily was silent for a moment. "And what's the other reason?"

"You can't tell anyone about this, okay? Please?"

Lily nodded.

"It's about Ron."

* * *

**The Prince s Lair  
1:30 p.m.**

Harry and Draco sat across from one another in the Lair. The Hydra was quiet at the moment, though Harry knew it was observing. He was more concerned with the mood of his rival and "frenemy" Malfoy. In addition to the trauma of his recent petrification, Harry was aware that the boy was also faced with two parents in the midst of what would surely be an acrimonious divorce (which was itself an extremely rare event in wizarding culture). However, he elected to let the other boy speak first, though he was bursting with curiosity. Draco had been avoiding Crabbe and Goyle all day, and Pansy had apparently spent a lot of time crying piteously in her dormitory.

"Well," said Draco finally. "How much do you already know?"

Harry coughed. "Very little."

"Mother and Father are _divorcing_," he said in a tone suggesting the word was something vulgar. "The first morning in the Manor, they let me sleep in and then '_explained'_ things over brunch. Father was keeping the Manor and all of its moveables since it was entailed, but Mother was entitled to seventy-five percent of the assets in his vaults. I was given a choice - live with Mother elsewhere '_in the lifestyle to which I'd become accustomed'_ or stay with Father in_ 'reduced circumstances_.' Father made it clear that whatever I decided, I would still be his son and I would always have a place at Malfoy Manor." He paused. "Mother ... just looked at me."

He paused and looked away for a moment. "I chose Father. Mother didn't take it well."

* * *

"_Had you chosen me, Draco Heir to the House of Malfoy_," Narcissa said in a chilling voice, "_I would have destroyed any rival, smashed any barrier, even defied the Dark Lord himself, whatever it took to assure your greatness. But you have chosen mediocrity."_

She turned to sneer at her now-ex-husband at that last word. Lucius simply smiled at her almost genially. Then, she rose from her chair and headed for the door, stopping to turn back one last time.

_"Still, it is best that we clarify things now_," she said to her only son. "_I am still young, after all. I have plenty of time to have more children."_

And with that, Narcissa Black cut Draco loose and walked away.

* * *

"Ouch," Harry said with a wince. "Draco, I'm very sorry, especially if you feel that this was in any way my fault."

"Oh, shut up, Potter!" Draco said acidly. "Not _everything_ is about you. I made my decision - lots of decisions, actually - and I'll live with the consequences. Right now, all I care about is winning the Quidditch Cup, since I don't know if I'll get to play Seeker again next year."

Harry blinked in confusion. "Why would you not be our Seeker next year?"

Draco hesitated thereby indicating that the news was unpleasant. "Because I won't be here next year. I'm transferring to Durmstrang in the fall."

"_Durmstrang_!?"

"Oh, calm down. It won't be that bad. From what Father says, the British seriously overplay how, um, _evil_ Durmstrang is. They're quite a bit more aggressive when it comes to introducing potentially dangerous spells, and they offer a lot of classes that might make Dumbledore recoil in horror, but believe it or not, they have a Muggle Studies program that puts ours to shame."

Harry opened his mouth and then closed it, unsure of how to respond to that.

"More importantly," Draco continued, "the Headmaster, Igor Karkaroff, owes Father a life debt which presents some, shall we say, opportunities for advancement."

"I'm sure." Harry paused again, still somewhat speechless. "Is it true they don't allow Muggleborns at Durmstrang?"

Draco shrugged. "It's a bit more complicated than that. They don't really have Muggleborns over in that part of Europe, at least as we understand it. It's been government policy for centuries in most of the Eastern European nations that when Muggleborns first show magic, they get taken from their families who are all Obliviated into thinking that their children died. The Muggleborn child, who is usually very young, gets Obliviated of all memories of growing up among Muggles and then fostered out to a good wizarding home and raised just like any other wizarding child."

"That's ... kind of horrible," said Harry. Draco crooked an eye at him.

"Says the guy who, if the rumors are true, spent years locked in a boot cupboard by his magic-fearing Muggle guardians."

Harry grimaced. "That's not fair. I'm ... not a typical case."

Draco laughed at that. "No, Harry, I don't suppose you are."

The other boy shook his head. "So why does your Father want you to start over again in a new school somewhere hidden in the trackless wastes of Eastern Europe?"

"Well, for one thing, Father thinks I should avoid Britain for a while. He has concerns about how Mother may respond to my decision." He smiled to Harry's amazement. "It's funny. All these years, and I never really grasped how unstable she was. That she'd be capable of ... _turning_ like that."

Draco took a deep breath. "But ultimately the decision was mine, and I decided ... that _you were right._"

"I was? What about?"

"Last year on the train when we were on our way to Hogwarts. I _did_ make a poor first impression, one that lasted for most of last year. I want to start over. Someplace where I have a prestigious name and, let's face it, _incredible hair_, but where I don't have the Black baggage hanging over me. I want to try actually being a Malfoy for a change."

Harry nodded at that. "So how does this affect Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy? You seemed to be avoiding them at breakfast, and I haven't even seen Pansy today."

"Well, in light of Father's '_reduced circumstances_,' he's informed those families that he will reevaluate whether to continue holding them as vassals when the oaths have to be reaffirmed next January. I think he wants to see how they react if it appears he won t be able to afford their Wizengamot fees. Which, just between us, he can - our '_circumstances'_ aren't nearly as '_reduced'_ as Mother thinks they are - but I think he wants to see if there's any actual loyalty there or just money-grubbing. We're both pretty sure that the Parkinsons will want out of the marriage contract I have with Pansy, which is why she's been wailing all morning. So ... there's **_that_** at least."

The other boy absorbed that while considering the implications. If Malfoy couldn't continue to maintain the fealty agreement with the Goyles (or if the Goyles just _believed_ that to be the case), it might accelerate Lord Goyle's plan to sell Amy Wilkes off in marriage to Tiberius Nott, which meant that Harry might need a more permanent solution to that problem sooner than he'd thought. He filed that away for later consideration.

"So when are you leaving?" he asked.

"August," Draco replied. "About two weeks before you board the Hogwarts Express, I'll be boarding the Occidental Express to Vienna and then take a connecting train to Durmstrang. But don't worry though. Theo will still be spending the summer with us."

"Thank you." The boy hesitated, unsure of what to say. "I'm ... sorry that your Mum is ... you _know_."

Draco smirked as he rose to head for the door. "I'm sorry that pretty much your entire family is ..._ you know_."

Harry snorted softly. "Fair enough, Draco."

"Please, Harry ... call me _Drake_."

* * *

**14 May 1993  
The Second Year Slytherin Dorms  
3:00 a.m.**

While the other five boys in the dorm room slept peacefully, Harry had his bed curtains drawn with a Muffliato preventing his whispers from being heard and a soft Lumos illuminating the Marauders Map as he perused it. He'd spent the last two hours studying the Map's features and making notes of the many secret passages that he'd never known about before, while also pumping the four personalities within the Map for information. He'd deduced that the Marauders were actually James Potter, Peter Pettigrew, Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin, and that they'd copied an imprint of their respective personalities onto the thing. The parallels between the Map and the Diary were slightly alarming, but after a while, he was able to get the quartet to reveal the Charms used for copying a simplified version of one's personality into an inanimate object. The most important one was the Homunculus Charm, which wasn't even a restricted spell. It was actually one of the primary Charms used in creating moving portraits, and while it was a very difficult Charm to master, it was also widely practiced, albeit not often by students. In other words, Riddle's basic trick of copying his personality into the Diary wasn't actually that impressive beyond how young he was when he pulled it off successfully. His real feat had been expanding the Charm's effects so that the Diary could organize the information written within for him. The Diary's more dangerous and insidious powers only came later after the horcrux was inserted. This suggested to Harry that not all of the horcruxes might be sentient or at least not imbued with an actual personality based on Riddle's own, since the Homunculus Charm apparently allowed for only one imprinted object to exist per person at any given time. In one sense, the Marauders were actually somewhat foolish for having created the Map at a young age and then losing it - so long as the Map existed, neither James Potter nor any of his friends could ever have a moving portrait of themselves commissioned.

Harry had also learned the four Marauders nicknames - Prongs, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Moony - though they wouldn't explain to him the origins of the nicknames, saying that it was something for Son of Prongs to learn on his own. The Marauders still believed that Harry was James's only son and a Gryffindor to boot, which in Harry's mind was simply a matter of dumbing down his vocabulary and pretending to be awestruck by his father's cleverness. And to be fair, the Map _was_ a remarkable piece of enchantment, especially for one created by such young wizards. He d been unable to get Prongs to say anything more about why a Slytherin Sorting would be such a "_disaster_," so he'd spent the rest of the time asking questions about what things were like back during their school days. It was clear all four Marauders disliked Severus Snape with varying degrees of intensity: seething hatred on the part of Padfoot, strong dislike and contempt from Prongs, mere disdain from Wormtail, and apparent disinterest from Moony. "Apparent" disinterest because Harry felt quite certain that Moony simply did not want to talk about Snape for some reason and was uncomfortable when his three friends persisted in doing so.

Finally, Harry yawned loudly and decided that was enough for one night so he said his good nights to the Marauders. Tomorrow, he would meet with the Weasley Twins and make his offer. He d considered simply keeping the Map and pretending he didn't know what had happened to it, but he found that unfeasible for two reasons. First, Ron probably remembered stealing the thing and keeping it in the same bag where Harry had found the Potter Cloak (which he had already returned to Jim). Second, every time he thought about doing so, he suddenly had a vivid mental image of George Weasley's earnest trusting face as he was getting ready to cast the Protego Orbis that saved them both from certain death in Greenhouse #3.

"_Stupid life debt!_" Harry muttered to himself. Not that it mattered too much. He d already done everything he needed with the Map for the remainder of the year, as the set of poisonous Basilisk fangs deposited in a locked box within the Prince s Lair attested. Harry started to deactivate the Map but then froze in surprise at an unexpected sight - two pairs of feet standing very close together in a broom closet on the Fourth Floor. According to the Map, they belonged to _Emily Rossum and Marcus Flint_! Harry barked out a laugh and then looked around in sudden embarrassment before he remembered the Muffliato. Smiling, he touched his wand to the parchment.

_Mischief managed._

* * *

**15 May 1993  
An empty classroom  
1:30 p.m.**

Fred and George Weasley entered the room together to find Harry waiting for them sitting behind a desk. He'd had to rush to make this meeting, as the package from Artie had only arrived via owl ten minutes earlier.

"Blimey," said George. "I feel like we've been called in to the Headmaster s Office."

"So what's up, our ickle snakey friend?" said Fred.

Harry directed them to two chair set on the other side of the desk. "I asked you here, gentlemen, because I have a business proposal for you two."

"Go on," they said in perfect unison.

Harry reached into the left inside pocket of his robe and pulled out an official-looking envelope. "This envelope contains a Gringotts bank draft made out in the amount of 200 galleons and payable to Fred and George Weasley."

The Twins laughed. "Pull the other one, Harry." "It plays the accordion."

Harry just smiled. "Open it." George did so and immediately his eyes nearly bugged out of his head.

"Blimey," he muttered in a dazed voice. Then, he looked up at Harry almost fearfully. "You're not gonna ask us to ... _kill_ somebody or something like that, are you?"

Harry laughed and shook his head no. "So that s Option #1. Option # 2 is you forego the bank draft and instad reclaim this completely different piece of paper which I m sure you recognize." He reached into his other pocket and pulled out the Map before placing it on the table.

"Where did you get that?" Fred said, his face darkening.

"From Ron's book-bag. He was the one, after all, who stole it from you under cover of a Slytherin prank while under the control of the cursed diary. I've had it since Sunday night. It's a really nice bit of spellwork. May I ask how you acquired it?"

Fred made a face. "We made it!"

Harry shook his head again. "Fred, let's all keep things above-board, okay? I know the Map was created by the Marauders, a quartet of Gryffindor pranksters from the mid-1970 s who went by the names of Prongs, Moony, Padfoot, and Wormtail. I also know that Prongs was actually James Potter, which means that as his Heir, I actually have a legal claim to this as a family heirloom, but you two have had possession for a while, so I'm willing to pay, well, let's call it ... _a recovery fee_. I merely wanted to know how it came into your possession."

Fred started to say something rude, when George interrupted. "We found it in a drawer in Filch's office when we had detention there one night. Are you really offering us 200 galleons for it?"

"Yep. So what will it be, the Map or the Money?"

"The Map!" "The Money!" The Twins looked at each other in shock. It was the first time they could remember in which their twin-speak had failed them and led each of them to say the exact opposite of what the other wanted.

"Fred! We can use that money! We've been talking about a joke shop since the day we started school, and 200 galleons can get us started!"

"But ... it s _the Map_! I mean, we've had that for ages. We use it for every prank we pull!"

Harry coughed. "Far be it from me to interfere with your activities. As I've said many times, I'm a big fan of your work. I would be willing in the future to loan the Map out to you if you need it for any pranking for, say, five galleons a day?"

"That s an outrage!" exclaimed Fred. "The nerve! Charging us to use our own property!"

George gave a loud exasperated sigh. "Harry, would you excuse is for a moment while we have a quick discussion followed by me thumping my brother upside the head?"

Harry laughed. "Sure." The two Gryffindors rose and moved to the far side of the room where they began a heated but whispered argument. Harry leaned back in his chair. He could afford to be patient. After all, he had budgeted up to _500_ galleons for this transaction.

* * *

**30 May 1993  
By the shore of Black Lake  
4:45 p.m.**

Drake Malfoy's last Quidditch match at Hogwarts turned out to be a bittersweet experience. Cedric Diggory caught the Snitch, depriving Malfoy of an undefeated season as Seeker, but it was a moot point as the Snitch didn't even appear until ninety minutes into the game. By that point, the Snakes had a more than 200-point lead over the Badgers whose hapless young Keeper was defenseless against the unstoppable Slytherin Chaser machine. Diggory was almost perfunctory about catching the Snitch, which was more an act of mercy for his team rather than the usual victory condition. With that win, Slytherin had clinched the House Quidditch Cup, though they, like the Gryffindors, were far out of the running for the House Cup. To everyone's surprise, it seemed this year s House Cup was headed for the Hufflepuffs mainly due to a 100-point award to Bobby Lattimer for exhibiting "_cool resolve under pressure"_ in following James Potter's instructions and keeping the majority of the student body sealed up in the Great Hall while the other prefects were busy leading an angry mob after Jim Potter. Harry should have felt badly about Slytherin's loss, but since the nail in their collective coffin came from the point loss that accompanied Miranda's expulsion and Cassius's suspension, he considered it to be a fair exchange.

Later that afternoon after Harry had changed, he met Neville and Theo out near the Lake by their usual tree. Harry was pensive. He'd been stewing over what Snape said to him about his natural Legilimency for weeks, and he felt he had to get it off his chest with the two boys who he now thought of as brothers. He set up a Muffliato, which showed that it was something Harry thought was serious, but they both knew to let him take his time in saying what it was. Finally, Harry revealed what Snape had said and reminded them of conversations back in First Year where, looking back, he felt that he might have unintentionally manipulated them in order to win their friendship. The two boys regarded him silently.

"Well," he said after a gulp. "Say something? Please?"

"Okay," said Theo. "You re an _idiot_." Harry looked shocked while Neville bit back a laugh. "First of all, I'm a better Occlumens than you could possibly be a Legilimens at this point, so I don't believe for a second you could have psychically manipulated me into something I didn't want. Second, what exactly do you think you did to me? You told me you were my friend which got me to loan you the magic ring that you didn't even know I had at the time, and you gave me moral support in front of the Mirror of Erised that helped me get past seeing my mother's murder. I don't _care _if you did it with some weird mind trickery as opposed to just being my friend as long as when it comes down to it, y_ou really are my friend!"_

Harry thought on that as he turned to Neville. The other boy said nothing at first, but he instead popped his wand out of his holster and pointed it at the ground nearby. "_**EXPECTO PATRONUM.**_" There was a flash of silvery light which resolved itself into Neville's Patronus, a medium-sized silver bear which looked around almost angrily.

"It's okay, Elby. I'm not in danger. I just wanted to prove a point." He turned to the others.

"This is Elby, by the way," he said proudly. "I don't know if I ever told you his name." The bear ambled over to the group. Theo, who hadn't seen the Patronus before, reached out to touch it in wonder. The spirit creature was so well-defined that he could run his fingers through its hair.

"I _really_ want to learn that spell," Theo said. Neville smiled and then let the Patronus dissipate.

"Harry, you're worried that you might have influenced me to be your friend back during our first week at school. Do you remember what I was like back then? Timid, broken down, certain I was a squib, and afraid of my own shadow? Do you think that little boy could have ended up one of the top students in our class? That he'd someday have students who were years ahead coming to him with Herbology questions? That he'd one day become _the youngest wizard in recorded history to have a_ Patronus?" Neville shook his head. "Harry, _I like me_. Two years ago, I didn't think I'd ever be able to say that. Whether you did that to me with accidental Legilimency or just by deciding that I had something buried inside that you could drag to the surface _doesn't matter to me_. I'm grateful either way."

"And I'll bet we're not the only ones," Theo said. "Do you think Hermione would be angry if your suggestion that she learn about wizarding culture so she could fit in and make friends was reinforced with Legilimency? Do you think Marcus would be angry that _you turned his life around for the better_ with magic instead of just a few words of encouragement and support?"

"Okay, okay," said Harry with a certain amount of relief. "But still, I'm worried that I could have used this power to hurt people." Theo rolled his eyes.

"Well even if you did - and I _doubt_ it - you couldn't have known any better because you didn't know this was something you could do. If you're that worried about it, master this power so that it only works when you want it to. I mean, _honestly_! How can it be _bad_ that you get people to do things that need doing by telling them how much faith you have in them and _acting like a true friend_?"

"Here, here," said Neville supportively.

Harry considered all that and relaxed.

"Mind you," Neville said. "If you ever use this power to influence me into doing something _I shouldn't_, Gran will beat you to death with a paper napkin."

Theo perked up. "_Can_ you beat someone to death with a paper napkin?"

Harry smirked. "If I know Augusta Longbottom, she'll have fun trying," he said. The trio laughed at that as the sun slowly descended over Black Lake.

* * *

**2 June 1993  
DMLE Headquarters  
9:00 a.m.**

Mad-Eye Moody looked down at the picture accompanying the Daily Prophet article with an amused expression. Well, as amused as his scarred face could manage, anyway.

**JAMES POTTER SWORN IN AS NEW CHIEF AUROR.**

Potter's hair was as wild as usual for him, but his appearance was otherwise dignified and professional as he shook Minister Fudge's hand and smiled for the camera at his investiture the previous day. The auror wadded up the paper and tossed it into the trash before returning to the job of packing up the personal possessions from his office into boxes. There was a soft knock on the frame of his open door. Naturally, it was James Potter himself, the Man of the Hour.

"What can I do for you, Chief Auror?" Moody said.

"For a start, Alastor, you could call me James since you're no longer a subordinate here in the office," Potter said. "That is, assuming you're really bent on leaving and there's nothing I can do to persuade you to stay."

"I'm really bent on leaving and there's nothing you can do to persuade me to stay ... Potter."

James sighed and entered the office, closing the door behind him. "Moody, if you re really going to do this, at least tell me one thing. What did I do?"

"Pardon?"

"When I was a trainee, you were hard on me, but you also praised me for my potential. When I was a rookie working beside you during the war, you were my mentor. Over the next ten years or so, you were a co-worker, and I like to think you also became a friend. It's only been the last few years that you've treated me like something that offends you by breathing. So please, tell me what I did to offend you, and I'll make it right."

Moody stared at the young man who had indeed become a friend and trusted coworker, as well as a damned fine auror despite his privileged background. Potter's rise had been meteoric, just as Moody had predicted when he'd graduated from the Academy with stellar grades. It was hard for him to believe that once upon a time, he'd been looking forward to serving under Potter's command when he inevitably became Chief Auror. The room was silent save for the whirling of the grizzled warrior's magic eye.

"I had a sister once," he said without elaboration.

James was surprised. "I never knew that," he said with some confusion.

"Few people do. She was a squib, and when she turned eleven, my parents sent her away. I was six at the time. Aside from missing her to this very day, I spent every night from the age of six to eleven terrified that I wouldn't get a Hogwarts letter and I'd get thrown out too."

James said nothing, and Moody returned to his packing, speaking over his shoulder as he did.

"You had an obligation as a father, Potter. You abandoned it for reasons I found inadequate. Do you think I need a stronger reason for my feelings about you?"

"No," James said quietly. "I don't. I'm sorry I let you down." He turned and put his hand on the door handle.

"I'm not the one you should apologize to," Moody said, still without looking at the man.

"I know." James left the office without another word.

* * *

**6 June 1993  
The Hogwarts Library  
4:00 p.m.**

"I can't believe you talked me into this," Harry snapped.

"Oh come on," whispered Neville. "You want to explore your Legilimency powers. Here's your chance."

Harry glared at his friend. He had wanted to explore and learn to master his powers, but in a controlled situation. Instead, Neville wanted him to _mind-whammy_ (as the Gryffindor had started referring to it) a fellow student! Since the Chamber of Secrets incident was resolved, Ron Weasley had been in a state of severe depression. More recently, Jim had received an unprecedented invitation to spend the summer in India with Healer Gupta Baskar, and he apparently wanted Ron to accompany him, mainly because Baskar was a noted mind healer and Jim thought Ron needed that right now. The boy balked, however, certain his family couldn't afford for him to spend the summer in India and also far too proud to accept charity from the Boy-Who-Lived. Neville had come to Harry with a request that he talk to Ron and persuade his fellow Gryffindor to put away his pride and accept the chance to get healing.

And so it came to pass that Harry took a break from exam review to follow Neville to the Library and talk with Ron Weasley, a boy he'd never particularly cared for in the past and who rather recently had sought to kill him. Admittedly, it had been while he was possessed by Tom Riddle, but Harry still thought it was the sort of thing he was entitled to hold a grudge over. But it was Neville, and Neville was his second-best friend (and to be fair, a closer friend than Hermione in some ways due to matters of gender psychology - his conversation with the girl at Christmas proved rather decisively that there were somethings he wouldn't be able to talk to Hermione about without collapsing into a gibbering puddle). Harry braced himself and walked across the Library to the table where Ron sat by himself while studying Potions notes with a somewhat morose expression.

"Hi, Ron. May I join you?"

Ron looked up in surprise. "Sure," he said after a moment's hesitation.

"Listen, I've been meaning to check in with you to see how you were doing."

"I'm fine," Ron said tersely.

"I'm sure you are, Ron, but it was still a traumatic event, and I just wanted to say..."

"Please don't apologize," Ron said interrupting.

Harry paused, his mouth hanging open. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I said '_please don t apologize_.' I know that in the Chamber you were about to kill me. I don't remember much, but I do recall that pretty clearly. And I don't blame you for it. I had a piece of..." Ron stopped and glanced around the Library. "Well,_ you know_ what was inside of me. If there was any chance you could kill him for good by killing me, it would have been completely right to do. I don't blame you at all. Now, was there anything else?"

Harry sat staring at the other boy for nearly five seconds as he processed what Ron had said and considered possible responses. He decided for the "_brutally direct_" approach.

"You want to die, don't you?"

"What?" Ron said in shock. "No, I ..."

"Yes. Yes, I really think you do. I think you were possessed by a monster and made to do things that you're now ashamed of and rather than face what you were forced to do, accept it, and move on, you'd rather just die. Which, to be fair, it s a free country, and it's no skin off my nose, but I'm pretty sure it would break Jim's heart. So for his sake, not to mention your family, of whom I am quite fond, might I humbly suggest that you suck it up, go to India with Jim, and get that mind healing you need."

"I don't need mind healing!" Ron exclaimed. Then, Madam Pince shushed him loudly from across the room, and Ron looked around the Library fearfully to see who had heard his outburst.

"Bullshit. That s pride talking, Weasley. And Gryffindor pride isn't nearly as attractive as Gryffindor courage. Yeah, you were victimized by an evil possessed diary for months. And I was locked in a cupboard for ten years and intermittently starved and beaten. Life is hard. Suck it up and deal." Harry rose from the table as Ron stared at him slack-jawed in a mixture of shock and anger. "I mean seriously. Are you a Gryffindor or not?"

And with that, Harry left the furious boy behind and headed for the door. A perturbed Neville was waiting for him.

"That wasn't _quite_ the interaction I was hoping for, Harry," he said somewhat crossly.

Harry shrugged. "Sometimes it's honey. Sometimes it's vinegar. Let s see how it goes."

* * *

**5 June 1993  
Outside the Great Hall  
8:30 a.m.**

The next morning, Harry was flummoxed when his brother Jim strode boldly up to him before breakfast and pulled him into a tight hug.

"Thank you!" Jim exclaimed. "I don't know what you said to Ron yesterday, but he's coming to India with me. Thank you! I don't know how I can repay you for this."

"For starters," Harry said through gritted teeth, "Never. Hug me. In public. Again."

* * *

**17 June 1993  
The Bloody Stump  
(a small tavern in the magical community of Stebuklinga, Lithuania)**

Peter Pettigrew sat at the bar and shook his head as he read the gossip page from the Daily Prophet. Apparently, James Potter had given his son permission to go halfway round the world on some foolish quest to learn more about Parseltongue. Peter had assumed that James's pathological fear of everything Slytherin would have made him refuse to even acknowledge that Jim _was_ a Parselmouth, let alone get him instruction for it. The solicitor was quite pleased this outcome, as he was eager to see Jim develop a gift that tied him so closely with the Dark Lord. He was also strangely relieved. After everything that had happened, he was still rather fond of James Potter for sentimentality's sake, but the man's rejection of Jim over the Parseltongue matter had become troubling, almost to the point of demanding action. It would have been regrettable if Peter had been forced to execute Contingency Plan G ("Codename: Little Orphan Boy") at this point, even if it would have greatly strengthened his influence over the Boy-Who-Lived.

As he continued reading the society news ("_House of Greengrass Elevated to Ancient and Noble Status_," he read silently. "_Heh. I bet the Selwyns are having a cow!_"), Peter delicately sniffed at the air, and then his nose twitched. He turned around on his barstool and was not particularly surprised to see two strapping Eastern European lads standing over him trying to be intimidating. Granted, a pair of partially transformed werewolves would have been intimidating to most people, but Peter Pettigrew had conquered that fear long ago. Nowadays, their dominance games were just amusing to him, like puppies growling at larger predators, ignorant of the scope of their power disparity and slightly adorable for it.

"You're not from round here," one of them said in a thick Lithuanian accent.

"Why no, my good man," Pettigrew said with exaggerated cheer. "I'm actually from Lincolnshire. Upper Appleby to be precise. Have you ever been to Lincolnshire? It's quite nice this time of year."

"You should buy us a round of drinks," the other werewolf said menacingly. "In fact, why don't you skip the middleman and give us all your galleons so we can buy drinks ourselves."

"Oh, I don't think so, my friend. I'm saving my coin to buy a round _for your alpha_. Is he around perchance?"

Both werewolves stiffened and looked at one another. "Who are you?" said the first one. "What do you want with him?"

"Oh, we're old friends. He and I go _waaaay_ back, we do. Yessiree bob! Way, way back!" Then, Pettigrew snickered as if there had been a private joke in his words.

The one on the left snarled and grabbed Peter by the lapel of his jacket, practically jerking him off his barstool. Peter's smile faded, and he looked down at the werewolf's clawed hand and then back up at his attacker.

"Do you mind," he drawled in a bored voice. "You're wrinkling my suit."

The werewolf pulled Peter in close enough for him to smell the creature's fetid breath. "I don't like you," he snarled.

Peter snorted. "Well, get ready then. You're about to like me even less." Then, with a blur of motion, the wizard lashed out with his right hand, raking his fingernails across the werewolf's cheek. The werewolf let out a hiss of pain and staggered back, letting Peter go in the process. The other one started forward angrily, but Peter held up both hands to show that his fingernails were now two-inches-long and razor sharp, though they were an oddly disturbing shade of pink instead of the black talons the partially-transformed werewolves bore. The second werewolf paused and then turned to his bleeding friend, who was now unsteady on his feet and seemed dazed and delirious.

"Janos! What's wrong?!"

"Stav...ros. Feel diz...zy." Janos pulled his hand away from his bleeding face, and Stavros gasped in shock. The whole side of Janos's face around the four claw marks on his cheek were now covered with tiny white pustules. Janos's legs gave out and he fell to the floor.

"Janos!" The other werewolf snarled and turned towards Peter as if to attack.

"STAVROS!" came a loud guttural voice from across the room. The pack's alpha had arrived. "Stand down."

"But..." A low growl from the alpha caused Janos to shut his mouth. The alpha stalked over to the fallen werewolf.

"What did you do to him, Pettigrew?"

"A magical form of bubonic plague. Non-contagious but even deadlier than the original." Peter carefully walked around the fallen werewolf. "Did you know that the Muggles called bubonic plague _the Black Death_? It killed off half of Europe in the Middle Ages. It came here from the Far East." He gave a toothy grin. "_The rats_ brought it."

The alpha snorted contemptuously. "Will he die?"

Peter shrugged. "Probably not if you get him to a healer quickly. It's quite lethal to Muggles and wizards alike, but you lot are hardier than most. Perhaps if he's lucky he'll survive but gain a valuable life lesson from the experience."

The alpha sighed. "Take him, Stavros. Get him to a healer."

Without looking at Pettigrew, Stavros pulled the delirious Janos up off the floor and carried him from the room.

"What do you want, Pettigrew?"

"Your presence is needed in Britain, my old friend. I have a job for you."

"I haven't set foot on British soil since 1981. You know that."

Peter smiled. "You haven't had the right incentive. I'm here to provide it. I have need of services that only _Fenrir Greyback_, the most dangerous and feared werewolf in Europe, can provide." He took a step towards the menacing figure completely without fear.

"What services?" Fenrir asked. "And what incentives?"

"Several services that call for your ... _delicate touch_. And as for incentives, well, how would you like to kill the son of James Potter? Or failing that, bring him into the pack like you tried to do with Remus Lupin?"

Fenrir smiled. He was always in favor of watching his pack grow.

* * *

**_19 June 1993_  
_Hogwarts Castle_  
**

It was the end of term, and the exam results had shuffled the class rankings a bit. While Hermione was still in first place overall among the Second Years, Neville had topped her in Herbology and Lavender had beaten her by the tiniest margin in Potions. Hermione took it in good humor and promised Lavender that she was going to study hard over the summer, just as Lavender had said to her the previous June. Harry and Hermione were both furious (as were quite a few other students) that, in light of Lockhart being evil, insane, and probably a Death Eater, his class would be treated as pass/fail with no actual grades given, which meant that neither of them would have the bragging rights of being first in the class despite being the only students who served on multiple research teams.

As the students were boarding the carriages for the ride to the train station, most of the teachers stood out on the front steps of the castle to wave goodbye, the Headmaster among them. Filch stood silently beside him with Mrs. Norris in his arms. As the carriages pulled out, the teachers headed back inside, but Filch stepped in front of Dumbledore and held out an envelope for him. After giving the Caretaker a quizzical look, Dumbledore tore it open and read the contents.

**Dumbledore,  
**

**I quit.**

**\- Filch**

Surprised, Dumbledore looked back towards the (former) Caretaker who was headed towards the castle.

"Mr. Filch," he called out. "Argus! What is the meaning of this?"

Filch turned back and studied the Headmaster with a look of contempt. "It means I'm done. I'm taking Mrs. Norris away from here. You can find some other sucker to clean up after these little monsters and make sure they don't all impregnate one another in the broom closets. I'm out!"

"But Argus! Where will you go?!"

"Hogsmeade. Your brother Aberforth hired me to tend bar and keep the place clean. I'm looking forward to it. I'd much rather clean up after drunken reprobates than a school full of snot-nosed brats."

And with that, Argus Filch stormed off, leaving an astonished Dumbledore behind him.

* * *

Just before stepping into the carriage, Harry paused and looked back towards the castle. For just a second, he had the odd feeling that he was being watched. Then, he shrugged and climbed up to join his friends, pausing just long enough to pat the thestral pulling the carriage on its flank.

Up at the top of the Astronomy Tower, two Hogwarts ghosts stood together watching as the students departed. The Fat Friar was a jovial rotund man who hardly looked the part of a ghost at all save for the fact of his translucency. The Bloody Baron, on the other hand, fit the appearance of the Restless Dead to a T with his jangling chains (though they made no sound at all unless he wished them to be heard) and the bloody wounds which covered his immaterial form. If the Friar had any apprehension about standing so close to Hogwarts most frightening ghost, he didn't show it in the slightest.

"When will you talk with him, old friend?" said the Friar as he took another drag from the mead-cup that never emptied yet never truly quenched his thirst. "I know you've been avoiding Potter almost entirely since his Sorting."

"I will meet with him when he is Prince and not before," said the Baron in his cold rasping voice. "That was Salazar's command, and I shall obey for as long as his House endures."

"Hmm. I had wondered if you might be... _accelerating_ things a bit with this case. I don't recall you ever sending a prospect his questing letter as early as First Year."

"You pay too much attention to matters that do not concern your house, Friar," the Baron said dangerously.

"Yes," the Friar replied with a smirk. "That;s one of the things my House is known for."

The Bloody Baron sighed loudly, remembering as he did that he had not need for breath and so the sigh was but an affectation. The Fat Friar was one of the few beings in Hogwarts who could annoy him. Perversely, that was also why he enjoyed the other ghost's company. Besides, of the other House ghosts, Nicholas was a ridiculous fop, and Helena was ... Helena. So who else would he talk to about matters not fit for the ears of either the Quick or the other Dead.

"Time grows short, Friar. Something is _moving_ out there in the Wild. You know that as well as I. We who are Dead cannot yet see the shape of it, but we know that it is there, even if the Old Laws bar us from sharing freely what we do know with the Quick. Only a strong Prince can purge Slytherin House of the rot at its core, and only when Slytherin House is purified can all four Houses stand together to meet that which draws nigh."

"And you think Harry Potter's the one? Forgive me, Baron, but your track record of selecting Princes over the last hundred years is not the best."

The Bloody Baron turned back to watch the carriages as they pulled away. "You are wrong. His three predecessors were each worthy Princes in their own fashion, but each in turn strayed from the path. Regulus was betrayed by his family. Lucius by his pride and greed. And Tom, ironically, by love. Harry Potter has many trials to overcome, but I believe that in time he will sit upon the Throne as Prince and, I hope, fair better than those who came before him.

The Fat Friar sniffed. "Honestly, I've never even understood the point of having a Prince of Slytherin. None of the other Houses need anything like that."

"Do not play the fool, monk. You above all others know perfectly well why a Prince of Slytherin is needed, even if Hufflepuff geniality forbids you from saying it aloud. The great virtue of Hufflepuff is Loyalty, while its great vice is Passivity, a refusal to act when doing so risks those you care about. The great virtues of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw are Courage and Reason, but they share the vice of Arrogance, the belief that either courage or reason is all that matters. But in Slytherin, our virtue is Ambition, and our vice ... is _also_ Ambition. Alone among the Houses of Hogwarts are we the ones most likely to be brought to ruin by our greatest strength. _That_ is why a Prince is needed. Someone with the power and intellect and resourcefulness to rule the House, but also with the wisdom and cunning to do so only from the shadows and only for the greater good of both the House and the wizarding world at the expense of his own prestige."

He turned back to the Friar and looked down upon him imperiously. "I would think that the humility demanded by the role would appeal to a Hufflepuff."

The Friar laughed mirthfully at that and raised his tankard in salute. "Well then, here's to Harry Potter! May he find just enough Hufflepuff inside himself to do the job right!"

The Bloody Baron growled, but the Friar could tell that there was the tiniest twitch at the corner of the old ghost s lips.

* * *

As the Hogwarts Express pulled out of the station, Harry's compartment was full of all his closest friends: Neville, Theo, Hermione, Blaise, Ginny, and Luna. The group had been discussing their various plans for the summer.

By a happy coincidence, Hermione and Blaise would both be in Tuscany for three weeks, and so the Countess Zabini had invited the Grangers to stay at her villa there. What the two did not share was that there was no coincidence - Blaise had arranged for Hermione to meet with his old Occlumency tutor to get some specialized training while her parents were taking in the sights of Old Italy.

Ginny would be spending the summer trying to break the news to Molly that she would be trying out for Draco's spot as Seeker in the fall, which meant that she would need practice time on a broom and preferably not in the middle of the night while everyone else was asleep.

Harry and Neville would start summer tutoring almost immediately after getting back to Longbottom Manor. They didn't know who with yet, but Augusta had written to Neville to inform him that she'd found "_someone who she thought could fill young Nymphadora's shoes quite admirably_." The two were cautiously optimistic but also slightly worried.

Theo was the most relaxed of the group. He expected to spend the summer tooling around Malfoy Manor again, learning from Lucius whatever the man felt like teaching. Apparently, fencing was on the agenda for the summer, which Theo was quite excited about.

Luna would be working with her father at the Quibbler, which seemed less exciting than what her friends had planned, but she nevertheless seemed excited about it.

"Oh, by the way, Harry Potter," she said with her dreamy expression. "Thank you for doing that thing you did to Ronald. He seems much happier now, and his nargles aren't quite so blue and listless."

Harry made a face at the girl while everyone else looked back and forth between the two in confusion.

"Um, what?" said Blaise in confusion.

"Blue and listless nargles mean severe depression," said Hermione authoritatively, "which described Ron rather well. Apparently, he's doing better. Which simply leaves the question of what exactly Harry had to do with it." She turned towards him expectantly.

"I just gave Ron some advice," Harry said casually. "I've no idea what Luna's talking about. No idea at all." He favored Luna with a genial smile which she returned.

"Okay, no offense, Luna," said Theo, "but I m not getting into _nargles_ on the ride home. It'll just give me a headache." He turned to Harry. "I am curious about one thing, Harry. Draco mentioned that Malfoy Manor was down to just two house elves. His mum took one when she left, but apparently, Lucius _sold_ you the other one. What's that all about?"

"It was Dobby. He was the one who warned me last summer that someone was trying to kill me. And he later tried to save my life, albeit in the most roundabout, borderline insane way I could imagine. Malfoy didn't want a house elf of questionable loyalty, so he gave me the option to buy Dobby off of him for a nominal sum. The alternative was to kill him."

"That s horrible!" Ginny exclaimed. Harry just shrugged.

"I'm not entirely sure he'd have actually done it. I think in hindsight it was just an ethics test for me. I failed ... or passed, I guess, depending on whether you're a Slytherin or not."

"Well, since the topic's been raised," Hermione said, "can someone please explain to me exactly what house elves are? Preferably in a way that reassures me that the wizarding world doesn't tolerate slavery in 1993?"

"Well, to be honest," said Blaise, "we kinda do. It's just the slaves in question actively want to be slaves, get offended if not allowed to act as slaves, and will actually die if freed from slavery."

Hermione looked horrified. "So they re, what, symbiotes? They need to bond with wizards to survive?"

"Actually no," said Neville. "They don't need wizards to survive but rather wizard dwellings, places where wizards have lived for a long time. That's why for the most part only rich Purebloods have house elves. They're the only ones with houses that have been around long enough to support the bond. Even a Muggleborn could bond with a house elf if that Muggleborn lives in the right sort of home. Harry could bond with Dobby because he lives at Longbottom Manor and has an inheritance interest in Potter Manor, even though he's technically a guest with us and won't own his own ancestral seat for years to come. There are a few businesses that have house elves because they used to be manor homes before being converted into stores or factories. Quality Quidditch Supplies has house elves because their factory is in what used to be the old Gamp Castle before the Gamp's all died out."

"Are there any laws that protect them being abused?" Hermione asked.

"Not many," Neville admitted. "It is, however, very socially offensive to get caught abusing house elves in any way. It's considered a sign of insanity, actually, to abuse house elves because you're hurting something that by its very nature can never hurt you back so long as it stays in your employ."

"We've never had any house elves," Ginny said. "The Burrow's not nearly old enough to attract or support one, so I don't know much about them. Does anyone even know where they came from?"

"Oh, the usual answer," Blaise said. "A wizard did it. What's known is that house elves have been around for centuries if not millennia. We know they had house elves in Roman times for sure. My own pet theory is that some wizard thousands of years ago tried to enchant his home so that it would make his bed and cook his breakfast and mop its own floors and generally just look after itself without him needing to do anything, but he screwed up and accidentally created a sentient species obsessed with housekeeping. We can argue all day about the ethics of whether house elves _should have been_ created, but the fact remains that they _were_ created, and our options today are either set them free and risk genocide or keep using them as servants but try to make sure they aren't mistreated."

"Honestly," said Harry. "I think sometimes that 90% of the problems we have today all stem from stupid wizards from thousands of years ago who didn't give the tiniest thought to the future." Several of his friends agreed.

"Well," said Theo, "all I know is that I'm glad Mrs. Malfoy - or Madam Black now, I guess - took Mogli with her when she left. That was one _creeeeepy_ elf, and with a little luck, we ll never encounter it again."

And with those words, Theo Nott challenged the gods of irony.

* * *

Even as Theo mentioned Mogli's name, the vicious little elf was perched on top of the roof of the Hogwarts Express engine car. About a mile ahead, the train would soon be passing over a bridge across a deep chasm. The bridge was strong but not strong enough to defy house elf magic. With a single snap of his fingers, Mogli would cause the train to jump the tracks and dive into the ravine below. Many of the children of Hogwarts would die in the disaster. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy would _definitely_ die in the disaster. Mogli would ensure it as Mistress had commanded.

Then, Mogli stiffened and turned around. Behind him on the small roof was _Dobby_, the treacherous little elf who had shielded the Potter brat from Narcissa Black's wrath all year long. Mogli had treasured his time spent torturing his fellow house elf for the Mistress's amusement in years past, but play time was past. It was time for Dobby to pay for his interference.

"Mogli shall not harm Harry Potter," Dobby said in a tremulous but determined voice.

Mogli sneered hatefully. "Dobby will not _stop Mogli from harming Harry Potter."_

The two house elves stood perfectly still and stared deep into one another s eyes.

* * *

**Meanwhile...**

Nine layers removed from Reality, a small pocket universe suddenly came into existence. It was quite small as universes go - no bigger than fifty light years across - but it was far enough removed from Reality that the two Lares could freely act without causing any disturbances to the Material World.

A good house elf leaves no sign of his passage.

Instantly after the battle space's formation, Lar Dobby and Lar Mogli transitioned into the tiny universe already at each other's metaphysical throats. Lar Dobby manifested as a titanic golden figure with two pairs of flaming wings, each spanning a thousand miles and covered with a sea of blinking eyes that were each the size of a small city. His body was humanoid, though his hands and feet were the talons of an enormous raptor, and his head morphed constantly between the shape of a man, an ox, a lion, and an eagle. Lar Mogli manifested as an enormous cloud several thousand miles in diameter and comprised entirely of a seemingly infinite number of flesh-eating scarab beetles. The scarabs were of a now-extinct species once used in the funerary practices of Lost Kemet until it was undone by the Wild long before the first pharaohs came to rule, and their symbology spoke of Mogli's desire to bring death in the service of his Mistress's nihilism.

The great beetle storm lashed out at the winged figure, but Lar Dobby quickly wrapped his wings around his colossal mass to shield against the attack. He retaliated by unleashing a gamma ray burst that would have exterminated all life within this pocket universe had it been inhabited by anyone other than the two Lares. Lar Mogli screamed in pain and anger, his voice echoing down the dimensional corridor so loudly that it would have caused permanent insanity to much of the human race had the two fought no more than three layers removed from Reality. In a fury, Lar Mogli willed the scarabs which comprised part of his vast bulk to solidify into an arm which ripped through a nearby gas giant, yanking out its hyperdense metallic hydrogen core and hurling it at Lar Dobby.

The impact caught Lar Dobby by surprise, knocking him back and into the gravitational well of the blue supergiant at the center of this solar system. As Lar Dobby sought to reorient himself, Lar Mogli pressed his advantage by reconfiguring the shape of his scarab cluster into the Qlippothic symbol of Azariel the Binder. In response, the supergiant instantly cooled while its gravitational field vastly increased, thus transforming the star into a hungry black hole which now threatened to consume Lar Dobby entirely.

But in this, Lar Mogli miscalculated, for just as Lar Dobby was about to cross the Event Horizon, he transfigured the entire mass of his body into an equivalent mass of anti-gravitons, thereby inverting the emerging singularity. Matter became energy. Implosion became explosion. And the black hole became a supernova whose raging force annihilated the exterior of Lar Mogli s scarab storm manifestation and exposed his core.

Then, it was Lar Dobby's turn to press his advantage. He abandoned his winged form and assumed a three-layered manifestation. Simultaneously, he was a burning light of pure Justice that shot through the night and into Lar Mogli's core, an epic poem set to triumphant music that recounted the stirring tale of Lar Dobby's victory over his enemy, and a six-word mantra that struck at the fundamental essence of Lar Mogli's existence. This last aspect was the most devastating: six simple words repeated on an infinite loop which overwrote Lar Mogli's existence at every level of his being.

**_You shall not harm Harry Potter._**

* * *

_The two house elves stood perfectly still and stared deep into one another's eyes._

Then, after barely a second had passed, Mogli swayed and his knees buckled. The murderous house elf started to fall, but it was nothing but a pile of old dead leaves and broken twigs that hit the roof of the engine car before blowing away in the wind. Dobby crossed his arms and smiled in satisfaction before snapping his fingers and disappearing in a loud pop. He was glad to be done with Mogli so that now he could return to the more important job of getting young Master Harry's rooms at Longbottom Manor ready for his arrival, something the house elf thought was vastly more important and more interesting than strivingagainst Mogli's foolishness.

* * *

**Kings Cross Station  
6:00 p.m.**

As the students disembarked, Harry and Neville quickly found Lady Augusta. Neville gave the woman a hug while Harry bowed respectfully. They were both surprised to see Alastor Moody by her side.

"Auror Moody," said Harry. "It's a pleasure to see you again."

"Just Moody, lad," the older man replied. "I'm retired now from the Auror Corps."

"But luckily for you two, he won't be sitting around gardening or anything like that," said Augusta. "Alastor has agreed to serve as your tutor for the summer."

With that news, just as before, Harry and Neville were simultaneously excited and terrified. Once the introductions were over, the two boys said their final goodbyes to all their friends who each made their way off the Platform. The last two to say goodbye were Theo and Draco who came over just as Lucius showed up to take them home. To Harry s surprise, Lucius actually walked over to Augusta Longbottom and gave a deep and respectful bow.

"Lord Malfoy," she said coolly.

"My lady," he said. "Forgive my imposition and forwardness. But in light of our recent political alliance regarding the Greengrass ascension, to say nothing of my own change of circumstances, I had wondered if we might be able to find even more common ground. Would you do me the courtesy of allowing me to call on you at Longbottom Manor on a date of your choosing?"

Augusta gave the brother-in-law of the couple who shattered her family to pieces a look that suggested a strong desire to hex him into oblivion. But then, she contained her anger. As he'd said, the man had allied with them on a matter of serious importance to the House of Longbottom. And if the rumors of his divorce were true, he wouldn't actually be the brother-in-law of the Lestranges any longer.

"Owl me next week, Lord Malfoy," she finally said. "We can discuss a further dialogue about possible areas of agreement."

"You honor me, Madam. These are interesting times we live in. Change is in the air." He turned to Draco and Theo. "Come along, boys." Then, he noticed that Theo was staring off into the distance and had gone completely pale. Harry noticed as well, and both he and Lucius turned as one to see what had shocked the boy so. It was an older wizard with black and grey hair, a beard, and terrifyingly intense eyes. His clothes were Muggle-style, though anachronistic. They were also as black as the darkest night. Instantly, Lucius became as tense as Theo, and Harry himself tensed in response. His worst fears were confirmed with the next word out of Theo s mouth.

"_Father_," he said in a strangled voice.

"Tiberius," Lucius said calmly. "This is a surprise."

"You know me, Lucius," Lord Tiberius Nott said with a cruel smile. "I'm full of surprises. I couldn't help but overhear what you said just now, and I quite agree. _Change_ is in the air. With that in mind, I have elected to change my mind about my son residing with you at Malfoy Manor this summer. I regret not spending more time with my darling boy who I have not seen face to face since he left home for his First Year. I think it s time I rectified that. To that end, Theodore will be coming home this summer. _With me_."

"Tiberius," Lucius began, but the other man interrupted instantly.

"_Do_ give my regards to your lovely wife when you next see her, Lucius." He actually grinned at that comment. Then, he looked down at Harry. "And _you_ must be Harry Potter, the first of your line to be Sorted into Slytherin in untold centuries. And a _Halfblood_ to boot! I must confess I've heard a great many _interesting_ things about you, young man."

Harry stared up at the former Death Eater. "Likewise," he finally said after a beat.

Lord Nott sniffed softly and then turned towards his younger son. "Come along, Theodore. It's time we were away."

"Theo," Neville began but the boy cut him off.

"Well, that's it until next fall I guess," Theo said suddenly with a frighteningly cheerful voice. "Lord Malfoy, I thank you and Draco for inviting me into your home last summer. Lady Augusta, I thank you for the kindnesses you and your grandson have showed me."

Harry stepped forward but for once was at a loss for what to say. He'd actually studied Lord Nott and tried to use his Legilimency to figure out what to do or say and, to his surprise, felt like he'd hit a brick wall. All of his instincts that had guided him for the last two years now bluntly told him that there was _nothing_ he could say to Tiberius Nott that would free Theo from his clutches for the summer or even guarantee that he would not actively harm the boy.

Now that the initial shock was over, Theo seemed strangely resigned to whatever was going to happen. He pulled Harry into a hug and slapped him on the back. "It's alright," he whispered. "Whatever comes, I'll handle it. And I'll see you in September ... if not before."

With that, Theo released Harry and then walked over to his father, who put a disturbingly firm grip on the boy s shoulder and led him away. Theo gave one last look back at the group and waved with a smile. To Harry, it felt like someone trying to keep his friends spirits up even as he was being led to the gallows.

* * *

**The Law Office of Peter Pettigrew, Esq.**  
**6:30 p.m.**

Peter strode into his office after hours, exhausted from his International Portkey, and he was surprised to find his secretary Yvette still behind her desk.

"Yvette! Whatever are you doing here this late?" he said.

She glanced towards Pettigrew's conference room. "That wretched old woman is in there," she hissed in a whisper. Peter could tell his secretary was angry, as her French accent grew more pronounced. "Madam Toynbee! That miserable ancient spinster who only ever comes after regular business hours! She strode in as if she owned the place and said she would not leave until you arrived!"

Peter laughed. "I'll speak to her and make sure she never again insists on remaining if I'm not here. You know how our elderly Pureblood clients are, Yvette. The insist on everything being their way, which is fine because they're willing to pay for it. Now, you finish up and head on home. I won't need you for anything dealing with Madam Toynbee."

"_Merci_, Mr. Pettigrew," she replied, clearly so frazzled that she had actually slipped back into French. She began packing up her things as Peter walked into the conference room, discretely activating its privacy charms as he entered. He was not particularly surprised to find that it contained not an ancient client as Yvette believed, but someone far younger but who had a passion for anonymity.

Narcissa Black-Malfoy. "_Or just Narcissa Black now, I suppose_," he thought to himself.

"I am relieved that the Polyjuice wore off, Narcissa. You are barely tolerable when you are beautiful. It's been a long couple of days, and I don't think I could face your tantrums coming out of the mouth of a nonagenarian. What do you want?"

"I have just learned that Lucius hid the bulk of his fortune from me! I want you to fix it!"

Peter snorted. "Honestly, I d expected as much. I never thought Lucius would have surrendered that much money so easily if he didn't have more squirrelled away. Where did he hide it?"

"He invested it _with Muggles_!" she said, contempt dripping off the last word.

"Heh. Clever. Obviously, old Abraxus never counted on that. I'm sure it was unimaginable to him that Muggle investments might yield more than wizarding investments. It looks like your screwed then, Narcissa. The marriage contract says nothing about the profits of investment outside the wizarding world."

"Honestly, Pettigrew! What am I paying you for?!"

He laughed out loud at that. "You re not paying me _at all_, Narcissa. Any legal advice I give you is pro bono since I cannot be seen handling legal affairs for someone with so many Death Eater connections as you, no matter how pristine you've kept your lovely arms. But I sense there's more than money that troubles you. What else brings you here this late in the day?"

She sulked for several seconds. "I have lost Mogli."

"Eh? How do you lose a house elf?"

"I sent Mogli to kill Harry Potter today. He did not return."

Pettigrew grimaced. "I told you to leave that to me!"

"And what have your machinations gotten us. You haven't contributed anything since we had Mogli put Wilkes's train inside your present for your godson."

"As if Mogli's doxy swarm or that ridiculous nonsense with the cursed Bludger did any better. That train would have killed the little brat except for the fortuitous accident of Rufus Scrimgeour literally falling into its path. And even that redounded to our benefit, since James Potter is now Scrimgeour's replacement. Already, I've managed to pull strings to send no-bid contracts from the DMLE to people who are sympathetic to our cause, not to mention the blood sample I got from Jim Potter. I think my successes speak for themselves, unlike _your_ contributions to our alliance."

Narcissa laughed haughtily and then looked away. Peter thought for a moment and then scowled.

"By the way, how _exactly_ was Mogli supposed to kill Harry?" Narcissa continued to avoid eye contact. "_Narcissa!_ How. Was Mogli. Supposed to kill Harry."

She sighed loudly as if on the verge of a tantrum. "He was to make the Hogwarts Express jump its tracks and plunge over a cliff." Peter stared at the Pureblood in shock.

"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR DERANGED INBRED MIND?!"

"How DARE you?!" she spat back at him.

"Jim Potter was on that train! We need Jim. He's the sworn enemy! His blood must be forcibly taken during an exacting ritual to bring back our Lord not ... not scooped up out of mangled train wreckage _with a sponge_! Are you insane?!"

She jumped up out of her chair.

"I WILL NOT BE SPOKEN TO IN SUCH A MANNER! I AM NARCISSA BLACK OF THE ANCIENT AND NOBLE HOUSE OF BLACK!"

"I KNOW!" Peter yelled back. He also jumped up and stood to yell directly in the woman s face. "I know ALL ABOUT the Ancient and Noble House of Black, Cissy! You only remind me every single time you come here!" Then, he let out a mean snicker. "Even though between the prison inmates, the disinherited, and the dead, you're really the only bit of Black left. How's _that_ working out for you?"

"Damn you, Pettigrew!" She slapped the solicitor across across the face, but he just turned back to grin at her with preternaturally sharp teeth.

"My place in Hell has been reserved for a long time, I think." He walked slowly around Narcissa, staying within her personal space the whole time, intentionally crowding her. "But that's the thing, isn't it, Cissy?" He grabbed her and pulled her in close.

"I _know_ all about your precious lineage. And _you_ know all about _mine_!" He leaned in to sniff her perfume, softly nuzzling some of her hair out of place as he did. She sneered at him contemptuously.

"You disgust me, Pettigrew," she said in a low angry voice.

He snickered once more as he leaned in again. "Yes," he whispered softly. "I do, don't I."

There was but a second of hesitation for her before animal passion trumped her feelings of superiority, and then she threw herself into the man's arms and kissed him almost hatefully. After a few seconds of that, they broke apart just long enough for Peter Pettigrew to whirl around and cast his strongest locking charm on the conference room door while Narcissa Black reached down with her arm and swept everything that had been sitting on the conference table off onto the floor.

Out in the main office, Yvette had just finished packing up her things and was heading towards the door when she took one last look at the conference room door.

"Poor Mr. Pettigrew," she thought sadly. "He'll probably be stuck in there all night."

* * *

**Longbottom Manor**  
**7:00 p.m.**

Neville Longbottom was as upset as Harry had ever seen him. Immediately after arriving at Longbottom Manor, Augusta had left the boys alone in the sitting room while she went to Floo call her own solicitors to see if anything could be done for Theo. Meanwhile, the boy who had been known across the school for his nearly unflappable calm was now nearly on the verge of tears. Harry wasn't even sure how to respond. He was unused to such emotionalism, since he now only felt strong emotion when he chose to.

"Neville, it will be alright," he said. "We'll get him out of there ... somehow."

"But how long will that take?! One of our best friends has been sent off to live with a homicidal sadist and there's nothing we can do about it except _hope for the best_." The boy sat down in one of the parlor chairs and put his head in his hands. "Honestly, I can't imagine how this summer could get any worse."

Harry winced at that. For a long time, he'd mocked Blaise Zabini for his superstitious fear of the gods of irony who would strike down foolish people who dared invoke ancient curse phrases such as "_I don t know how things could get worse_" or "_what could possibly go wrong_" or "_this'll be the best Christmas Walford has ever had._" But the last year had made Harry something of a believer, and Neville s earnest comment suddenly sent a chill down his back.

* * *

**1 August 1993 From the front page of the Daily Prophet**

_**DEATH EATERS ESCAPE FROM AZKABAN!**_  
**SIRIUS BLACK! BELLATRIX LESTRANGE!**  
**THE LESTRANGE BROTHERS! AUGUSTUS ROOKWOOD!**  
**YOU-KNOW-WHO S ENTIRE INNER CIRCLE!**  
**WHO WILL SAVE US FROM THE DEATH EATER MENACE?**

* * *

**To be continued in**

**HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATH EATER MENACE**

**Commencing 1 September 2016**

* * *

**Sorry about the delay, but I hope the length makes up for it. Thanks to all my wonderful followers and reviewers! There will be some light posting between now and September 1. Extremely tentative titles may include the following (in no particular order, and not all may be used):**

**Theodore Nott and the House of Seven Gargoyles  
Ron Weasley and the Secret of the Naga  
Jim Potter and the Beast of Shamballa  
Ginny Weasley and the Curse of Sutekh  
Hermione Granger and the Revenge of the Black Hand**

**AN 1: Draco Malfoy is going to Durmstrang because in canon he does nothing of any importance in Year 3 except petulantly try to get Buckbeak killed, and I ain't a-wasting time on that stupid subplot. Also, I have too many characters and he'd have just ended up standing around making sarcastic comments, and I already have Blaise for that. Drake Malfoy will return in Year 4 as part of the Durmstrang contingent, though I'll tell you now that Victor will still be the Durmstrang champion.**

**AN 2: "Mind you," Neville said. "If you ever use this power to influence me into doing something I shouldn't, Gran will beat you to death with a paper napkin." Theo perked up. "Can you beat someone to death with a paper napkin?" Harry smirked. "If I know Augusta Longbottom, she ll have fun trying," he said.**

**All that was cribbed from "Oh God, Not Again" by the marvelous Sarah1281, one of my favorite HP fics of all time, though in the original version it was Crack-Harry threatening a bemused Lockhart. It s a marvelous parody crack-fic but please don't let that deter you. It's one of my favorite things on the Internet.**

**AN 3: Casting.**  
**The role of Tiberius Nott will be played by Ian McShane.**  
**The role of Fenrir Greyback will continue to be played by Dave Legeno who played him in the films (and who has recently passed away to my great surprise).**

**AN 4: Summer plans. Within the next few weeks, I will finally put some content on my Author page. You can follow updates there as I begin the process of editing the early chapters which I think we all agree kind of suck compared to what came later.**


	83. HP&DEM 1: Prelude (Theodore Nott)

**HARRY POTTER  
AND THE DEATH EATER MENACE**

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

* * *

**CHAPTER 1: Theodore Nott and the House of Seven Gargoyles**

_**19 June 1993 at 5:00 pm  
Nott Manor  
Nottinghamshire, UK**_

A soft pop accompanied the arrival of Theo and his father at the family's ancestral manse. Lord Nott strode brusquely towards the manor house, but Theo paused and looked up towards the foreboding building. He had lived here continuously from the day he came home from St. Mungo's as a baby until the day he left for Hogwarts on September 1st of 1991, save for a few rare social functions. Indeed, had there not been an unusual number of children his age born into families politically allied with his own and with whom he was expected to hobnob, Theo might never have seen another child before getting on the Hogwarts Express. But he had been gone for almost two years, and Nott Hall seemed different. It was certainly as dreary as he'd remembered, but Theo now had the oddest feeling that it had ... _shrunk_ somehow. Shrunk and become less imposing than it had been on the day he left for Hogwarts.

The _gargoyles_, however, were every bit as big and fearsome as he'd recalled. There were seven of the beastly things arranged at odd intervals around the house. Theo had seen gargoyles in books and knew what ordinary gargoyles looked like on Muggle structures. He'd actually been surprised to learn that they were usually mere functional ornaments – water spouts designed to funnel rain off of the roofs of medieval buildings and which had been decorated to look like deformed people or animals for aesthetic reasons. The gargoyles of Nott Manor, however, were statues with no functional purpose.

Well, no _obvious_ functional purpose. Before she died, Theo's mother had warned the young child repeatedly never to play outside of the house without either her or Alex or one of the kinder house elves as chaperones or else "_the gargoyles might get you_." After she'd died and he'd gotten older, Theo eventually decided that there was nothing dangerous about the stone statues and that his mother wished him to stay in the house at all times for some other disturbing reason most likely related to his father. But Theo had become a wizard since leaving Nott Hall albeit only a young one, and his studies both at Hogwarts and under the brief tutelage of Lucius Malfoy had taught him to reexamine his childish assumptions.

The gargoyles were all identical. Each was a short but stocky four-legged beast that looked vaguely like a cross between a lion and a small bull with thick barrel chests and crooked horns extending out of a rough mane. He studied them now with senses that he'd not possessed when he left for Hogwarts and which he had only begun to refine. And those senses told him now that his earlier childish fears had been correct. There was magic in the seven gargoyles. Magic and hunger and also an inexplicable yet terrible rage that was only restrained by their stony natures.

"Theodore!" Lord Nott called out over his shoulder. "Don't dawdle. We have much to talk about."

Theo's head snapped towards his father in surprise, but the man had already turned back around and headed on towards the house. He honestly couldn't remember the last time his father had used his actual first name. Usually, it was "brat" or "little bastard" if not something worse. Theo picked up his trunk and followed after the older man, now studiously avoiding the gaze of the seven gargoyles ... if not their attentions.

Once the two were inside, Tiberius called for a house elf. "Rogo! See to young Master Theodore's trunk. He and I have matters to discuss in my study. Send refreshment when you are done."

The hunchbacked house elf bowed deeply and then silently limped over to Theo's trunk. The boy recalled that Rogo had once accidentally spilled coffee on Lord Nott's trousers during breakfast about five or six years before. The next day Rogo had a limp that hadn't healed in all the years since, and he rarely spoke again except when ordered to. But he'd also gotten a lot more attentive when serving hot beverages, so Theo imagined that his father thought it a fair exchange. There was a soft pop and both Rogo and the trunk were gone.

"Come along now, son," said Nott almost pleasantly as he strode towards his private study. After a moment's hesitation, Theo followed. Soon, they were situated in the Lord's study next to a roaring fire. At first, Theo (who had never been in this room before in his entire life) wondered why his father would have a fire blazing in his study on a hot June day, but as he came nearer, he realized that the flames were cobalt blue and that they seemed to emit coldness rather than heat. That explained why the room was cool, bordering on chilly. Or perhaps that last bit was the result of Theo's nerves. As he sat, Theo reinforced his Occlumency shields for perhaps the tenth time since first spotting his father at King's Cross Station. Though he felt confident that any Legilimens who casually reached into his mind would find only the dutiful thoughts of an obedient son, part of him still feared that he would never be able to fool his father with such lies.

Or that his father would think kindly of him even if he believed the lies were true.

"Shall we take tea, Theodore?" Tiberius asked with unnatural politeness. "It is, after all, the British Muggle's one indisputable contribution to proper society."

"Yes, please," Theo replied calmly. Tiberius said nothing else as he poured two cups for himself and his youngest boy. He did crook an eyebrow when Theo politely declined milk, sugar, and lemon all.

"_Well, __Dad__,_" Theo thought to himself. "_I don't know how __you__ drink it, so I have no way of knowing where the poison is, now do I?_"

Tiberius handed the cup over to his son, and the two drank in silence for a few moments until the older man spoke again. Relative silence, anyway – Lord Nott had a habit of slurping his tea.

"Now then, Theodore. It's been a long time since we've talked like this ... father-to-son. Tell me, how have things been at Hogwarts?"

"Oh, you know. The usual." Theo took a long sip of tea. "I was petrified by a basilisk, but I got better in no time. Other than that, it's been rather boring. Just studying and tests."

"But still leaving time for physical activity, I see," Tiberius said, completely ignoring the shocking news about his son encountering a basilisk. "Why I think you've grown at least half a foot since last I saw you!"

"_Yeah, that happens to growing boys over the course of __two years__, Dad," _Theo thought to himself while maintaining his outer shell of total placidity. "Our most recent DADA instructor, the one apparently responsible for all the petrifications, believed in physical fitness. Every weekday morning, most of the students had to rise at dawn for a regimen of exercise. Calisthenics. Running. Basic hand-to-hand combat. Even an obstacle course."

Tiberius nodded. "Your brother Alexander tells me that they have similar programs at Durmstrang. Personally, I've never seen the need for such nonsense. We are wizards. We have wands. Whatever sort of danger would we ever face that would call for Muggle brutishness in place of our magical birthright?"

"_Uh-huh. I wonder if that attitude has anything to do with how you've gained at least two stone since the last time I saw you. You never could resist a second helping of dessert._" Theo shrugged. "Lockhart wanted it. The Headmaster approved it. None of the students had any say in the matter. I suppose it could have been worse." He paused. "By the way, where is Alex? Shouldn't he be back from Durmstrang by now?"

"Alas, he was delayed by school business and took a later train. It seems your brother Alexander has been selected as one of the Durmstrang Sixth Year prefects and was required to stay behind for an orientation meeting. He is expected to arrive early Sunday afternoon." Theo actually smiled at his brother's good fortune while Tiberius continued. "Now, let us move on to the rest of your ... Hogwarts experience. How are your grades? How have the teachers been treating you? Well, other than the one that caused you to be petrified, of course. Have you made any friends? Or enemies? Any Mudbloods or blood traitors causing you any problems?" Tiberius paused to slurp up some tea. "I hear tell that some uppity little Mudblood tramp is first in your class! I suppose she must be simply _awful_! In _my_ day, we'd have dealt _properly_ with trash like that."

Despite his best efforts to occlude, Theo put his cup back onto his saucer with just _a little_ too much force, causing them to clank audibly. Most Muggles would not have even noticed the sound, but Purebloods of Ancient and Noble Houses are taught the social graces practically as soon as they finish teething, and Theo couldn't help but grimace at the faux pas he'd made. He looked up at his father.

"Her name is Hermione Granger. She's been first in our class two years running. And yes, she is generally believed to be ..." Theo paused for a fraction of a second to decide whether to use the word his father obviously wanted to hear. In his mind's eye, he saw Hermione's eyes and felt the warmth that was always in them and decided that his father could rot. "... a _Muggleborn_. However, there is some speculation that she is related to the Dagworth-Grangers, most likely through squibs."

"Really," Tiberius said almost languidly. "How interesting. I suppose that is why our dear friend Lucius Malfoy allowed her to tutor the children of his vassals, Crabbe and Goyle. Duncan and Gregory Sr. were both quite vexed about it and told me so repeatedly when they dined here."

Theo raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware that our House socialized with Lord Crabbe and Lord Goyle except when they were accompanying Lord Malfoy. If I remember correctly, you had previously described them as ... _beneath_ us."

"Hmm. Yes. Yes, I did. Sour grapes, I suppose. You see, in retrospect, I think I was a bit jealous of the fact that Crabbe and Goyle were both vassals of our good friend Lucius Malfoy rather than myself. Even oafish buffoons can be of value if they can remember to vote which way you tell them to. Their five votes each added to my own bloc might well have moved the Wizengamot in a more ... convivial direction on a number of issues."

He took another loud slurp, causing Theo to wince slightly. "And speaking of our good friend Lucius Malfoy, how was the summer last which you spent with him? Did he treat you well?"

"Quite well, Father. He was a perfect host."

"I've no doubt. I'll wager he treated you as if you were his own."

Theo froze for just an instant. He knew his father had been toying with him since the moment he'd arrived at King's Cross, but there was definitely a hidden meaning in that last sentence that was lost on him. Slightly afraid that something important had just slipped past, he elected to say nothing in response, and after a brief silence, Tiberius shrugged his shoulders and moved on.

"But in any case, I now see that jealousy is a futile and unnecessary emotion. Even more so now in light of recent developments. Do you get along with the Crabbe and Goyle heirs?"

Theo nodded. "I've had no difficulties with them worth mentioning."

Slurp. "And Goyle's young ward, Amaryllis Wilkes?"

The boy hesitated. Harry had told him of Lord Goyle's plan to possibly marry Amy off to Tiberius Nott, a man more than forty years her senior, as part of a monstrous plot to somehow acquire the missing Wilkes fortune. Was this where his father was going?

"I haven't spent that much time with her to be honest. She's a year behind me after all."

Tiberius nodded. "And besides, I suppose so much of your time is monopolized by the Potter Heir, isn't it?"

"_And __finally__ now we stop dancing and get to the heart of it!_" Theo cocked his head to the side as if contemplating the matter. "I would hardly say he monopolizes it, Father, but he is the Heir to an Ancient and Noble House, though obviously not one with which we normally associate. Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter each have their own circle of friends. I found Potter's both easier to enter and potentially more lucrative to House Nott."

"Did you indeed, Theodore?" Just a hint of coldness crept into the former Death Eater's voice, but Theo refused to be intimidated.

"Yes, father, I did indeed. Although there is no love between House Potter and House Nott, Harry Potter _loathes_ his parents and has almost as much disdain for his brother, the Boy-Who-Lived. But he has been able to conceal that disdain for the most part, and now has influence over Lord Potter, who is also the new Chief Auror. Was I _wrong_ to develop a relationship with him? Harry _is_ a Slytherin, after all. Just like us."

Tiberius said nothing at first. He simply stared at his son with the ghost of a smile and an altogether disturbing gleam in his eyes. "Just like ... _us_, you say? What an ... interesting way to put it, my son. Perhaps sometime soon we'll have more opportunities to, shall we say, _explore all our commonalities_."

Theo said nothing. Once again, he thought that there was some subtext to his father's words that he was missing beyond the obvious one of their barely concealed mutual hatred for one another.

"But that comes later," Nott continued. "Finish your tea and then go up to your room and get freshened up. You said you had '_no difficulties_' with Crabbe and Goyle _fils_. Perhaps tonight we can improve your relations with them. We'll be hosting the Crabbes and the Goyles this evening at eight o'clock sharp. Formal attire of course."

The boy blinked a few times as he processed this. "The Crabbes and Goyles are coming here tonight, Father? May I ask why?"

"Can not an old widower open up his musty old home to entertain two men who were once his comrades in arms, along with their families."

"Comrades ... in arms?" Theo said carefully.

"Well," Tiberius said with a nasty smirk. "That's how I choose to remember them. Comrades in arms from those awful, awful days when we were all three Imperiused into serving the Dark Lord. Totally against our will, as you well know."

Theo nodded at that but said nothing. After a few more seconds, he stood and bowed respectfully to his father and then left for his room. Once inside, he leaned his back against the door, closed his eyes, and exhaled heavily. Then, he surveyed the bedroom that hadn't been slept in for nearly two years. There was a faint mustiness to the room, but the house elves had dutifully kept it clean and free of dust. He passed into the en suite bathroom and washed his face. When he came back out, he noticed that his dress robes that had been in his trunk were hanging from the closet door, freshly pressed. He examined them briefly and then moved over to open the dresser which was already full of his Hogwarts clothes.

For several seconds, Theo stared down at the clothing which had also been in his trunk as if lost in thought. Then, he quickly opened the trunk and confirmed that it was completely empty. THeo hesitated, and despite his considerable Occlumency skills, he noticed that his heart was beating faster. Slowly, he reached down to the base of the trunk and tapped a particular knot in the polished pine with a rhythmic pattern. An invisible seam in the wood opened up to reveal the secret compartment in which he'd concealed his Notice-Me-Not ring, his poison detecting monocle, his Occlumency books, and all the other things which his older brother had given him without their father's permission to help protect him both from enemy's at Hogwarts and enemies much closer to home.

For nearly five seconds, Theo forgot how to breath. The secret compartment was empty, and all the magical items within were gone, presumably taken by Lord Nott's house elves when they emptied his trunk. Theo slid down to the floor with his back against the trunk and put his face in his hands.

* * *

_**That night ...**_

All things considered, dinner went surprisingly well. Tiberius insisted that Theo sit at his left hand at the long dinner table, but he had not been called upon to make much small talk with the grownups. After dessert, Lord Nott ordered Theo to lead the other children to the parlor and entertain them "with Exploding Snap or whatever you children play nowadays." The adults would retire to the Billiard Room for drinks and discussion. Once in the parlor, Theo led Greg, Vincent, Amy, and Drusilla through a quick game of Snitch Snatcher, a board game version of Quidditch. Over the course of the game, Theo discreetly gave Amy the signal Harry had devised and shared with his Slytherin allies that indicated he needed a distraction. After allowing Drusilla to win the first game, Amy announced that she needed to use the facilities and would Theo please show her where they were. Gallantly, he led the girl out of the room while the other three set up for another game.

"So where are we really going?" Amy whispered as Theo led her down the gloomy oak-paneled corridors of Nott Hall. She shuddered as she spoke – aside from being dimly lit, the walls were covered by the spoils of Lord Nott's many hunting expeditions. Among his other eccentricities, the man was an enthusiastic amateur taxidermist.

"_We_ aren't going anywhere," Theo replied. "_You_ are going to the loo, while I am doing some sneaking about. There's actual security that has to be bypassed where I'm going, and since you don't know this place as well as I do, you'd only get us caught." He stopped in front of a large door. "Here's the toilet. Spend as much time here as you think seems plausible. If I'm not here when you get back, head on back to the others and make up some excuse for me." He paused. "Tell the Crabbes that I've gone to get snacks. They'll buy that."

"Theo," Amy asked tentatively. "Are you in some kind of trouble?"

He smiled wanly. "Amy, we're the blood traitor children of Death Eaters. When are we not in trouble?"

With that, he headed off around the corner and then paused long enough to twist a wall sconce. A small door opened in the wood paneling, and the boy darted inside. Quickly, he made his way through the nest of secret passages in the manor, deftly bypassing the alarms Tiberius had put into place. Soon, he was standing in front of a glass window that overlooked the billiard room. Or at least, it was a glass window from the side Theo was facing. From the perspective of those on the other side, it was a rather lurid moving portrait of Acteon being transfigured into a stag and then ripped apart and devoured by his own hounds as punishment for surprising the goddess Diana as she bathed. As Tiberius had happily explained to Theo years earlier, the moving painting had been commissioned by the former Lord Decius Nott back in the mid-19th century to celebrate a successful hunt. The "model" for Acteon was a poor Muggle who had been hunted down and killed by Decius and some of his friends prior to the ban on Muggle Hunting, and the portrait was drawn from Decius's cherished memories of the event. From Theo's side of the painting, the poor Muggle's death was only a faint after-image repeated over and over again, which he did his best to ignore as he watched and listened to the scheming of his father and the other four Death Eaters who had come calling to seek his favor.

* * *

_**20 June 1993  
8:00 a.m.**_

Theo had risen at dawn, as was now his practice, for a brisk thirty minute jog around the grounds. As he ran, the boy reached out with his magical senses to get a feel for the placement of the estate's wards. He couldn't tell what each ward did, but during his brief tutelage with Lord Malfoy, he'd learned to tell where wards were and how to identify any that were physically dangerous. He was mildly surprised to note that the estate did not appear to have any wards that could instantly incapacitate or injure intruders as Malfoy Manor did. Instead, there only appeared to be alarm wards although, of course, it was always possible that those alarms could trigger some other magical effect that was beyond his perception. His magical senses were still quite weak, and he'd not had a chance at Hogwarts to refine them since there were just _too many_ wards at the school for a beginner to make sense of.

He returned to the house, got a quick bath (Lord Nott disapproved of showers as being "Mugglish"), and then went down for breakfast which was served in the main dining hall where the formal dinner had taken place the night before. Then, Theo had sat at his father's left hand. This morning, they were at opposite ends of the long table more than twenty feet apart.

"Good morning, Theodore!" Tiberius said jovially as Theo entered. The greeting actually startled the boy – Tiberius not had never wished him a good morning in his entire life. He took a deep breath and smiled as cheerfully as he could manage.

"Good morning, Father," he replied easily as he took a seat. There was already a plate in front of him with half of a grapefruit on it. Theo sighed. One of Tiberius's few quirks that could be considered merely annoying rather than horrifying was his insistence that everyone in the household eat the same three-course breakfast every morning: half a grapefruit, a plate of scrambled eggs and sausages, and a strawberry blintz for dessert. When the boy had arrived at Hogwarts, he'd actually been amazed at the diversity of breakfast foods available, since he'd assumed everyone else in the world ate the same thing every morning as well. Silently resigning himself to a summer of breakfast monotony, he sliced into the grapefruit with his spoon.

"Did you enjoy your time spent with your schoolmates last night, Theodore?"

"Yes, Father. It was quite enjoyable. Did you have an enjoyable time with the parents?"

"Mmm," Tiberius said around the huge chunk of grapefruit that filled his mouth. "Enjoyable and profitable." He reached for a napkin to wipe away the grapefruit juice that had dribbled down the side of his face before continuing. "It seems that Duncan and Gregory Sr. both see more advantage to joining my camp than remaining in Malfoy's, particularly since the fool has apparently become a Muggle-lover. I always thought he was weak ... him and his spawn." Tiberius gave Theo a funny look at that.

"There have been rumors that Lord Malfoy was no longer able to afford to pay the Wizengamot dues for their Houses. Something to do with his divorce from Draco's mother."

Tiberius barked out a laugh and then attacked his grapefruit once more with gusto. "I've no doubt. Poncy fool never deserved a woman like her."

Theo looked up in surprise but resisted the temptation to ask his father about his sudden appreciation for Narcissa Black, opting instead for safer ground. "If Lord Malfoy is truly unable to pay for his vassals, do you plan to swear them to House Nott?"

"In time," he replied. "Their oaths to House Malfoy are still valid through the end of the year. In January, though, heh-heh, we'll see some changes I wager."

"_Yeah, Dad,_" Theo thought to himself as he picked at his breakfast. "_Including a marriage announcement!_"

The boy was still sickened by what he'd learned the night before while spying upon his father's meeting with the other Death Eaters. Goyle was really going to do it! He was really going to sign off on a marriage contract between Amy Wilkes and Tiberius Nott, in exchange for a lump sum payment of half-a-million galleons to House Goyle plus ten percent of whatever eventually gets recovered from the missing Wilkes fortune after Tiberius had sired a son with his child bride. Except that the Wilkes fortune apparently wasn't missing after all – all the Death Eaters at the meeting the previous night knew that whatever Erasmus Wilkes had left behind was contained in an impregnable vault somewhere beneath the ruins of Wilkes Manor, but it was only accessible to whoever held the title of Lord Wilkes ... though apparently _Regent_ Wilkes might have just as much access if the next Lord Wilkes was an infant.

It took all of Theo's emotional self-control to resist his urge to hex his father. Not that it would do any good, as the man was a skilled duelist and also protected by magical defenses built into the manor house itself while he was on the grounds. The one bright spot was that the Death Eaters believed that Lucius Malfoy would likely oppose the marriage while Goyle remained his vassal, which meant that Harry had until January of 1994 to work one of his patented Potter miracles.

The two Notts made idle chitchat as they finished their respective grapefruits. Rogo cleared away the dishes and then brought in the second course on two covered plates. The elf removed the cover from Lord Nott's plate, and he tore into a sausage aggressively. Then, Rogo placed the other covered plate before Theo, and as the boy picked up his knife and fork, the elf pulled the cover away. But there was no food on the dish.

Instead, there was a silver ring, a brass monocle, two books, and several other minor magical trinkets – in short, everything that Alex had entrusted to his little brother and that the boy had kept hidden in the secret compartment of his trunk.

For several seconds, the room was silent save for the scraping of Tiberius Nott's knife and fork as he calmly devoured his eggs and sausages. "How's your breakfast, son?" he finally inquired in a cold voice.

Theo leaned back in his chair and looked his father squarely in the eye. For a second, the boy expected some kind of Legilimency attack, but nothing came. As he'd suspected, Tiberius had never had the patience or self-control to learn the art. Indeed, Theo suspected that Tiberius didn't even know any Occlumency beyond the bare minimum he'd needed to conceal his status as a Death Eater.

"Well, _Father_, the grapefruit was alright, but the second course doesn't look like it would be very filling." As casually as he could, Theo wiped his own mouth with his napkin and then placed it on his lap. As he did, he carefully moved his hand towards the wand in his pocket. He needn't have bothered. Rogo snapped his fingers, and the wand flew out of its resting place, hovered in the air for a few seconds, and then gently floated down to the serving tray to join the other magical items. Theo glared at the crippled elf who merely shrugged.

Tiberius snorted cruelly. "Now then, Theodore. I find myself with a mystery to solve ... and a punishment to levy. I see two possibilities. The first is that you _stole_ these heirlooms of House Nott from your brother to whom they had been entrusted, a crime that demands harsh punishment. The second is that your brother _gave_ you those heirlooms for your own use. That seems unlikely to me, of course. Alexander did _ask_ me if he could give you some of those objects when it was time for you to go to Hogwarts, but I _expressly forbade _him from doing so. Still, if he _defied_ me..."

The man gave every appearance of careful consideration, but Theo wasn't fooled. This was a prepared speech.

"Alexander is my Heir Apparent, and the law bars me from properly punishing him for all but the most serious of infractions. But defying a direct order _not_ to mishandle family heirlooms?! _That_ is something for which the law would allow me to properly chastise him for his disobedience despite the protections of his Heirship. And I _would_ chastise him most harshly for defying me in this manner."

Tiberius tilted his head and smiled. "You've experienced such chastisement in the past when your misdeeds have forced me to take up my fatherly duties, Theodore. Which made a greater impression on you? The lash? Or the cane?"

Theo said nothing at first. He simply reached out for his water glass and took a long sip before offering a reply. "Well, the cane certainly left bigger scars, _Father_. But speaking hypothetically, what would you do if I said it wasn't Alex but _me_? If it turns out that I stole these heirlooms without Alex's knowledge and that he is guilty only of not telling you because he was afraid of how you'd react? What sort of punishment would _I_ receive? _Hypothetically_, that is."

The man's smile broadened into a grin. "If you were to _confess_, Theodore? Why in that case, your punishment would be ... _nothing at all_." He paused. "Well, certainly nothing _physical_ at least."

Theo's eyes widened. "Oh really?" he said almost sarcastically. "No punishments? That's a bit of a switch for you. You also said '_harsh_' punishment just a second ago. And I recall you being rather enthusiastic at punishment whenever I did something you didn't like. After all, you've only _hated me since the day I saw you MURDER MOTHER!_"

Tiberius's expression seemed almost amiable at that accusation. "Oh that's not true, Theodore – I hated you long before then. _But_, I am being quite truthful. You see, stealing family heirlooms is a crime serious enough to permit me to do what I've wanted to do for a long, long time – kick you out of this family for good."

"What are you talking about? You could have disinherited me any time you wanted!"

"Disinheritance is not enough, you little _bastard_!" the vile man spat. "When I die, Alexander will claim the Lordship, and he would have the power to _reinstate_ you. I want you gone forever. And if you were to ... _confess_ to the crime of stealing heirlooms, I would have the right to expel you in a manner that no future Lord Nott could undo. You would cease to be Theodore Nott and instead would become ... Theodore No-Name, at least until you could persuade some other foolish wizard or witch to adopt you into their family. Or perhaps you could persuade someone with a respectable background to marry you. That Mudblood you're so enamored with, perhaps. Either way, it would be no concern of mine."

"You really expect me to believe that you'd just let me go once I'm out of the family? That I should expect you to refrain from trying to _kill me _once I give up my name?"

Tiberius scoffed. "What makes you think your last name can stop me from killing you now? There are more than enough Wizengamot members who share my views and would never tolerate the Lord of an Ancient and Noble House being punished in any way, but certainly not over the death of a rebellious second child who had become an unrepentant blood traitor. But I am being quite truthful in this – once you're no longer a Nott, I swear I'll take no further action against you. Indeed, I will summon our solicitor and swear _an Unbreakable Vow _promising that I will never intentionally seek to harm you and will never deliberately command others to do so in exchange for a confession of your crimes against House Nott. Your inheritance from your mother's dowry will pay for your Hogwarts education with a little left over for living expenses. Other than that, you will walk out of here with your wand and the clothes on your back and nothing else, and Alexander will be unable to provide you with any further assistance in the future. But you will be free of me. And I of you."

Theo sat quietly. More than anything else, he wanted to talk to Harry Potter or at least Blaise Zabini right now. His Occlumency kept him calm and focused, but his particular strain of cunning didn't lend itself to legal maneuvers.

"If I confess as you want, what's to stop you from having me arrested and prosecuted?"

"The legal process that will see you stripped of your name – _Sanctumen Ultimo_ is its formal name – is considered a punishment that trumps all others where the Noble Houses are concerned, but if you wish, I will also state in my Unbreakable Vow that I will never seek legal redress against you for anything you may have done before today."

The man smiled again, just as cruelly as before. "Of course, all this is conditional on you being the one who stole those heirlooms for your own use. Alexander will be home tomorrow. If you have not confessed, I will ask him whether he was the one responsible and see what he says. Perhaps he'll confess in order to save you. Perhaps he will blame you regardless of the truth to avoid punishment. Perhaps he'll choose one of those options after an hour or so on the rack... with you in attendance as witness. I do hope that all my old equipment is in good working order. It hasn't seen use since ... since I was under the Imperius and the Dark Lord _forced _me to torture Mudbloods and blood traitors. Against my will, as you know."

Theo closed his eyes and centered himself. From the day his mother died until the day Harry Potter called him a friend, there had been exactly one person in the entire world who had cared about him. The rational part of Theo's mind was screaming that there was some trick or hidden trap he couldn't see because he lacked the knowledge of legal process to identify it. That even with an Unbreakable Vow, there would still be some way for his father to hurt him or maybe even murder him. But the emotional side of him simply didn't care, because the worst thing that Tiberius Nott could do to Theo would be to kill him, and he would rather die than watch his brother Alexander be tortured just for trying to protect him.

"I want to know what the Vow would say before I agree to anything. That and what you want me to say in my ... confession."

Tiberius reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out two rolls of parchment. "As it just so happens..."

* * *

A few hours later, Nott's solicitor, an unusually tall and disturbingly pale man by the name of Mortimer Renwick, had come and gone. Theo had actually been surprised to see the man out and about during the day, as he'd only ever visited the Manor before at night and Theo had always suspected Renwick to be a vampire. He would file the official paperwork on Monday morning, along with a copy of Theo's confession which the boy had been required to write with a blood quill. It had been a long and detailed confession, which was why Theo's left arm was now wrapped up with gauze bandages through which some fresh blood could still be seen. The fact that Theo caught Renwick staring at his bloody arm and licking his lips did little to reassure the boy that he was not, in fact, a vampire.

Once the documents were filed, Theo Nott would officially become Theo No-Name in the eyes of Wizarding Britain, though the solicitor advised that some of the initial effects would be triggered immediately upon Lord Nott signing the paperwork. After Renwick left, Theo had been "allowed" to pick out some clothing he could take with him (specifically one set of casual wear plus some extra underpants) out of Lord Nott's "generosity." Said clothing, along with the boy's school uniforms, books, and supplies, was unceremoniously tossed into a beaten old trunk pulled down from the attic, one which was not remotely as nice as the trunk he'd used for his first two years at Hogwarts. Theo had also been permitted entry to the kitchens to make himself a sandwich before leaving, but no house elf was permitted to help him. Which was fine with Theo as he wouldn't eat anything prepared by a Nott house elf anyway if he could avoid it.

Just after noon, Theo walked out the front door lugging his battered old trunk behind him. Then, he stopped short and took in the scene. All of his clothing and personal possessions except for what was now in his trunk was in a big pile in the courtyard in front of the house. The picture of Theo's late mother that had hung in his bedroom was perched on top so that he could see her sad face. Tiberius stood next to the pile, and as soon as Theo came out, the man smirked contemptuously before aiming his wand at it. "_**INCENDIO.**_" As most of the boy's worldly possessions went up in flames, Tiberius sauntered over to him before aiming his wand at the trunk and shrinking it down to pocket size. Theo bent down to pick up the trunk before pocketing it.

"Consider that the last favor I'll ever do for you, Theo No-Name."

"And, ironically, also the first. I don't suppose transportation to ... anywhere other than here is in the cards?"

Tiberius reached into a pocket and flipped a galleon to him. "You're still a wizard, boy. Once you're outside the wards and on the main road, you can call the Knight Bus." Then, from another pocket, he withdrew Theo's wand and handed it over.

"Thanks," Theo said sarcastically. He turned and looked down the cobblestone driveway. It was about a quarter-mile to the massive archway that marked the entrance to Nott Manor. On either side were tall trees, part of the large forest that surrounded the manor house.

"Well, you'd better hop to it," Tiberius said. "It's a long walk to the main road after all. It's good that you've taken up physical exercise... like a good little Muggle-lover, I suppose." He turned and walked up the steps towards the front door as Theo started down the lane. But then, the former Death Eater turned and called out to his former son.

"Wait!" Theo turned back towards his (ex)father. "Whatever else I am, Theodore No-Name, I am a Nott, and we come from a long line of sportsmen and hunters. It would be unsportsmanlike of me to simply let you leave without advising you of two details. First, I swore an oath that I would never intentionally try to hurt you. Now that you are disowned pursuant to the rite of Sanctumen Ultimo, _I no longer __need__ to hurt you intentionally_. Your future suffering is assured ... _by operation of law._"

Theo stared at the man but refused to give him any satisfaction by asking for any further explanation. He supposed he'd find out soon enough what Tiberius meant. "And the other thing?"

Tiberius smiled like a predator. "It does not contravene my oath never to intentionally hurt you if I simply remove my protection from you and allow events to take their natural course. You are no longer welcome in my home, Theodore No-Name. And Nott Manor has ways of dealing with intruders." Then, he turned and stalked into the manor, while Theo's attention was drawn to a cracking sound from the roof above.

As Theo watched in horror, three of the stone gargoyles slowly came to life and turned their heads down to stare at them, a low bestial growl coming from each.

Behind the boy, there was a quarter-mile-long private road that led to the front gate. He had no idea how fast the gargoyles could move, but he felt certain they could run him down on a straight path. The boy's face took on a determined expression.

"_Good thing for me I've been trying to figure out how to escape since I was seven!_" he thought to himself before taking off away from both the house and driveway and towards the much closer tree line. Behind him, Theo heard three massive _thumps_ followed by the sound of the stone gargoyles in pursuit. Ruefully, he realized he'd been right – the gargoyles sounded remarkably fast for heavy stone constructs.

Luckily, the woods surrounding Nott Manor were dense but also relatively free of predators, whether magical or no. Within seconds, he was into the forest. He risked a glance over his shoulder and was gladdened to see the gargoyles had slowed down since they were too big to duck around trees and hop over obstacles as nimbly as an athletic twelve-year-old boy. Theo gave a silent thanks to Gilderoy Lockhart (or whatever the former DADA professor was calling himself today) for eight months of fairly intense physical education. However much disdain Tiberius Nott had for physical exercise, Theo had been near the top of the Second Years for the PE class, and his time spent running obstacle courses served him well today.

In less than five minutes, a breathless Theo found what he was looking: the fifteen-foot-tall stone wall that marked the physical boundaries of the Nott estate and also the boundary of its wards. And if his memories of this place were correct, less than twenty feet beyond the wall was a public road. The boy's face and arms were full of scratches from the brambles he'd barreled through, and his clothes were torn and muddy. But he was nearly free ... _if_ he could get over the wall before the gargoyles caught up with him. Theo ran towards a nearby tree whose heavy branches actually extended up and over the wall. Behind him, there was a crash as one of the gargoyles smashed its way through a hedge bush. He climbed as fast as he could and had just made it up onto a strong branch when the gargoyle leaped at him, missing his foot by inches. Snarling, the beast stepped back and then ran at the base of the tree, slamming into it with its great bulk. The tree shuddered, but Theo held onto the branch with a death-grip and did not fall. The gargoyle slammed into the tree a second time, then a third. The last blow actually made the tree shake and creak a bit. In the distance, Theo could hear the other gargoyles approaching.

The gargoyle started backing away from the tree for another go, and Theo saw his chance. He took a second to balance himself and then ran forward along the thick branch. Just as it started to give from his weight, he jumped and successfully grabbed hold of the top of the wall with both arms. He pulled himself over and dropped to the ground, giving out a pained yell as he twisted his ankle on the landing. A second later, the wall shook as the gargoyle slammed into it from the other side. Theo quickly pulled himself up and hobbled on one good leg towards the nearby road. If the wall truly marked the boundary of the wards, then he was safe.

Unfortunately, it did not. Or perhaps the gargoyles were simply capable of pursuing intruders beyond the Manor's wards. Either way, the gargoyle's forearms and head suddenly came over the top of the wall, and the massive beast struggled to pull itself over and continue the pursuit. Desperately, Theo staggered to the far side of the road as the gargoyle finally got past the wall. It was less than forty feet away, and running away was no longer an option. Theo pulled his wand out of his back pocket. Harry had given him a wand holster as a Christmas present, but unfortunately, it had gone up in flames not fifteen minutes earlier. He held his wand at the ready while the gargoyle prepared to strike. The creature took two slow steps towards Theo and then broke into a running leap.

At the last possible second, Theo thrust his arm out with his wand sticking straight up in the air. Suddenly, there was a flash of light, a squeal of brakes, and a deafening horn, as a purple three-decker bus appeared from nowhere to slam into the gargoyle at incredible speed. The impact hit the gargoyle head on, and it flew down the road, shattering into pieces. Theo peered around the front of the bus and back towards the wall. The heads of the other two gargoyles appeared over the wall as they took in the destruction of their brother.

"One down! Six to go!" the boy yelled out triumphantly. Then, he pulled himself up the steps of the bus. A flustered conductor helped the injured boy up.

"Um, welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or, ah, wizard. My name is Stan Shunpike and, ah ... _what the hell did we just hit?!_"

Theo took out the galleon his father had given him. "No idea, but they seem to come in threes, so I suggest you get us moving before the other two come after us."

Stan paled at that. "Alrighty-then. Where to?"

"Longbottom Manor, Lancashire."

"And your name?"

"Theo N..." Theo froze. While he knew that he was no longer a part of the Nott family, he'd started to say his former name out of reflex ... and was surprised to find that he no longer could. The words "Theo Nott" simply wouldn't come out of his mouth.

"No-Name," he finally said in a very quiet voice. "Theo No-Name."

"Hmm," replied Stan. "Does that have a hyphen in it?"

* * *

_**Longbottom Manor  
Lancashire  
6:00 p.m.**_

Exhausted from the days events, Theo relaxed in a comfortable overstuffed chair in the parlor of Longbottom Manor and tried not to wince as Andromeda Tonks rubbed a healing ointment into his sprained ankle. Although she and her husband Ted shared the duties at their small clinic, she was the one who had specialized in pediatric healing. Also present were Lady Augusta, Neville, and Harry. The latter two were a flurry of emotions: relief that their friend had made it to Longbottom Manor safely but also sadness and fury as Theo shared the tale of his adventure. He'd arrived an hour earlier, beaten and exhausted but free, and he'd immediately and formally requested sanctuary from Augusta and Neville, which they were quick to grant.

"The ointment should fix your ankle on your arm by morning, young man," said the healer. "And the Murtlap Essence will have healed all the cuts from the blood quill. And by tomorrow , I'll have a regimen of potions ready for _all the other things_ that have been done to you over the last twelve years for which you've never received treatment."

Theo smiled. "Thank you, Healer Tonks."

"I still can't believe he made you use a blood quill to write a whole confession!" said Harry angrily. "I had to sign my name with one once. That was _enough_!"

"Yeah, but enough about my sad, sad life," said Theo. "What are we going to do about Amy?"

"Relax, Theo," Harry said. "We've got time ... and options. Artie and Hestia are working on possible solutions, and you yourself said we've got until next January. I promise you, we'll save her."

In point of fact, Harry _already_ had a plan in place to rescue Amy Wilkes from her impending forced marriage (and likely her subsequent murder). It was, however, a risky and wildly Gryffindorish plan that would sacrifice most of his long term agenda and also potentially trigger a national controversy that would make Jim getting outed as a Parselmouth seem inconsequential in comparison. Which was why he was grateful that he still had seven months to come up with a less explosive alternative.

"I'm kinda more interested in what your father did to disown you," said Neville. "I know it's possible to disown a family member, but I've never heard of way that can't be reversed."

"Likewise," said Andi. "And I have some experience in this matter, seeing as how I spent several months as '_Andromeda No-Name_' before Ted and I got married. Theoretically, the next Lord Black could reinstate me, but since that's most likely going to be Narcissa's boy, I'm not holding my breath. Anyway, the first few months of my expulsion were near the end of my last year at Hogwarts, and it was not a pleasant time in my life. But I survived it, and so will you. You have a good group of friends who will support you and, as I understand it, no hostile family members attending Hogwarts. _I _was in school at the same time as Narcissa ... and Tiberius."

"Fath... Tiberius and Narcissa Black actually went to school together?" Theo asked. "He, um, talked about her with ... well, unusual fondness, for him at least. Which, honestly, is something I never imagined him capable of. Did they ever ... date?"

"Oh, it was all so long ago, but I do think they went to Hogsmeade together a few times. That all ended when our father signed her up for a betrothal contract."

"With Lucius Malfoy?" asked Harry.

"Actually, she was _supposed_ to marry Cassius Malfoy, Lucius's older brother. He died in an accident in ... '75 or '76, I think, and somehow Lucius ended up marrying her instead. Poor fellow. They never did get along when they were at school together. Divorce is quite rare among wizard-kind, but I'm not at all surprised to see it in their case."

Harry said nothing but simply absorbed that insight into Lucius Malfoy's personal history.

"Were there any other ... complications from losing your family name, Healer Tonks?" Theo asked while trying unsuccessfully to conceal his nervousness. "Tiberius hinted that ... that I might _suffer_ from being called Theo No-Name."

"Trust me, Theo," she said authoritatively. "It doesn't hurt in the slightest to be disowned from people who hate you and who you hate back."

Theo smiled wanly. "Yeah, but he said it wasn't just a disownment. It's something special that has to be filed with the Wizengamot tomorrow morning." Theo closed his eyes and summoned up the memory. "_Sanctumen Ultimo_, he called it. Do you know what that is?"

Andi shook her head no, but then she and the three boys were startled when Augusta Longbottom dropped her tea cup to the floor and stared at Theo in shock.

"Theodore," she said intently. "This is very important. Do you mean to say that when your father disowned you, he did so pursuant to the Ultimate Sanction provision of the Inheritance Act?"

Theo looked at her in surprise before stammering an answer. "He never said anything about the Inheritance Act or gave the English translation. He just called it the _Sanctumen Ultimo_. Why?"

But Augusta didn't answer. She was already up and briskly walking towards the floo. A dash of floo powder later, she was practically yelling into the fire. "Podmore Residence, London."

"Gran, what's going on?" asked a suddenly nervous Neville, but the woman shushed him. Seconds later, Artemus Podmore poked his head into the flames.

"Augusta? What's wrong? Is it something with Harry?" he asked.

"No ... at least not directly, although I'm sure he'll be very interested in what you have to say. Please come through. It's very important"

Three minutes later, Harry's solicitor was seated across from Theo, listening to the boy's story with a grave expression. Then, he turned to the group and explained the history of the Sanctumen Ultimo, the Ultimate Sanction.

In 1588, England was attacked by an alliance of wizards and Muggles from Spain led by Duke Estaban de Cortez y Slytherin, the most powerful and influential descendant of Salazar Slytherin alive at the time. The invasion was repulsed by a combination of Muggle seamanship, wizarding weather-manipulation, and copious amounts of luck. While the British victory was a source of immense national pride to the Muggles during the reign of Queen Elizabeth I, the Wizengamot took a more jaundiced view of what had been the most serious magical attempt to conquer the nation since the time of William the Conqueror. Their fears were exacerbated by the fact that there remained several British wizarding families, including four who held seats in the Wizengamot itself, who were openly descended from Salazar Slytherin and who were suspected of divided loyalties, if not actual treasonous intent. After much heated discussion, the Wizengamot eventually passed the Inheritance Act of 1588 which enacted sweeping reforms to the process by which Heirs to Wizengamot families could eventually claim their family seats. It also required the various Slytherin-descended families to disclaim their heritage, take new family names, swear allegiance to Wizarding Britain over all other nations ... and expel any family members who refused to comply. To facilitate this last requirement, the Sanctumen Ultimo was added to the Act to _ensure_ that no descendant of Salazar Slytherin nor any other wizard whose heritage threatened the body politic would ever be able to make use of his family's resources in the process.

"But ... the Notts aren't descended from Slytherin," Theo said in confusion. "Are we?"

"We have no way of knowing, but it doesn't really matter," Artie said. "The Ultimate Sanction was not limited to Slytherin families even though that was the reason for its passage. It can be used against _any_ member of a family with a hereditary Wizengamot seat whose Lord judges that family member guilty of treason or any other action which if left unchallenged threatens the survival of the family."

"Treason?! All I confessed to was stealing a few minor family heirlooms! And I didn't really even do that!"

Artie sighed. "I'm sorry, Theo, but the statute ... doesn't actually define what sorts of crimes can be used to justify the Ultimate Sanction. The Inheritance Act was passed in a time of national panic and included many clauses that in retrospect were ill-advised. The only thing that has prevented misuse of the Ultimate Sanction for the past 400 years has been social convention. And for the most part, that's been enough. There were about a dozen wizards from Slytherin families subjected to the sanction in the immediate aftermath of the law's passage, and no more than a half-dozen in the four centuries since, all of whom were wizards and witches who'd already been sent to Azkaban for serious crimes. I don't think it's been invoked at all in over a hundred years, and I've never heard of a Wizengamot Lord using it frivolously out of sheer spite towards a family member, but ... I'm afraid nothing in the law actually forbids that."

"How bad is this, Artie?" Harry asked. "What will the effect on Theo be?"

"At its fundamental level, it works sort of like an Oath of Enmity except that it targets an individual with a social curse levied by the Wizengamot rather than calling upon the personal magic of a family head."

"An Oath of Enmity," Theo said. "Like what was going on between the Weasleys and the Malfoys." He shook his head and sighed deeply. "In other words, Alex is going to hate me for the rest of my life. Okay. I ... I can deal with that. Just so long as he's safe."

Artie looked at the boy with profound sadness and then shook his head. "Theo, I'm ... sorry, but ... it's not just your family."

Harry's eyes narrowed at that. "Go on, Artie."

"It's _like_ a curse of enmity, but it affects everyone in your former family, plus all their vassals." He took a deep breath. "_Plus_ everyone with whom House Nott has sworn a reciprocal oath ... and all of _their _family members and vassals. It's like ... a _web of hatred_ that connects to every wizard who's connected to your former house via a magical oath of any kind, no matter how indirect. And since House Nott is an Ancient and Noble House..."

Silence fell on the room. Theo leaned back against the chair and closed his eyes.

"We ... the Notts have reciprocal oaths with everyone who has a Wizengamot seat," he said quietly. "The whole world's going to hate me."

"Theo, come on," said Neville. "That's not true. You'll always have a place here with use. Isn't that right, Gran?" He turned back towards Augusta but was shocked by the stricken look on her face. "Uh, Gran?" He asked again more nervously, but it was Artie who answered.

"Tomorrow morning," he said in a grim voice, "Nott's solicitor will fill the papers sometime around 9 a.m. Shortly thereafter, every member of the Wizengamot, all of their families, all of their employees, and even anyone they've loaned money too will all be affected. When any of those people even _think_ about Theo, they will immediately feel an overpowering sense of dislike. They will distrust everything he says. They will believe any negative stories they hear about him and discount any positive stories."

"You mean they'll act towards Theo like Muggles do around me," said Harry bitterly. Artie looked at him in surprise. "It's okay, Artie. Everyone here knows."

Artie had an almost pained expression on his face. "I see. Well, you're right. The reactions will be similar, although we have checked you for magic similar to this, and your ... condition is not related. And I don't think the Ultimate Sanction will likely trigger any violent responses against Theo, just gestures of contempt or dislike." He turned to Neville. "And yes, Neville, as Heirs to Ancient and Noble Houses, you and Harry will both be affected. Your Heir's ring won't protect you, Neville. If anything, it will make the effect more pronounced. Harry will be less affected because of his Occlumency training, but even then there will be problems."

"Such as?" Harry said in a clipped voice. Artie looked back to him and was mildly startled. The boy's eyes looked ... greener than usual.

"Ahem. Well, with your level of Occlumency, it would be possible for you to block out the imposed feeling of enmity, though it would likely be exhausting to do so constantly. However, those who can resist the effect and who choose to associate with Theo for extended periods of time will _also_ eventually become subject to the enmity albeit in a lesser form. If you maintain an open friendship with Theo at Hogwarts, eventually your fellow students who are affected will look upon you the same way they do him. The safest course would be to publicly feign a dislike for him while keeping your continued friendship a secret. And if your friendship came out, it _might_ be something your father could use against you."

"Harry..." Theo began, but Harry interrupted without even looking towards him.

"What about teachers at Hogwarts? Is there anyone who _won't _be affected? Surely Dumbledore won't start to hate Theo because of this."

"Teachers and staff will not be affected, as Hogwarts is shielded by its treaties with the Wizengamot and the Ministry. I imagine Muggleborns will be unaffected, as will most Halfblood students whose parents are neither Ministry employees nor bound by oath to any Noble House. Ministry employees and their families may or may not be affected depending upon their department. Healers are immune, since their oaths are to provide healing regardless of personal feelings about their patients. Likewise solicitors like myself."

"So how do we _end _it?" Neville interrupted angrily. "Lord Nott talked about adoption or marriage..."

"Yes," said Andromeda. "That is how I was able to take Ted's family name."

Artie shrugged. "Marriage would do it, I suppose, but both you and your prospective spouse would have to be over the age of seventeen and also have the approval of your spouse's head of house. Adoption could theoretically be done faster, but not just anyone can adopt Theo under these circumstances. As a practical matter, only another Noble family could do it, and they could _only_ avoid falling under the Sanction if a member of the family owed Theo a life debt or if some comparable level of oath magic was in play."

"Theo saved my life," said Neville firmly. "And we've already offered him sanctuary."

"Neville," said Augusta gently. "While you may feel that Theo helped to save you back during your first year at Hogwarts, the actual requirements for a true life debt were not satisfied. You don't actually owe him a life debt. I'm sorry, but we cannot simply ... adopt Theo." She looked over to the other boy sadly. "No matter how much I would like to."

Theo smiled at her. "I appreciate that, Lady Augusta."

"Would the Sanction survive the death of Lord Nott himself?" Harry asked in a cold voice. A hush fell on the room as everyone turned to look at him. After a few seconds, Artie coughed softly into his hand.

"Yes. Yes, I'm ... afraid it would. Short of the two procedures I've outlined to secure a _new_ name for Theo, the effects of the Sanction will last for the rest of his life and be passed on to any children he has. Historically, most people subjected to the Sanctumen Ultimo eventually fled the country rather than spend their entire lives as ... untouchables."

At that moment, there was a sudden flair of light from the fireplace and a voice called through.

"Longbottom Manor!" Theo's eyes widened in recognition and surprise. "This is Alexander Nott of House Nott. With your permission, I'd like to come through to see my brother."

* * *

At Theo's request, Lady Augusta quickly allowed his brother through. Though Theo had talked about him often, this was the first time Harry had seen the older Nott brother. A Sixth Year at Durmstrang, Alex looked like a taller and fitter version of his brother, though he wore his hair short, almost in a buzzcut, compared to Theo's shaggy moptop. He was still wearing part of a Durmstrang uniform when he came through the floo and bowed to Lady Augusta.

"Your ladyship, I hope you will forgive my forwardness, but I fear my time may be short. Might I speak to my brother alone. I swear on my fam... on the honor of my school that I will give all due respect to your hospitality."

Augusta nodded at his self-introduction and then directed the two brothers to the nearby library. As soon as they were gone, Harry went over to speak with Artie who argued quietly with him for a few minutes before they heading to over the floo themselves. To Neville's surprise, they were going to Potter Manor. Meanwhile, Andromeda stood lost in thought for a moment before heading through the floo herself to the Tonks Clinic.

Minutes later, when Alex and Theo were alone, the older boy pulled his sibling into a tight embrace. Finally able to relax his self-control for the first time in days, Theo broke down and wept into Alex's chest.

"I'm sorry ... it's all my fault! I sh-should have hidden those things better. I'm so sorry, Alex."

"Shhh, Theo! Stop that. It's not your fault. It's all mine, not yours!"

Theo looked up at the other boy. "How can it be your fault? You weren't even there!"

Alex stepped back with a sad expression. "Theo, Father's known that I gave you the ring and the other heirlooms since last summer."

Theo could only stare, dumbstruck.

"He demanded the ring back last July when you were at the Malfoys. He needed it for something. Still don't know what. But when I couldn't produce it, he knew I'd given it to you and demanded that I tell him what else I'd given you." Alex ran his hands through his thin hair. "We had a big row over it. Finally, I gave him an ultimatum."

Theo did a double-take. "_You_ ... gave _him_ an ultimatum?"

Alex nodded. "I was confirmed as Heir Apparent by that point, and in another year, I'll be of age. I told him that if he didn't leave you alone, I'd go to the DMLE and denounce him as a Death Eater. Say I had proof that he'd faked being under the Imperius. We went round and round and finally ... we cut a deal." He looked down at the floor, his face flushed with shame. "I'm just sorry I wasn't clever enough to make it a better one."

The younger boy stared at Alex in confusion. "What kind of deal?"

"We swore an Unbreakable Vow. He was supposed to leave you alone. He wouldn't hurt you. He wouldn't disown you. He wouldn't do anything to interfere with your Hogwarts education." Alex blinked away his own tears of frustration. "The oath he swore to you this morning? There wasn't anything in it that he hadn't already sworn to." He shook his head ruefully. "It was all my fault. If I hadn't pushed so hard, he'd have never started looking for a loophole and never found that damnable Ultimate Sanction!"

Theo stood very quiet, almost without breathing. The knowledge that the elder Nott's Unbreakable Vow from this morning was meaningless was less important than what else Alex had said. "You _both_ swore an Unbreakable Vow? Alex, what did you swear? What was _your_ part of it?"

The boy sighed loudly. "Luckily nothing too bad. So long as he doesn't try to harm you, I'm bound not to reveal any family secrets. I can still talk to you for the time being because ..." he drifted off.

"_Because he'll continue thinking of me as family until tomorrow morning._" Theo thought ruefully. "What else?" he asked urgently. "Tell me!"

"Nothing worth mentioning," Alex replied.

"_ALEX!_" Theo practically yelled. Finally, Alex shook his head.

"Like I said, nothing important. You know that father's insane, especially when it comes to the Dark Lord. He's convinced that You-Know-Who will come back from the grave someday and lead the Purebloods to glory. It's all rubbish, of course. Dead is dead. I even asked Headmaster Karkaroff about it one time – it's not common knowledge, but he was a Death Eater in his youth – and he was emphatic that the Dark Lord was dead for good. So when Father demanded it in exchange for his oath to leave you be, I swore that if the impossible happened and the Dark Lord returned bodily, I would swear allegiance to him and take the Dark Mark."

Alex shook his head and laughed at the absurdity of his father's demand. "Like I said. Nothing worth mentioning."

Theo could only stare speechless with horror at his older brother who had unwittingly sold his soul on Theo's behalf and gotten nothing to show for it.

* * *

An hour later, it was time for Alex to say goodbye. Harry and Artie had returned from Potter Manor after less than twenty minutes, and whatever had happened left Harry mad enough to spit nails. Soon after, Andromeda also returned, with Ted Tonks along for the ride. Alex gave Theo one last hug before he left and whispered one last farewell.

"Just remember. When we see each other again, the Sanction may make me act terribly towards you, but remember – _it's not me. _In my heart, Theo, I will _never_ stop loving you."

Then, Alex Nott wiped his eyes and stepped back through the floo to Nott Hall. He would never recognize Theo as his brother again.

The rest continued to talk until well after midnight. After a long private conversation, Ted and Andromeda Tonks announced that they would take in Theo for the summer. As Ted was a Muggleborn and Andi was disowned from her House, neither would be affected by the Sanction. They could not formally adopt the boy, but so long as their fostering was kept quiet, they would suffer no adverse reaction from putting a roof over his head. They would return to Hogsmeade tonight and prepare a room while Theo spent one last night with Harry and Neville.

* * *

_**21 June 1993**_

The Tonkses returned for Theo the next morning and transported him back to their clinic-slash-home for the summer. Augusta, suddenly no longer hungry, excused herself, leaving Neville and Harry to finish their breakfast in relative silence.

"So," Neville said after a few minutes. "We never got round to talking about it last night, but what happened when you went to Potter Manor."

"Nothing," Harry spat. "_Literally_ nothing. James said that he's sorry, but there's no legal options to prevent Tiberius from using the Sanction against Theo. He _did_ promise to talk to Pettigrew and see if there were any legal hurdles they could throw up to stop the Nott-Wilkes wedding. And while I may not care for Peter Pettigrew very much, he _is_ a good lawyer. He may be ..._ sketchy_ but it's not like he's a Death Eater or anything."

Neville nodded and ate his breakfast in silence for a few minutes.

"What?" Harry finally said. Neville looked up at him in surprise. "You want to ask me something but are nervous about it. Natural legilimens, remember?"

The other boy made a face. "_That's_ going to get annoying, I think." He played with his food for few seconds before speaking again. "Last night ... what you asked Artie ... about whether Lord Nott's death would end the Sanction... How serious were you?"

Then, it was Harry's turn to play with his food for a while. "I ... dunno. If it would save Theo from ... well, what _I've_ had to live with for my whole life, then yeah, I think I would try to arrange Tiberius Nott's death." He looked up nervously. "Do you think ... less of me for saying that?"

"No, because it's a moot point. But Harry, I remember what you asked me back in First Year. About how you wanted me to be a compass for you. And I take that seriously. Jumping straight to murdering somebody as nearly your first thought? Your compass is a little worried that you might be heading in the wrong direction."

Harry nodded but said nothing. After all, he _did_ ask Neville to act as a moral compass for him. And he still thought he needed one. Intellectually, he understood that a boy of his age shouldn't be thinking about the practicality of murder as a way to achieve an objective. And yet, he'd been ready to kill Draco in First Year and been prevented by a minor miracle from killing Ron Weasley in his Second. He was a Slytherin being groomed to become the _Prince_ of Slytherin, a position for which ruthlessness was an essential trait. And he was now being mentored by two former Princes, both of whom had body counts of their own. But he still recalled what Dumbledore and Scrimgeour had said as well. That killing _changes_ a wizard. And Harry feared that such changes might be irrevocable.

"My compass ... should relax. Killing Tiberius Nott wouldn't help Theo at all. It might even make things worse for him ... and for me. Anyway, I'll ... think about what you said. Thanks Neville."

Neville smiled and returned to his eggs and toast. A few minutes later, Harry shuddered involuntarily and looked around the room.

"What?" Neville asked.

"I dunno. Felt weird for a second. Like that Muggle expression. '_Somebody just walked over my grave._'"

Neville made a face. "Muggles have weird expressions."

Harry sighed. "I suppose so."

The two were silent for a few more minutes. Then, Neville grew thoughtful. "So are you going to try to stay friends with Theo now? No matter what the cost?"

"Absolutely. We'll try to stay discreet about it, I suppose, but I don't turn my back on my friends. And you?"

Neville said nothing for a while, and Harry studied him casually. "I dunno," Neville said. "I mean it's awful what happened to him. But when all is said and done, Theo's still the son of a Death Eater. Who knows? Maybe Theo has that kind of evil inside himself. You'd expect that from someone who was raised by Tiberius Nott, wouldn't you?"

Harry bit on a piece of toast and chewed it slowly. He felt a strange coldness creeping into the pit of his stomach. "Maybe?" he finally said noncommitally.

"I mean, yes, I do owe Theo for telling me about what Remembralls did back in First Year. But was he really helping me out of the kindness of his heart? Or was he trying to manipulate me somehow? Maybe I should wait and see how everyone else reacts before I commit to staying his friend. What do you think?"

Harry swallowed and looked over Neville's shoulder at the clock on the wall. It read _9:05_. The Ultimate Sanction was in effect, and it had already twisted Neville's feelings and emotions.

"If that's your decision, Neville, I respect it," Harry said in a quiet voice. But his inner voice said something very different.

"_Death Eaters,"_ he thought furiously. "_I really __hate__ Death Eaters."_

* * *

_**40 DAYS UNTIL AZKABAN**_

* * *

**And we're back! ****The next chapter will be posted on Friday, September 16, 2015. "Hermione Granger and the Revenge of the Black Hand," in which Hermione, Blaise, and Gunther take in the sights of Tuscany, and I get dinged in reviews by people who've actually been to Tuscany and can point out my mistakes.**

**AN 1: I have good news and bad news. The good news is, my work load has greatly increased which means more money in the bank. To be honest, I originally started working on this project out of boredom during a period of underemployment, so this is a nice change. The bad news is, my increased workload will, for the foreseeable future slow down my progress on The Death Eater Menace. I will definitely not be abandoning this work, but I don't think I can commit to weekly updates for the foreseeable future. Instead, I'm shooting for 10-15k updates every two weeks. If my writing schedule improves and/or I get more free time, you'll see more updates.  
**

**AN 2: The first several chapters will deal only peripherally with Harry, but they will establish aspects of the Wizarding World through the eyes of his friends which will definitely affect him later. That said, I actually had to significantly rework my outline for DEM because it was looking less like a Harry Potter story and more like a "Marauders reminisce about the old days for six chapters" story. I have come up with a framing device that will hopefully allow Harry to experience and possibly even interact with those memories of yesteryear. We'll see how it goes.**

**AN 3: Also, against my better judgment, DEM will include time travel shenanigans. It won't be the same kind of time travel shenanigans we saw in Prisoner of Azkaban, but it will be there and I'm nervous as hell about it. Wish me luck.**

**AN 4: As of this date, I have updated the first 7 chapters of POS. If you have a moment, take a look. I decided against sweeping changes because I thought that would undermine the later plots, but I think I've improved the dialogue to make it less clunky.**


	84. Chapter 84 - No, I'm not abandoning

To my faithful followers:

I deeply apologize, but Chapter 2 of Death Eater Menace is a bit behind. This is mainly but not entirely due to forces beyond my control, and I am cautiously optimistic that I will have the next chapter posted by Monday 9/19/16 or by Friday 9/23/16 at the latest. When the next chapter goes up, I will also have an announcement up about the update schedule for the foreseeable future.

Please do not post a review to this chapter, since if you do, you won't be able to post a review to the actual chapter and I'd rather folks not waste their reviews on "_What's wrong? Why are you late? Are you dying or something?_"

Thanks for your patience,

The Sinister Man


	85. HP&DEM 2: Prelude (Hermione & Blaise)

**HARRY POTTER  
AND THE DEATH EATER MENACE**

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

* * *

**Chapter 2: HERMIONE GRANGER AND THE REVENGE OF THE BLACK HAND**

_**28 June 1993  
Amerigo Vespucci Airport  
Florence, Italy**_

As the jet touched down smoothly, Hermione Granger smiled as she contemplated the wonders of Muggledom that most of her classmates could not imagine. Two and a half hours from London to Florence via Muggle conveyance! The only thing wizards had that would have been both faster and safer was an International Portkey which, according to Blaise, made most travelers violently ill in the aftermath. After two years at Hogwarts, the young witch was still continually amazed at the potential of magic, but she was still a Muggleborn at heart, and her magical knowledge only heightened her appreciation of what Muggles could achieve without such benefits. She'd mentioned to Lavender Brown that she and her parents be spending a few weeks this summer in Florence, and the other girl had actually asked how long it would take to travel by steamboat. Lavender (who was highly intelligent herself and well-versed on magical matters) had been aware of the existence of "planes" but seemed to think that Muggles were still limited to World War I era biplanes, and she was almost disbelieving when Hermione explained the entire concept of modern jets and the fact that every major city had an airport through which thousands of Muggles passed every day to travel the world.

Beside her, Dan and Emma Granger chatted amiably with each other, but there was a slight undercurrent of tension between them. The two dentists lived quite comfortably and were experienced travelers, and they had even been to Tuscany twice before, though this was the first time with their daughter in tow. However, this was the first time either of them would be staying in a magical home, and while Blaise reassured Hermione that the Countess Zabini's villa just outside Florence was "Muggle-friendly," she knew that this would be her parents' first real exposure to the lifestyle their only child had chosen to embrace. Indeed, the Grangers had already gotten an unpleasant exposure to the magical world after Hermione had spent two days the previous week in bed rather violently ill – the expected but still disagreeable side effect of drinking the Italian Language Potion. The girl was now completely fluent in Italian (with the mildly annoying exception of Italian words which did not come into usage until after 1932, the last time the potion had been updated), but her reaction to the Educational Potion was still rather alarming to the two medically-trained Muggles.

After disembarking, the Grangers made their way through customs and on to the baggage area where they quickly spotted the hulking form of Gunther Hagrid, the Countess's manservant and chauffeur, who was holding a cardboard sign that said "GRANGERS." Hermione had been somewhat surprised to learn from Blaise that Gunther was a cousin to Rubeus Hagrid, the Hogwarts groundskeeper. Other than their unusual size and bulk, the two looked nothing alike. Though huge and imposing, Gunther was not nearly as big as his cousin, and where Hagrid was notable for his shaggy black mane of hair and his incredibly thick beard, Gunther had close-cropped red hair and a neatly trimmed goatee. Gunther never attended Hogwarts and apparently had no magic of his own, but his eyes gleamed with an intelligence and cunning that spoke of years spent learning from the School of Hard Knocks, especially when compared to the dreaminess Hermione found in the eyes of the gentle and somewhat naive half-giant.

Standing next to Gunther was her friend Blaise who smiled and waved as soon as he saw her. The boy was in casual yet stylish Muggle attire: a blue silk shirt and khaki trousers. As the Grangers drew near, he held out his arms in a welcoming gesture.

"_Buongiorno!_ Welcome to Florence!" He then proffered his hand to Dan Granger who shook it firmly. When Emma offered hers, he took it and gave her a hand-kiss. Finally, he gave Hermione a warm hug. "If you'll come this way, we'll get your baggage and head for the car. We need to make a quick stop to register Hermione's wand with the Italian Ministry since she's underage, and then we'll head to the villa."

The ride to the Ministry offices was uneventful save for the surprise the Grangers registered when the Countess's vintage Bentley turned out to be bigger on the inside than the outside. On the way there, Blaise politely answered the Grangers' questions about magical and Muggle Florence. Though the Countess enjoyed what Muggles would describe as a jet-setting lifestyle, her villa in Tuscany was among her favorite homes and she spent a good portion of each year there. Indeed, since Blaise had started his magical education, he had spent the majority of his summers in Florence on account of Magical Italy's comparatively lax views on underage magic. Unlike Britain's blanket ban on all magic performed by minors, Italy simply placed a Charm on all wands held by minors which would prevent them from functioning at all if directly observed by any Muggles. The Italian Trace would also record all spells performed while the minor was in public. There was no danger of a Muggle directly witnessing underage magic, and any underage spells cast otherwise would be logged and evaluated to see if the spell either threatened the Statute of Secrecy or otherwise had been cast with malicious, reckless, or criminal intent.

"That actually seems a much more sensible way of doing things than what the British Ministry does," said Dan Granger. "Why don't the British do it that way?"

Blaise shrugged. "So long as the Statute of Secrecy is honored, the ICW grants each member nation the right to monitor and control underage magic however its government wishes. My cynical theory is that the British approach – a blanket ban that can be overcome for minors whose parents can pay exorbitant fees for summer lessons – is just a way for the Ministry to bilk rich Purebloods who want their children to remain advantaged over Halfbloods and Muggleborns."

"That's very cynical indeed," said Emma. The boy smiled.

"I am Italian, _Signora _Granger. We're all cynical when it comes to government action."

* * *

The procedure for registering Hermione's wand was swift, surprisingly so. The bureaucrat in charge of the process was haughty and dismissive of the "English tourist _streghe_" for all of eight seconds before Blaise introduced himself as the son of "_la Contessa Zabini_" at which point he nearly tripped and fell down to the floor in his haste to expedite the process.

The group arrived at the Villa Zabini just in time for lunch. The Countess herself (fashionable as ever in a floral sun dress) met the group on the front steps with a florid welcome offered in English with a heavy Italian accent. She then kissed all three Grangers on the cheek and congratulated Emma Granger on marrying "such a handsome and virile-looking man" as Dan, a comment which caused Dan to blush, Blaise and Hermione to wince, and Emma to respond with the least convincing smile Hermione had ever seen on her face.

Over a luncheon out on the poolside terrace, the Countess laid out her proposed itinerary for the Grangers over the next three weeks, one involving trips to museums, vineyards, spas, and other attractions for the adults while Hermione spent her time with Blaise and his magical tutors while also exploring Magical Italy with Blaise, Gunther, and the Countess herself. Left unsaid was that Hermione would also be spending time with Blaise's Occlumency tutor for a crash course in a borderline illegal discipline that carried a significant risk to her mental health. There were some things, after all, that one's Muggle parents simply didn't need to now. Regardless, the Grangers accepted the Countess's proposed itinerary, but they did want to spend some time with their daughter, and the Countess reassured them that there would be plenty of time for "family excursions."

The Countess also explained that Mr. and Mrs. Granger would be staying in the villa's east wing, while Hermione would be staying in the west wing where Blaise and the Countess's own rooms were located. The villa had been extensively modernized after the Countess had purchased it, but there remained problems with integrating magic and technology. Consequently, the east wing had Muggle amenities such as electric lights and cable television while the west wing lacked such accouterments but replaced them with things like magical lighting and heating and, of course, house elves to attend to the needs of magical guests. The Countess glossed over the topic of "house elves" smoothly in a way that left the Grangers the impression that they were paid servants, and Hermione said nothing to disabuse them of that notion.

After lunch, Blaise showed Hermione to her suite in the west wing. Once inside, the witch finally felt free to talk.

"Right," she began, "what are we going to do about poor Theo?"

"Ah, you've heard. From Harry, I suppose?"

"Of course," she replied while sitting down on the bed. "From what Harry wrote, I shouldn't be affected by this Ultimate Sanction nonsense since I'm Muggle-born. Do _you_ feel any differently about Theo?"

Blaise shook his head no. "The Zabinis are not a part of the Wizengamot. Mother has British citizenship but beyond that has no oaths that bind her or me to the government. I shouldn't be directly affected." He sat down in a chair facing the bed.

"What about _indirectly_ affected?" she asked with just a faint hint of suspicion.

Blaise shrugged. "Anyone not directly affected by the Sanction who maintains a public friendship with Theo will eventually draw the hostility of everyone who _is_ affected. Theo and Harry both apparently know that. I assume Theo will be fine if we maintain a discreet relationship with him. I'm sure he'd rather have allies who can actually help him under the table than friends who are stuck in the same miserable boat at him."

Hermione looked doubtful at that. Blaise sighed.

"And of course," he continued, "being a _Gryffindor_, you are more inclined to make a grand gesture of friendship even if your own house turns on you as a result."

"I've considered the matter since I got Harry's letter. Out of my Gryffindor year-mates, the only ones likely to be affected are Lavender, Ron, and possibly Jim, though he might be immune since his mother is a Hogwarts teacher. I want to stay friends with Theo, truly I do. And as a Gryffindor, I shouldn't be afraid of what others say about that."

"But...?" Blaise prompted.

She sighed in frustration. "_But_ I saw last year first hand how brutally my fellow Gryffindors can turn on someone who offends their sensibilities, and I expect those affected will be at least as hostile towards Theo and any who stick with them as they were towards the Boy-Who-Lived after he was exposed as a Parselmouth. It's ... an intimidating prospect."

"So we'll take it one day at a time and see what happens." He stood up once more. "In the meantime, come on. I'll give you a tour of the villa. I imagine you're just dying to know where the Zabini library is."

The way Hermione's eyes lit up with excitement showed how right he was.

* * *

_**29 June 1993**_

The next day Hermione, Blaise, and the Grangers made use of the villa's swimming pool for most of the morning. Then, after lunch, Gunther delivered the Grangers to Florence's historic city-center for sight-seeing before conveying Hermione and Blaise to a meeting with Blaise's Occlumency tutor. Hermione was somewhat surprised to note that the meeting was at Il Duomo de Firenze, the mother church of the Archdiocese of Florence and one of the most famous cathedrals in the world. She was even more surprised when Blaise finally revealed the identity of his tutor.

"His name is Monsignor Guiseppe Lucardi. Among his other duties, he is a Chaplain of His Holiness, a Deacon in the Order of St. Simon Magus, and the highest ranking spiritual and temporal representative of the Catholic Church among Florence's Catholic wizards and witches. He oversaw my confirmation when I was 7 and began instructing me in Occlumency one week later." He paused at Hermione's expression. "Is that a problem?"

"No, no. I was just ... caught off guard. I remember us discussing the existence of wizards and witches who were still staunchly Catholic last Fall, but I hadn't really thought about it since then. I'm ... not particularly religious, but I promise I'll be respectful."

Blaise smiled. "I appreciate that. And to be honest, I don't consider myself particularly religious either. I reckon there's a much higher percentage of 'Cafeteria Catholics' among wizards than Muggles. After all, we can actually perform our _own_ miracles."

Soon, the two were inside the cathedral and sitting comfortably in Monsignor Lucardi's private chambers. To Hermione's amazement, said quarters were only a small part of a sizeable complex full of wizards and witches dressed in priestly cassocks and nuns' habits, all of which somehow fit inside a small broom closet on the cathedral's second floor. The Monsignor, who gave every appearance of being a kindly village priest even though he was obviously an official nearly on par with the British Minister of Magic in importance, welcomed Hermione and Blaise and escorted them both to a sitting room. An house elf in tiny monks' robes soon appeared bearing the afternoon's _merende_: a platter of Nutella sandwiches and some Italian creme sodas, plus a cappuccino for the priest – the Italian answer to British tea time).

"I am pleased, _Signorina_ Granger, that you have already availed yourself of the Italian Language potion. I myself took the English potion many years ago, but it turned out to be the _American_ English potion, and I am informed that I speak English with an alarmingly thick Texas drawl. If young Blaise has not yet informed you, your Italian carries a slight but charming Venetian accent."

Hermione chuckled. "Thank you, Monsignor. I have noticed though that I still hear some words as Italian rather than English, such as _Signorina_ just now. Why is that?"

"A quirk of the potion, my dear. Certain random Italian words you already understood prior to taking the potion still sound Italian. _Signorina_. _Buongiorno_. _Rigatoni. _Etc. But enough of our idle chit-chat. You have finished your _merende_ and I have but an hour before I must return to my duties. Blaise wishes me to examine your Occlumency and give you advice on how to proceed."

Hermione nodded as the priest produced a wand from the sleeve of his cassock which he then pointed at the young girl.

"_**LEGILIMENS.**_"

Blaise sat quietly and looked back and forth between his friend and mentor. Hermione furrowed her brow in concentration as she sought to detect the older man's psychic intrusion and then expel him. Lucardi's own expression was placid and gave no sign as to whether he was experiencing any difficulties or even whether he was doing anything at all. Finally, after a long thirty seconds, he looked away. Hermione slumped a bit in her chair and took a deep breath.

"You did quite well, my child. You are on the way to developing rudimentary Occlumency shields, though the process will take many months to perfect as I'm sure you know." The Monsignor hesitated. "Tell me, _Signorina_ Granger. What is your purpose in studying this art? Do you wish to truly master the powers of Occlumency? Or simply protect your secrets from prying minds?"

Hermione hesitated. "Honestly, the latter. I've ... had the experience of losing my secrets and those of my friends to someone with Leglimency. Those friends and I nearly died as a result. I don't wish that to happen again if I can avoid it. But as for the higher powers of Occlumency? If possible, I would like to wait until I am older and more mature before tampering with my own emotions. I've ... heard stories of how badly that can turn out for some people."

Lucardi took a slow sip of his cappuccino. "_Signorina_ Granger, I wish to try something. But before I do, I must ask for your consent. From my brief intrusion into your mind, I suspect that you may have a somewhat rare and valuable gift. But the process for confirming and developing that gift is ... well, somewhat painful. I assure you that it will cause no lasting harm beyond a headache which can be alleviated with a healing potion. Will you consent to my investigation?"

Hermione glanced at Blaise who simply shrugged, then she turned back to Lucardi. "Yes sir. Please proceed."

Lucardi nodded and then called for a house elf who he referred to respectfully as Brother Lolo. He politely asked the robed elf to fetch a Headache Curing Potion which the elf quickly procured. Then, Lucardi raised his wand again and looked into Hermione's eyes once more. This time, he narrowed his eyes and spoke more forcefully, almost angrily in fact. "_**LEGILIMENS!**_" Immediately, Hermione tensed and gritted her teeth. It was a struggle to maintain eye contact, and after about ten seconds, she finally cried out in anguish. Immediately, the priest released his spell and then quickly handed the potion over to the shaking girl who took it gratefully.

"My apologies, _Signorina_, for your pain. _But_ it was worthwhile. I am pleased to inform you that you have the potential for natural Occlumency shields which can be developed very quickly, albeit through an unpleasant and painful process."

"Wait," interrupted Blaise. "Hermione is a natural Occlumens? But I've been helping her, and she hasn't been advancing any further than I did when I started out."

"Not a natural _Occlumens_, my boy. That is a _truly_ a rare blessing. Not one wizard in 10,000 gains the full benefits of Occlumency without considerable training, a rarity on par with being a natural Legilimens or a Metamorphmagus or a born Animagus. Natural Occlumency _shields_, however, are far more common and are found in approximately one out of every twelve wizards or witches. These shields are dormant until triggered in response to pain-inducing Legilimency, but once active, they will detect and defend against even the most subtle forms of that art."

He turned his attention back to Hermione. "In your case, _Signorina_ Granger, after just a few seconds of exposure to an intentionally painful Legilimency attack, I could sense rudimentary shields beginning to fall into place. If you wish to avail yourself of this admittedly painful technique, I believe that by the end of the Summer, if not sooner, you can acquire defensive shields comparable to those of a third-level Occlumens, though you would not, of course, gain any of the other, more sophisticated benefits of Occlumency until you make a formal study of the art."

Even as she massaged her temples while the pain receded, Hermione seemed excited. "But that would be wonderful! I'd be happy to wait until I'm older to become an Occlumens, assuming I ever did, if I could just gain the protective benefits now."

Lucardi smiled. "Then it is settled. Blaise has informed me that you will be in Florence for three weeks. You will meet with me three times a week during your time here for one hour during each session. And I must warn you, _Signorina_ Granger_ – _you will be taking a great many Headache Relieving Potions in the coming weeks."

Hermione gulped ... and then nodded affirmatively.

* * *

After another twenty minutes of painful Legilimency invasion – and two more pain relief potions – Hermione and Blaise left the cathedral and joined Gunther in the Countess's Bentley. They would be meeting the Grangers and the Countess for a bit of sightseeing followed by dinner at one of Florence's most fashionable restaurants.

As the Bentley pulled out onto the busy Florentine streets, a black SUV which had been parked further down the street slowly pulled out to follow it.

* * *

_**7 July 1993  
4:00 p.m.**_

It was a late afternoon, and Blaise and Hermione were together in a small study in the east wing work on their Charms homework. Presently, they were working on a Third Year conjuration Charm that theoretically would create a small cloud of colorful butterflies. Thus far, Blaise had only managed a "flock" of caterpillars that would materialize in mid-air and then drop to the table with an audible splat. Undaunted, Hermione checked the wand movements depicted in their textbook and then waved her wand in the air.

"_**MARIPOSUS.**_" There was a flash of light from the tip of Hermione's wand, followed by a stream of twenty or so brilliant multicolored butterflies which fluttered around the room at her direction. Hermione's eyes shone as she watched the display. Blaise was equally entranced, his brief and tiny surge of jealousy over Hermione's success forgotten. Then, they were both surprised by a gasp from behind them.

"Wow," said Dan Granger with an excited grin on his face. Startled, Hermione lost her concentration, and the butterflies instantly faded from view. "Oh, I'm sorry," Dan said disappointedly. "Was that my fault?"

"It's okay, Dad. You just startled me. Let me try again." Hermione waved her wand and spoke the incantation once more. Blaise started to interrupt, but he was surprised when the stream of butterflies appeared once more. Dan laughed in appreciation. Then, from further down the hall, another voice called out.

"Dan? Where did you get off to?" It was Emma Granger.

"In here, Em!" he called out excitedly without taking his eyes off the gleaming butterflies. Then, he glanced over to Blaise with a hint of embarrassment. "Sorry. It's just ... we haven't really had a chance to see Hermione do any magic since before she first went to Hogwarts."

At that second, Emma Granger followed her husband into the room. Instantly, the butterflies popped out of existence. Surprised, Hermione tried the Charm again but nothing happened.

"It's the Italian Trace," said Blaise. "You can't cast spells with your wand while directly observed by Muggles."

"I'm a Muggle," said Dan in confusion. "Her spell worked fine in front of me."

"Apparently, Dr. Granger – Mr. Dr. Granger, that is – you must actually be a squib."

"I beg your pardon," the man replied in confusion. Hermione sighed softly.

"A squib is the term used for someone without magic but who is descended from a wizarding family. On your side, we're descended from the Dagworth-Grangers, who are a somewhat prominent family of British wizards."

"Really?" he said excitedly. "We should write to them and let them know."

"I already have, Dad," Hermione said while looking down at the table. "They're, um ..."

"They're bigots, sir," Blaise interrupted. "Or at least their Head of House is. In a lot of Pureblooded families, especially in Britain, it is considered a mark of extreme shame to produce squib offspring, and most families cut ties." The boy hesitated. "Literally so, in some families."

"Oh," said Dan as he absorbed what the boy had implied. "Well then, what does it mean that I'm a squib other than a family connection that doesn't seem to matter?"

"Well," said Blaise thoughtfully. "First of all, you don't count as a Muggle for things like Muggle-Repelling Charms or the Italian version of the Trace, so you can watch Hermione do magic while you're here. Back home you could visit Hogwarts or Hogsmeade with no trouble. You can drink magical potions that either would do nothing to a Muggle or perhaps even be harmful. If you have _enough _latent magic, you can activate and use enchanted objects like brooms, though it would be unusual to see that in a squib several generations removed from the last wizarding ancestor." He smiled. "And anyway, I would not recommend asking Hermione to teach you to ride a broom. She's not a fan."

Hermione sniffed disdainfully. Her views on flying broomsticks were well-known among her friends.

"So," said Emma in an odd voice. "Dan can watch Hermione do magic, but if I'm here it will just mess things up?"

"Emma," Dan began.

"No, no," she interrupted. "It's okay. I'll leave you to it. See you at dinner." Then, she turned and quickly left the room.

"I, um, I'd probably better go after her," said Dan sheepishly before leaving himself. Hermione watched them go with a sad expression.

"You okay?" Blaise said.

"Yes. No. I don't know." She turned to him. "There are times, Blaise, when I envy Purebloods. You've grown up in this world, and I suppose everyone one you care about is a part of it. I feel like I'm drifting away from my parents, and I don't see what I can do to stop it. And part of me isn't sure if I should even try."

Blaise said nothing and simply returned to his notes.

* * *

_**9 July 1993  
3:30 a.m.**_

Hermione shot up in her bed gasping for air as if she'd awoken from a terrible nightmare. She whispered the word _Lumos_ and in response the bedside lamp came on, softly illuminating her room. She studied the bedroom for several seconds as if to remind herself of where she was. Then, she rose and went to the en suite bathroom to splash some cold water on her face. She looked up at her reflection in the mirror and stared at it silently for a long time.

Then, the witch returned to the bedroom and sat down at her writing desk. Pulling out a notebook and pen, she turned to a clean page and made a "to do" list for herself. Once complete, she opened her Charms textbook and began taking notes.

* * *

_**9 July 1993  
2:00 p.m.  
The office of Monsignor Lucardi**_

"_**LEGILIMENS!**_" the Monsignor barked out angrily as if to intimidate Hermione into losing focus. If that was his aim, it was unsuccessful, as the girl simply stared back at him almost serenely. After several seconds, Lucardi broke contact and sat back in his chair in surprise.

"My sincerest congratulations, _Signorina_. Your Occlumency shields now appear fully formed. I do not believe I could penetrate your thoughts with anything less than a sustained assault over the course of several hours, and even that might not be enough. Well done!"

"That's it?" Blaise practically spluttered. "But Monsignor, it's been barely two weeks. I thought you said that it would take a few _months_ for Hermione to develop shields."

"I did," the man replied evenly. "But this is an imprecise process, my son. Remember, _Signorina_ Granger did not develop these shields through conscious effort but rather as an autonomic response brought on by physical pain. That she did so this quickly is remarkable but still within the scope of what is possible for those blessed with her aptitude. Indeed, there have been a few reported cases of wizards developing these defensive shields after but a single Legilimency attack."

Blaise nodded somewhat dubiously, while Hermione was relaxed and confident, as if her success had never been in doubt. Later, however, as Gunther was driving the pair back to the villa, the witch suddenly seemed pensive. Blaise studied his friend carefully and with a hint of suspicion.

"What?" Hermione finally asked.

"What do you mean '_what_'?" the boy replied.

"You've been staring at me for several minutes now."

"Sorry. But you seem tense for some reason. I'd have thought you'd be happy about mastering Occlumency so quickly."

She huffed. "Blaise, I haven't _mastered_ Occlumency. I just have very good natural shields. My Occlumency is nowhere near as good as yours and probably never will be. Anyway, not to change the subject, but I think we should put a support group together to help Theo deal with any problems that arise from all that Ultimate Sanction nonsense. I've decided that punishing a child by mind-controlling half the country into hating him is horrible, and I'm going to do something about it."

Blaise actually did a double-take. "A ... support group? What?" he sputtered. "Okay, first of all, you actually did just completely change the subject. It wasn't even subtle. And second, what are you talking about with a _support group_?! I told you we would need to be discreet about helping Theo!"

"No, _you_ need to be discreet because you're in Slytherin House and that's how your house operates. '_Gryffindors Charge In_,' as they say."

"Hermione," Blaise said, "the people who say that _don't_ mean it as a compliment."

"Perhaps, but that doesn't mean I can't embrace the stereotype. Now I'm thinking of getting all the Muggleborns together for a start and then sounding out Halfbloods who were Muggle-raised. Would you be willing to help me put a list together even if you don't want to be on it officially? Also, we'll need a name for our organization. What do you think we should call ourselves? The Society for the Prevention of Abusive Magic? No wait. The acronym for that is SPAM. That would just be silly."

Blaise simply gaped at the girl, his mouth opening and closing without any sound coming out. Hermione simply smiled at him and then glanced out the rear window, her smile fading as she did. After a few seconds, she turned back around and knocked on the window separating the driver and the rear of the car. Gunther rolled the window down.

"Yes, Miss 'Ermione?"

"Gunther, I couldn't help but notice that there's a black SUV following us. Unless I'm mistaken, this is the third time we've been followed by the same SUV. Is it something we should be worried about?"

Gunther checked his rearview mirror. "Yes, Miss. I t'ink it might just be. Hold on." Suddenly Hermione and Blaise were flung about in their seats as the Bentley sped up and then abruptly swerved left down a side alley. Seconds later, there was a flash of light next to the car and some trash cans exploded. Blaise cursed loudly.

"That was spellfire! Who's shooting at us?!"

"I reckon it's the Black Hand, Mister B!" Gunther exclaimed. "I told the Countess we shoulda gone to Greece instead!" He began to swerve in an effort to avoid the incoming spellfire. "Both of ya get down!"

Hermione grabbed Blaise and yanked him down to the seat. Barely a second later, a spell hit the rear window and shattered it, causing shards of glass to drop down onto the pair. Instantly, Blaise popped back up and tried to cast a blasting spell at the pursuing vehicle. Nothing happened. Blaise's eyes widened in shock.

"They've got Muggles with them! We can't use magic to defend ourselves!" Then, he felt a jerk as Hermione grabbed him by the collar of his shirt again and pulled him back down before another spell came through the broken window. The sound of spellfire was soon joined by another equally unwanted sound: gunfire.

"What's the Black Hand and why are they after us?!" Hermione yelled over the noise.

"Now is not the time, Hermione!" Blaise yelled back.

"Can you guarantee we'll have another?!"

He grimaced angrily at his friend. "Okay, fine. To greatly oversimplify things ... the Black hand is, well, the Wizarding Mafia."

Hermione fixed him with a disapproving glare. "_Of course_ it is! How silly of me not to have expected it on my very first trip to Italy! And why is the Wizarding Mafia after us?"

"Just me. And it's not the whole Black Hand, just the Montessi family."

"DUCK!" Gunther bellowed. Then, he somehow twisted almost his entire body around (without letting go of the wheel or taking his foot off the gas) to fire off an automatic pistol over the two children's heads and out the back window towards the pursuers. Hermione gave out a startled squeal while Blaise cupped his hands over his ears to block out the noise.

"Crap," Gunther muttered while turning back to face the front. "Bulletproof windows. Probably magic." Then, he accelerated, and the Bentley careened through the back streets of Florence, knocking crates and trash cans aside wildly as it went.

"So what do these Montessi people want with you?!" Hermione asked, refusing to let go of her questions.

Blaise huffed. "Salvatore Montessi was my mother's fourth husband and also the _capo di tutti capi _of the Florentine Black Hand! And because of the circumstances and timing of his completely natural and non-suspicious death, I'm set to inherit his position in the organization ... _if_ I make it alive to the age of twenty-five! Something all my Montessi cousins would rather not see happen!"

Hermione stared at her friend. "You're literally the only Italian wizard I know! And you're mob-connected! And you complain about _me_ fulfilling stereotypes?!"

Before Blaise could respond, there was another blast of spellfire that blew out one of the rear tires. With a snarl, Gunther swerved hard, and the Bentley twisted around so that it came to a rest with the driver's side of the car facing away from the pursuers. Then, he yelled back to his two charges while putting a fresh clip into his gun.

"Get out on my side and run!" he bellowed. "Keep your heads down! I'll cover you as long as I can!" Then, he jumped out and crouched behind the front of the car before opening fire on the pursuers while Blaise and Hermione darted out of the back and ran down the street. Behind them, they heard an exchange of gunfire followed by a yell of pain from Gunther. The two students glanced back in time to see the driver stagger back with blood pouring from bullet holes in his chest and from a thick gash in his neck. Then, Gunther Hagrid fell to the ground, seemingly lifeless.

"GUNTHER!" Blaise screamed, but then Hermione grabbed him by the arm and started pulling.

"Come on! We've got to get away from here!"

The two ran down the street as fast as they could, certain that bullets and curses would soon be following. Half a block down was a small church they chose as a sanctuary and hiding place. Unfortunately, the doors were locked. Hermione looked around wildly. The Montessi killers had not yet made it down the alleyway and the street was otherwise empty of witnesses. "_**ALOHOMORA**_," she whispered urgently, and the doors opened. Once they were inside, they found the church to be deserted on a Friday afternoon.

"We should split up," Blaise said breathlessly. "It's me they're after."

"Good idea," Hermione said before turning and running up a nearby set of stairs. Blaise stared after her open-mouthed in surprise.

"So much for Gryffindor courage, I guess," he muttered to himself.

Then, he ran towards a door leading to the back of the church. But before he could reach it, he heard an angry voice call out "_**COLLOPORTUS**_" and the door slammed shut and locked itself. He turned around just in time to be hit with an Expelliarmus, and his wand flew from his pocket into the waiting hand of his chief pursuer. There were three in all. The lead figure he knew well – Enrico Montessi, Salvatore's oldest nephew who Blaise knew to be a wizard. The other two held guns instead of wands, instantly marking them as Muggles. Blaise raised his head defiantly.

"Hello, Cousin Enrico. How have you been?" he said condescendingly.

"Much better now that I have renewed our acquaintance, _bastardo_, for the few minutes left to it."

"You think you can kill the Don's heir and just carry on as usual, Enrico? The other families don't care for assassination of their peers. More importantly, _Zabinis never forget or forgive._"

"I'll take my chances, boy. Though you'll actually die at the hands of my Muggle friends here." Montessi sneered. "You don't _deserve_ the honor of dying by a wand." He gestured and the two thugs stepped forward and pointed their guns at the boy. As one, they pulled their triggers.

_Click._

The two men looked puzzled and then shook their guns, both of which seemed to have misfired at once. Meanwhile, upstairs in a balcony, hidden behind a chair, Hermione Granger kept her wand pointed at the men while softly but urgently whispering an incantation – "_**MERGIT FLAMMARUM**_"– over and over again. When the guns failed, Enrico Montessi snarled and held his own wand aloft.

"_**HOMENUM REVELIO!**_" he cried, and a pulse of magical energy shot from his wandtip in every direction. When it struck the concealed witch, there was a flash of light from her position and an audible "ding." Montessi looked up to the balcony and lashed out with a Blasting Curse which Hermione only barely dodged.

But before he could fire again, a blast of a different sort struck the church. The stained glass windows nearest Montessi and his men exploded inwards as a bloody but unbowed Gunther Hagrid crashed through to land on the floor near them. His shirt was ragged and bloodstained, but the exposed skin showed no signs of the bullet wounds he had taken. Gunther rushed forward and punched the nearest attacker in the side of the head so hard that the man's jaw shattered with an audible crack. The thug went down instantly. The other gunman ran forward and struck Gunther across the head with his useless weapon. It had absolutely no effect beyond annoying the Gunther who responded by backhanding the shocked Muggle with such force that he flew across the room and into the wall. The assassin hit so hard that a large hunk of plaster from the wall fell to the ground with him, and like his compatriot, the Muggle didn't get back up.

Now alone, Enrico aimed his wand at the towering man. "_**LACERO!**_" A red wave of cutting force struck Gunther on his chest with enough force to kill a lesser man. After staggering back a step, though, Gunther just snarled and advanced, his gaping wound quickly closing up as he moved. Now truly frightened, Enrico tried to use the Killing Curse, but just as he stammered out the incantation, Gunther grabbed him by his wrist and jerked his arm straight up. The green light of the Killing Curse shot harmlessly into the ceiling.

Gunther growled again. Then, he opened his mouth ... and _kept opening it_ until his jaws were more than six inches apart revealing jagged rocky teeth inside. Enrico started babbling in fear as Gunther forced the man's wand _and his whole hand_ into the driver's gaping mouth.

**CHOMP!**

Enrico Montessi screamed and dropped to the ground while clutching the bleeding stump where his wand hand used to be. Gunther took a step back and began chewing ... loudly. After a few seconds, he spat out several pieces of broken wood.

"Elm and ... _unicorn hair_!" Gunther said as he wiped Montessi's blood from his face. "Interestin' choice, Ricky."

Blaise ran over to recover his wand and then joined Gunther. If he had any concerns about what the big man had done, they didn't show. Instead, all of his attention was on Enrico.

"Go back to your family, Montessi. Tell all of your kin that House Zabini has taken your wand and the hand that held it. Tell them _that_ is full extent of our mercy. Come after me again and my family will scourge you from the Italian peninsula."

With that threat, Blaise and Gunther turned towards the door only to see a pale and shaking Hermione waiting for them. Her attention was on Gunther, whose face had returned to its normal dimensions but who was now liberally coated with his enemy's blood.

"Are you okay, Hermione?" Blaise said with concern.

"I'm fine. I'm alright. It's just ..." She looked up at Gunther and reflexively shuddered. "I'm sorry. I didn't ... I wasn't expecting ... all that."

Gunther smiled wanly. "It's okay, little miss. No one ever does."

She nodded and the trio quickly left the church.

* * *

_**Later at the Villa Zabini...**_

Hermione and Blaise sat at a small table in the sun room. Gunther had washed his hands and face of blood as best he could, and then he brought two glasses of milk (to which a shot of Amaretto had been added) to fortify the two children. The trio had commandeered Montessi's SUV to get back to the villa, and along the way, Hermione had explained in response to Blaise's questions that she had hidden herself in the balcony so that she could use magic without the Muggles seeing her and thus neutralizing her wand. Specifically, she had prevented their assailants' guns from working through an innovative use of the Fire Suppression Charm, which temporarily prevented all forms of combustion including the discharge of firearms. Other than that, the girl was subdued. While Hermione had maintained great poise in the face of wizards and Mafiosi trying to murder her friend, it seemed watching Gunther Hagrid bite a man's hand off was a bridge too far.

"Well, then. If'n you two 'er okay, I needs to change me shirt. I've got to pick up the Countess and yuir Mum and Da' before too long, and I can't look all..." He glanced down at his blood-drenched shirt which looked as if he'd worn it to an abbatoir. Then, he nodded to Hermione and left the sun room. Hermione took a sip of her fortified milk. Her hands were shaking.

"Are you okay?" Blaise asked again. "Your kind of worrying me. For someone with natural Occlumency shields, you seem ... highly emotional right now."

Her eyes darted to his. "Blaise, I don't have the emotional control powers that you and Harry do. Maybe no one can read my mind and discover what I've seen today, but that doesn't make it any less... traumatic." She leaned forward onto the table.

"I mean, seriously, when you said you had secrets that you didn't want to share, I was thinking about '_who you might have a crush on_' or '_why are you so absurdly good-looking'_ or ..." She paused and blushed as she realized what she'd just said. Blaise's own eyes widened in surprise, and he smiled despite himself. Then, Hermione shook her head and forged onward. "But I _was not_ expecting you to be the secret Godfather-in-training of the Wizarding Mafia. Nor was I expecting to find out that your butler is ... whatever your butler is!"

"Gunther's both a servant and a friend," Blaise replied in a calming voice. "He's nothing for you to be afraid of."

"HE BIT OFF A GUY'S HAND!" Hermione shrieked before clapping her hand over her mouth. Blaise rubbed his eyes tiredly. The two sat quietly for a minute or so. Then, Gunther returned, still buttoning up his clean shirt. He coughed diplomatically.

"I'm heading out. Um, Mr. B? If'n you think it would help and you trust the young miss ta keep it a secret, I wouldn't mind if'n you told 'er about ... well, about me." He glanced at Hermione and blushed slightly as if embarrassed over his own existence. Then, he quietly left. Hermione looked over to Blaise expectantly. The boy sighed deeply.

"Okay, here it is. Gunther is half-troll. That gives him enhanced strength, incredible levels of regeneration, and, well, the ability to eat nearly anything he can fit into his exceptionally wide mouth. Needless to say, that makes him an excellent bodyguard as you saw today."

Hermione stared at him for a full three seconds.

"Half... troll?"

"Half-troll."

She stared some more. "And he's the cousin of Rubeus Hagrid from Hogwarts, who is half-giant."

"Yes," he replied while taking another sip of milk.

She stared even longer. "So there were two brothers named Hagrid and one married a giant and the other married a troll?"

Blaise actually laughed at that. "No, Hermione, marriage never entered into it. Come on now. You're an educated young Muggleborn. I assume you had some form of sex education, right?"

The witch nodded. "My last year of Muggle schooling had a health unit that explained the basics."

"Okay, then. Consider the following facts. The average adult male wizard is around six feet tall. The average female giant is between forty and seventy feet tall. Given that disparity, how exactly do you think that sexual reproduction between the two species could possibly work?"

The question astonished her. In the nearly two years that Hermione had known that Hagrid was a half-giant, she'd never considered the matter. "With ... difficulty?"

Blaise laughed again. "Bit of an understatement there. Gunther and his cousin Rubeus, like their ... broodmates, I suppose, were not the product of mixed-species relationships but rather of illicit magical cross-breeding experiments. In the 1920's, there was a dark witch – a would-be Dark Lady, in fact – who called herself Lady Echidna. Her big plan was to create an army of human-creature hybrids that were compelled to obey her will. She was brought to justice fairly quickly by an ICW taskforce and is famous today mainly for her connection to the dark wizard who served as her lieutenant before he abandoned her when the ICW showed up: Gellert Grindelwald."

Hermione gasped at the mention of Voldemort's sole rival for the title of "Worst Dark Lord of the 20th Century."

"So _that_ was why Armando Dippet hated Hagrid so much. It wasn't just bigotry against a human-giant hybrid. He believed that Hagrid's very birth was the result of dark magic."

"Which, to be fair, it was. The process involved vivisecting live wizards and creatures, combining their essences, and then incubating the results in highly illegal and very disgusting potions for nine months. But Hagrid himself is a good person despite his origins, if hopelessly naive and ignorant of his origins. His adopted father lied to him and told him his 'mum' had left their family to return to the giant colonies, and he still believes it. And Gunther is a good person too. Most of Echidna's creations were literal monsters, misshapen horrors that lacked sentience or, worse, were self-aware but violently insane, and those were all put down. Only a few were allowed to live. Gunther and Rubeus were adopted by the Hagrid brothers, a pair of ICW hit wizards who retired to Britain after Echidna was brought down. They both felt that they had an obligation to raise the two infants who could sort of pass for human even if they really weren't. Dumbledore was also part of the taskforce, and he arranged it for them. There was also a half-veela who was adopted into the Delacour family in France. She eventually married one of the sons of the Delacour family, and today they have a daughter at Beauxbatons who's only a few years older than us. There was another half-giant who was exceptionally skilled at magic and, somewhat amazingly, is currently the headmistress at Beauxbatons. I guess the French are more open-minded about the whole thing than the British. I think there were a few other half-breeds, but I don't know any details about them if they even survived until today."

Hermione stiffened at Blaise's implication that Wizarding Britain might be more bigoted than Wizarding France ... and then slumped as she realized it was perfectly true.

"You know, I'd honestly hoped that the wizarding world was ... _better _than the Muggle world. But it's not, is it. You have bigotry. You have corruption. You have unethical experiments straight out of the Josef Mengele playbook. You even have organized crime. You're just like us except that magic gives you the potential to be awful in new and innovative ways."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "I don't really understand this _you_ and _us_ business, Hermione. You're a witch. The wizarding world is your world now as much as mine, warts and all."

"Is it really, Blaise? I'm a witch, but also a Muggleborn. And no one is ever going to let me forget it. Harry may have put a muzzle on Draco Malfoy, but I still hear Pansy Parkinson and Cassius Warrington whisper _Mudblood_ whenever I get too near. Sitting here in the stately Villa Zabini with your house elves and your half-troll manservant and all the secrets you have that led you to become an Occlumens before you were out of short pants ... I'm sorry, Blaise, but you can't possibly know what it's like to be a Muggleborn."

With that, she rose slowly from the table (for Hermione was suddenly quite tired) and walked out of the sun room. Blaise stared down into the cup of fortified milk in front of him. He took a deep breath.

"I _am_ a Muggleborn," he said calmly but firmly. After about five seconds, Hermione poked her head back into the room.

"... _what?!_"

He looked up at her with a sad smile. "I. Am. A. Muggleborn. My birthname was Christian Nembiko. My birth-father was Mosi Nembiko, a Muggle from Kenya who came to Britain to study medicine. My birth-mother was Sabrina Zabini, who was my adoptive mother's youngest sister and also a squib. Unlike most Pureblood families, however, the Zabinis don't throw their squibs out into the cold. They maintained ties with Sabrina and ensured that she was taken care of financially and had an excellent education. Like my father, she decided to become a doctor. They met at university, fell in love, and got married. They both completed medical degrees but instead of going to hospitals or some fancy private practice, they decided to open up a small clinic for underserved immigrants in Brixton. Sabrina had a sizeable stipend from the Zabini family that covered their living expenses, and they were both happy to essentially provide medical services at cost."

He paused suddenly and then swallowed almost painfully. "They were both murdered when I was six."

Hermione gasped. "Death Eaters? Or some wizards who had a vendetta against House Zabini?"

Blaise snorted softly. "Honestly, Hermione," he said with a trace of bitterness. "You just complained that the wizarding world was no better than the Muggle world. Well, the reverse is equally true. My mother was white, my father was black, and we lived in Brixton in the early 1980's. Do the math."

Hermione looked away and then closed her eyes. She had been too young to understand such things at the time, but she was indeed very well-read for a girl of her age. The London suburb of Brixton, with its large immigrant community, had been a hotbed for racial violence throughout that time period and even to the present day.

Blaise saw that she understood. "At some point, a group of skinheads found out that a _miscegenated_ couple was providing free medical care to all the _darkies_ down in Brixton Town, and they firebombed the flat we lived in. My father tried to get through the flames to reach help but he didn't make it. My mother and I were trapped upstairs with no way out."

He blinked, and suddenly his eyes glistened as he remembered that night. "Then, my mum kissed me on the forehead and took off the charm bracelet she'd worn for as long as I remembered. It was gold and had a small sparrow charm on it. She put it in my hand and told me to say '_Passeroto_,' which was Italian for Little Sparrow. That was my ... my Aunt Serena's pet name for my birth mother ... and now for me. It was also the password for the Portkey in the charm."

He inhaled deeply. "It was a miracle that it worked. Usually, only first generation squibs have enough magic to activate something as powerful as a Portkey. Maybe my mother had seen some signs of accidental magic that I don't remember. Maybe she just prayed. But either way, I turned out to be a wizard, and the Portkey carried me to the home of Lady Serena Zabini, my aunt who became my mother. I never saw my birth parents again outside of old photos."

"And she changed your name so that no one would know of your true Muggleborn nature," Hermione guessed in a soft voice.

He nodded. "The Zabinis may look after our squibs better than most, but we're still an old Pureblood family. The circles we travel in would have looked down on me for being Muggleborn, so she fashioned a new identify for me as her lovechild with a Pureblood wizard who had since died. She'd actually had a child born the same year as me, a girl named Blaise. That child died before the age of two, so she bribed the right people to alter the birth certificate so that it would be evidence for my Pureblood ancestry."

Blaise looked over to his friend with an amused expression. "So you wanted to know all my secrets, Hermione. I'm a Muggleborn pretender with a half-troll bodyguard and mortal enemies in the Black Hand, the crime syndicate I will hopefully one day inherit. Satisfied for now?"

She chuckled. "Oh, I don't know. Do you have any other secrets that will shock me to the core when I eventually find them out?"

Blaise said nothing at first. He thought briefly about the tiny amulet under his shirt hanging from a rosary, the one that bore the insignia of the Deathly Hallows and that not even his mentor and confessor, Monsignor Lucardi, knew about. But even if he was ready to tell Hermione about that, it was not his secret to share. He took another sip from his milk and savored the aftertaste of the Amaretto liqueur that had been added.

"Well, I've started noticing girls, if that counts," he finally said in a languid voice.

Hermione shook her head. "Nope. You're thirteen. That's not the least bit shocking."

Blaise took another longer sip. "And also boys," he added lightly almost as an afterthought.

The other Muggleborn studied her friend for a few seconds before breaking out into a smile. "Still not shocking," she said as she pulled him into a friendly hug which he returned.

"What about you?" the boy inquired. "Any dark and sinister secrets you want to share?"

"Sorry. No big secrets for me. I'm a Gryffindor. We're all as transparent as glass."

Blaise laughed in agreement. Then, they heard a door open in the front of the house and went to investigate. It was Gunther returning with the Grangers and the Countess. Hermione looked over at her friend and thought about what it must have felt like to lose one's parents, not by them gradually pulling apart, but through terrible violence. Then, she rushed forward and pulled her mother and then her father into a hug.

"Hermione, dear," said a surprised Emma. "What's wrong?"

The witch looked up at her parents, one a Muggle and the other a squib (just like Blaise's parents), and she smiled.

"Nothing's wrong, Mum. I just realized I haven't spent any time with my parents on this vacation, and it's time I did something about that. I've finished ... one of my projects early, so why don't we go off tomorrow and do something together as a family. Something completely and wonderfully Muggle."

Dan looked back and forth between his wife and daughter and gave a laugh. "Sure, sweetheart. Your mother and I will go change clothes, and then we'll plan out something for tomorrow. Something all three of us can do together."

The three Grangers hugged again. Blaise watched them with a smile, while the Countess did so with a look of detached amusement. Then, Dan and Emma went upstairs. As soon as they were gone, Hermione went over to Gunther, and to the hulking man's surprise, she gave him a strong hug as well.

"Thank you for saving our lives today, Gunther," she whispered in a voice full of affection. Somewhat surprised but also pleased, the half-troll patted the girl gently on the back.

"Any time, little miss. Any time."

* * *

_**10 July 1993  
1:30 a.m.**_

Hermione lay in her bed staring at the ceiling. The curtains were open, but the moon was only half-full and its light was dim. She sighed in annoyance and pounded on her pillow, as if hoping that changing its shape would help sleep come. Honestly, it was ridiculous that she should be robbed of sleep over guilt from such a minor sin in the face of all the much larger sins of the world, but there it was. Blaise Zabini – mysterious, duplicitous, manipulative, Slytherinesque Blaise Zabini – had opened himself up to the girl and told her things he'd probably never shared with anyone other than perhaps the Countess and Gunther.

And then, she'd lied in his face. She wondered if her newfound Occlumency protections were what had allowed her to lie so effortlessly.

"_Sorry. No big secrets for me. I'm a Gryffindor. We're all as transparent as glass."_

Liar.

"_**LUMOS.**_" The soft lights in the bedroom came on, and with a huff, Hermione pulled herself out of bed and made her way to the writing desk. She flipped open the notebook into which she'd written a to-do list the night before, and for a long time, she stared at all the tasks she'd set for herself over the course of the coming year. Then, slowly and with deliberate purpose, she drew a long thin line through the first item.

"One down," she muttered to herself.

* * *

_**21 DAYS UNTIL AZKABAN**_

* * *

**FINALLY, here's the next chapter. At this point, I'm afraid I have to admit defeat and say that I cannot reliably predict when I'll have the next chapter up. I will do so as quickly as possible, but it's going to be two to three weeks and I can't say any better than that. **

**Accordingly, the next chapter, "Jim Potter and the Beast of Shamballa," will be posted as soon as it's done, but right now, I can't give an exact date. Definitely don't expect it before October 14, 2016. On the bright side, I am confident that once I get through the end of the year, my current work issues will slow down, and I'll get back to a more consistent posting schedule. I will also at some point come up with something to go in place of the previous chapters Author Note, because I hate chapters that are nothing but ANs as much as the next guy, but I was tired of people PMing me to ask if I'd died.  
**

**AN 1: Almost forgot to mention it. The part of Gunther Hagrid will be played by Hafthór Björnsson, the actor who plays the Mountain on Game of Thrones ... assuming it's possible to teach him to speak with a Devonshire accent.  
**


	86. HP&DEM 3: Prelude (Jim)

**HARRY POTTER  
AND THE DEATH EATER MENACE**

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

* * *

**Chapter 3: Jim Potter and the Beast of Shamballa (Pt 1)  
**

_**Somewhere, Sometime...**_

_The little boy had been lost in the woods for longer than he could remember, and as the night got colder, he'd ended up huddled under a tree sobbing quietly and shivering both from the cold and from fear. For he knew that there was a monster after him, a great and terrible monster that would devour him whole if it caught him. Then, the boy gasped in terror as a demonic howl erupted from farther into the woods. It was some distance away, but closer than the last time he'd heard it just a few minutes before. The boy began to weep piteously. He was alone and cold and the monster would be here soon. Then, as that thought rippled through his terrified mind, the boy heard another sound much closer. He turned and saw that the bushes just a few feet away were rustling as some thing pushed its way through them. And the distant howl that had so frightened the boy was now replaced by a different animal sound. A low, hungry growl.__  
_

_The bushes parted, and the boy screamed._

* * *

_**2 July 1993  
The Patil Estate  
Madras, India**_

Jim Potter awoke to warm tropical sunlight streaming through the open window of his room accompanied by the faint aroma of jasmine and coriander. He sat up in his canopied bed and for the first real time took a good solid look through the gauzy curtains at the guest room in which he'd been sleeping fitfully for the last day and a half. Like Ron (who was in the room across the hall), Jim had no prior experience with International Portkeys, let alone Portkeys designed for traveling to the literal opposite side of the globe. Accordingly, he and Ron had both been quite sick upon arrival and for most of the next day. Even his mother Lily had suffered a strong reaction, though the effect was far more pronounced on the two boys whose growing magical cores were more sensitive to the experience. Padma and Parvati, having made the trip many times, were smugly immune much to Jim and Ron's chagrin.

The Patil estate was located on a beautiful spot of coastline off the Bay of Bengal situated roughly twenty miles north of Madras, a major Muggle population center. The sands were golden, the waters were azure, and the weather was invariably perfect. The Patils and their guests would spend another day here recuperating from the journey before taking a local (and far less nauseating) Portkey to Delhi and then moving on to Shamballa. The Patil sisters were both somewhat cagey on exactly what "Shamballa" was, leaving Jim and Ron with the impression that it was the Indian equivalent of Diagon Alley, a thought which amused the twin girls for some unknown reason.

Jim inhaled deeply of the fragrances in the air that seemed so different from the familiar scents of the British Isles. As he did, he thought back over his summer so far. He'd been home from Hogwarts for barely a day when Harry and his solicitor unexpectedly came through the Floo to demand a private meeting with James. They'd spent thirty minutes together in James's private study, a conversation which eventually turned into a shouting match before Harry stormed out again and returned to Longbottom Manor without even acknowledging either his twin or their mother. Soon after, Jim had gotten the truth from James. Theo Nott – or rather Theo No-Name – had been cast out of his house under something called "the Ultimate Sanction" and would soon be an object of scorn and hatred from most of Wizarding Britain.

Somewhat ironically, he would _not_ be an object of hatred as far as Jim was concerned. While most everyone associated with any of the Noble Houses would be affected by the Sanction, it would affect neither Hogwarts professors nor aurors ... nor their children. Nevertheless, James firmly encouraged Jim to avoid Theo No-Name, as Jim's reputation had only just recovered from the Heir of Slytherin business, and the family didn't need the controversy that would accompany any association with the outcast boy. Jim gave his father a look of deep disappointment and then left without saying anything more.

After that, Jim had been oddly relieved to be spending most of his Summer Break away from his home and from James Potter. He still loved his father dearly, but, as was often the case for young teenagers, Jim was going through a phase of not _liking_ him very much. And so, he wasn't at all bothered by the fact that most of his Summer Break would be spent away from the man, first with a week with Harry at Longbottom Manor followed by a full _month_ in Shamballa studying with the Patil sisters' Uncle Gupta. He and Lily were scheduled to return to Potter Manor the day before the Jim Potter Birthday Gala (which was inexplicably being held again despite the _hideous bloodbath_ from Jim's _last_ birthday party!) and then spend a month there before school started. Hopefully by then, the tension between Jim and his father would be diminished, which would be good because he was expecting entirely new forms of tension this upcoming year at school due to the Theo No-Name situation. Perhaps most disturbingly, Jim was concerned about conflict with (of all people!) his house-mate Neville Longbottom. As he climbed out of bed and stretched out the kinks of a day and a half of Portkey sickness, Jim thought back to his visit to the Longbottoms and the other boy's unusually intense feelings about Theo No-Name.

* * *

_**Then ...**_

_Jim had arrived at Longbottom Manor by Floo back on June 23__rd__ just in time for brunch before spending the rest of the day outside. Lady Longbottom had wanted Jim to help Neville improve his broom-handling skills, Neville wanted to spend time in the greenhouse (and to be fair, Jim's own Herbology grades needed work), and Harry just wanted to lounge around the pool and work on his tan that never seemed to darken. It wasn't until that evening that Jim had finally gotten a tour of Longbottom Manor._

"_Thank you once again for having me, Lady Longbottom," Jim had said over the breakfast table as he reviewed the startling large assortment of jams and jellies produced by Longbottom Farms before finally reaching for the one marked "Peppered Peach and Rosemary."_

_Lady Augusta waved her hand diffidently. "Not at all, my boy. I'm delighted to have you here. My hope is that you and Harry together can help Neville to get over his reticence about broom-riding. It is a valuable skill even outside of Quidditch, and it's high time he mastered it."_

_Jim and Harry laughed at Neville's grimace. He'd known since school ended that Jim would be visiting them at some point during the Summer break, but he had been quite surprised when his grandmother had cornered him the night before to announce that after welcoming the Boy-Who-Lived with a nice brunch, he was to spend the rest of the day outside getting some exercise which would include broom-riding lessons from the best two flyers in his year._

_After some amiable chit-chat over brunch (Jim noticed that Augusta and Harry both resolutely avoided asking how his parents were doing), the three boys headed upstairs to get their broomsticks. Harry tarried in the rear, and before he left the sunroom, he turned back to Augusta._

"_How long should I keep him occupied?" he asked quietly. _

_She glanced up at the wall clock which read 11:15. "Until sunset if possible. I'll have a house elf send you a picnic lunch around two o'clock."_

_Harry nodded and followed his friend and his brother upstairs._

_All things considered, Jim thought his week with Harry was enjoyable with only one hiccup. At one point, Jim mentioned Theo No-Name to ask if Harry knew how the boy was doing, and he was startled by the angry response from Neville to effect that "everybody knows the boy's dark and he probably deserved his punishment, so why do people have to keep talking about it?!" Jim glanced over to Harry with wide eyes, but his twin simply and discreetly shook his head "no." Later, while Neville was engrossed with a particularly difficult plant in the greenhouse, Jim pulled Harry aside and asked about the boy's uncharacteristically harsh reaction._

_Harry sighed in frustration. "You and I are are basically immune to the Sanction because James is Chief Auror and Lily is a Hogwarts professor, plus we've both had Occlumency training. Neville not only has no Occlumency skill at all, he's also wearing his official Heir's Ring which ties him into the Wizengamot's communal magic network. That actually heightens the reaction. Except for any students who are actual Nott vassals, Neville might be more strongly affected than anyone else at Hogwarts."_

_Jim looked back towards Neville and shuddered. Easily the kindest boy Jim had ever known, Neville Longbottom was now consumed by an obvious disdain towards a former close friend just because of a cruelly abused spell. It was horrifying and made Jim only more eager to get to India and begin his Occlumency training in earnest._

* * *

_**Now...**_

And that training, hopefully, would begin in the next day or so once the group reached the mysterious Shamballa. Shaking off his misgivings about Theo's situation, Jim dressed quickly for his morning workout before heading across the hall to knock on Ron's door. His friend answered groggily but appropriately dressed.

"Ready for our morning jog? I've never been jogging on a beach before!" Jim said with exaggerated cheerfulness.

Ron gave a sour look. "You know, after all those months when we didn't talk because I was possessed and wanted to kill you, I'd totally forgotten how bloody obnoxious you are in the mornings."

"Lies! You love me like a brother! And don't say '_bloody_.' Hermione wouldn't approve, and I promised to nag you on her behalf until school starts back up."

Ron snorted and then followed his best friend outside for their morning workout.

* * *

_**3 July 1993**_

The next day, Jim, Ron, Lily, and most of the Patils were waiting out on the front porch of the compound. Parvati, alas, was running late, having changed clothes three times.

"She'll be meeting _Sanjeeeeev_ on this trip for the first time since we started Hogwarts," Padma said mockingly.

"Padma!" exclaimed Mrs. Patil. "Be nice to your sister! You know how important it is to make a favorable impression on the Pasha's son! It's the first time they've met face to face since she was _seven_!"

Padma nodded respectfully to her mother and then turned back to Jim and Ron, rolling her eyes as she did to make it plain that she had not the slightest concern for impressing the Pasha's son. Soon enough, Pavarti came down and the Patils and their guests all grabbed hold of a long silken cord which was the Portkey to Delhi. With a pop and an instant of uneasiness (one that, mercifully, was nothing compared to the trip from London to Madras), the group was suddenly in an alleyway off of a busy Delhi street. Mr. Patil reassured the group that there was a Muggle-Repelling Charm on that alley to ensure that no one would notice their arrival before leading the group out onto the jam-packed streets of Delhi. Jim and Ron both marveled at how crowded the city was, with people, with vehicles, and even with large animals in the streets. Jim had some experience navigating London with his parents, but that was nothing compared to what he was experiencing now. And poor Ron, who never even visited the township of Ottery St. Catchpole without the company of his parents, was nearly overwhelmed at the crush of Muggles. At one point, Parvati had to grab him by the arm and yank him out of the way of a passing lorry that didn't even slow down. The girl gave him a pointed look, and he blushed in response.

Ten minutes later, the group entered a small, nondescript office underneath a sign in a language that the boys couldn't read. Once inside, Mr. Patil spoke to a bored-looking official in the local tongue. A thought occurred to Jim, and he leaned over to Padma.

"How big of a problem is it that we don't speak ... Hindi? Sanskrit? Or whatever language it is people speak here?" he asked. The girl simply gave him a knowing smile.

"Not a problem at all, Jim, I assure you."

As if to belie that, the official pulled out a large chunk of topaz bigger than a man's head and a faded notecard. He began reading the card in phonetic English marred by a nearly incomprehensible Indian accent.

_"Weel each of yoo een turn step furward and tooch yoor wand ubon dis stone. Den repeat aftair me. Eye, state yoor name, swear ubon my majick dat I will keep de peace of Shamballa."_

Jim and Ron looked at each other dubiously while the Patils stepped forward and took the brief oath, followed by Lily. Finally, the two boys followed suit. Satisfied, the official opened up a small wooden gate to allow the group to follow him down a corridor. At the end of the hallway was a heavy metal door with a keyhole in the center. The official pulled out a ring of keys, selected one in particular, and inserted it into the lock. As he pulled the heavy door open, Jim was surprised by a sudden blast of cold air. One by one the group passed through the door to whatever lay beyond. The Patils, who knew what to expect, let the way, followed by the three British visitors, each of whom gasped in amazement.

Beyond the door was an enormous patio-balcony with a polished marble floor. Stunned by the sight, Jim slowly walked forward to the edge of the balcony to take in the view, shaking off the chill as he did. Below him was not a mere alley as he had been expecting. It was _a city_. Shamballa was a true magical metropolis, easily ten times the size of Diagon Alley in area. But while the tallest building in Diagon Alley was the four-story Gringotts Bank (well, four stories _above_ ground, at least), Shamballa was dotted with gleaming towers, many of which were ten stories or more. The skies above the city were teeming with scores upon scores of magic carpets, zeppelin-like airships, and flying chariots drawn by all manner of magical beasts. Then, Lily looked up past the city to the mountain range which rose above it and gasped. While not an expert in geography by any means, she was certainly lettered enough to recognize the summit of Mt. Everest when she saw it.

"We're in the Himalayas!" she exclaimed.

"Indeed," said the magical official amiably and now in what sounded like perfect English. "And now that we are here, please allow me to properly introduce myself. I am Hapranda Suresh, Guardian of the Delhi Portal. On behalf of the city's inhabitants, _Welcome to Shamballa_!"

Jim looked at him in surprise. "Wait, this whole time you actually speak English?"

Suresh laughed. "No, young traveler. I am not speaking English and neither are you. Here in Shamballa, we all speak _Language_!"

Jim and Ron stared in confusion as Padma explained. "The city of Shamballa was founded over 3,000 years ago by wizards and witches from across Asia, from the Persian Empire to India and China all the way to Japan and Malaysia. Their goal was to establish a truly magical nation separated as completely as possible from the non-magical world. The original city founders included a large number of powerful wizards and witches, all of whom spoke a variety of local languages and dialects. To facilitate their cooperation, the magic that supports the city includes a spell that allows everyone in this valley, regardless of origin, to understand one another. There might be a few idiosyncratic words that sound foreign, but for the most part, while you're here, you aren't speaking English or Hindu or Mandarin or whatever. You're speaking ... Language."

Parvati sighed loudly to her mother. "Padma's in lecture mode again, Mummy. I'm going to freshen up before Sanjeev gets here."

"Sweetheart," said Mr. Patil with a bit of exasperation, "you should have done that before we got here."

"I did, Papa. But then you made us walk for ten minutes through a Delhi slum and now I'm filthy." And without another word, Parvati strolled off imperiously to a nearby door marked with the universal sign for "Ladies' Room," her doting mother in tow.

Jim shook his head and turned back to Suresh. "So I assume that oath we swore has something to do with whatever passes for a Trace over here. How does it work?"

"Much more efficiently than the one you are accustomed to in Britain, young man. You are free to use your magic as you will here in Shamballa, for there are no Muggles to see you. The city itself will watch over you and judge the rightness of your actions. Cast a spell with criminal or malicious intent, and the aurors in the Tower of Justice are immediately notified of your actions and location. Only aurors, healers, and certain high-ranking city officials are capable of apparating within the city's boundaries except at certain specified apparation points, so escape would be very difficult. So long as it harm no others, do as you will is the whole of Shamballa's law, at least where underage magic is concerned."

Both boys were surprised by the news, causing Padma to smirk at them. "So I guess you understand why I come back here every Summer, huh?"

Ron leaned over the balcony railing, still awestruck by the city which looked like something out of an ancient fairy tale. "How many people live here?" he asked.

"About 50,000 permanent residents, of whom 30,000 are wizards and witches and the rest squibs," said Mr. Patil. "Plus another 10,000 people who work here in some capacity or pursue education here but who have homes elsewhere in magical communities ranging from Iran to Japan. Also a few thousand tourists at any given time."

Then, the group's attention was drawn to a truly enormous flying carpet, one big enough to hold a twenty-by-twenty silken tent with room to spare, flew up from the city below to park alongside the balcony. A dashing young teen stepped out of the tent, resplendent in traditional Indian garb with a ceremonial sword at his side and a sash over his chest covered in jewels and medals. While he was good-looking and brimming with confidence, Ron found something about the newcomer off-putting. For some reason, he reminded Ron of an Indian Draco Malfoy. Somewhat nervously, Mr. Patil stepped forward and bowed respectfully.

"Esteemed Sanjeev, Son of Kumar, you honor us with your presence."

The young man, who was undoubtedly Parvati's future husband, bowed just as deeply and respectfully. "Venerable Elder Patil, on behalf of my father the Pasha, welcome to Shamballa." Then, he turned to Padma. "And my heart is gladdened to finally see my beautiful intended once again after all these years."

Before anyone could intervene, Sanjeev stepped forward, took Padma's hand in his own, and kissed it ... only for the romantic scene to be interrupted by a loud squawk from the nearby ladies' room. It was a shocked and visibly angry Parvati. Sanjeev looked back and forth between the two Patil sisters in confusion.

"Wrong twin," Padma finally said almost blandly.

Sanjeev immediately dropped Padma's hand as if it were poisonous before striding over to the fuming Parvati to make his apologies. Then, as the group boarded Sanjeev's flying carpet, Jim leaned over to Padma.

"You enjoyed that _way_ too much," he whispered. She didn't respond, but the ghost of a smile on her face said everything.

* * *

_**That afternoon at the Temple of Wisdom**_

As it was deemed socially inappropriate for the Patils to stay at the Pasha's estate so many years in advance of Parvati and Sanjeev's wedding, the Pasha had booked several suites for the group at one of the city's palatial hotels. The travelers' luggage had already been sent ahead, and after everyone had freshened up, Mr. Patil arranged transport for the group to the Temple of Wisdom, an enormous monastery-like building which Padma said served as both Shamballa's answer to Hogwarts and also the city's center for advanced Mastery-level learning. Gupta Baskar apparently split his time between the Temple of Wisdom where he taught apprentice healers and the nearby Temple of Health, where he served as Chief Mind Healer. The man himself was waiting on the front steps of the Temple of Wisdom as the group arrived.

Immediately, Jim took a liking to the man. Though obviously an important figure, Baskar radiated the genial and kindly aura of someone who had devoted his life to the health and peace of others. According to Padma, the healer was well over ninety years old yet looked to be less than half that age. He wore a long white tunic over linen trousers and an open sky-blue robe. A small insignia was woven into the robe's fabric, the international insignia of the magical healer. After taking a few seconds to hug his niece and his two grand-nieces, Baskar bowed respectfully to Jim, Ron, and Lily before shaking each of their hands in turn.

"Welcome to the Temple of Wisdom, my friends. Let us adjourn to my office, where we can discuss your agenda for your time here." At that point, Mr. and Mrs. Patil took their leave, as they had business in the city, and Parvati left with them. Padma, to the boys' surprise, stayed behind, saying that she had her own business here at the Temple of Wisdom before waving her fingers at them and then heading off on her own.

Soon after, the remaining four were seated in Baskar's office enjoying tea and watercress sandwiches. Idly, Lily wondered if Gupta Baskar normally took tea or was simply being solicitous of his British guests. If the man was really over ninety, he very well may have had some unpleasant memories of India's time as a British possession. If so, he gave no sign of it.

"Now then," he began, "I have reviewed the letters you sent me, Mr. Potter, as well as my own observations based on the British newspaper articles which Padma provided. As I see it, your goals for this summer are three-fold. One, for both you and Mr. Weasley to undergo magical healing to address the various psychic traumas you have each experienced in the last year. Two, for you and Mr. Weasley as well to develop functional Occlumency shields able to defend against psychic intrusion. And three, for both of you to begin an exploration of the gift of Parseltongue which each of you seems to have acquired." He took a sip of tea. "_Isss that about the sssize of it?_" he hissed softly in the serpentine language that only Jim and Ron could comprehend. They each nodded silently, both acutely aware of how Lily stiffened nervously in the chair between them.

Baskar crooked an eyebrow. "Please forgive me, Mrs. Potter. It was rude of me to speak in a language you don't speak. Parselmouths who interact regularly with one another often slip into that language without realizing it. This is especially true here in Shamballa, as Parseltongue is the only language not automatically translated by the city's magic, a fact that we Parselmouths often forget."

"It's alright, Healer Baskar," Lily said unconvincingly. "I quite understand."

"I am pleased. Now, I think the next step should be for me to talk to each of you in turn. I will, of course, be bound by the healer's vow of confidentiality, but more than that, I think it important to develop a bond of trust with each of my patients. And also, when it comes to Parseltongue, with each of my students. Mrs. Potter, as the other grown-up in the room, you have the privilege of going first."

At the healer's direction, Ron and Jim stepped out into the waiting area outside Baskar's office while the two adults had a brief discussion. While the two adults were talking, several people came by to speak with the healer's squib receptionist, one of whom caught Jim's eye immediately. It was muscular bald man who wore Eastern-style clothing appropriate to a martial artist and who had a number of scars on his face and his exposed arms. The most intriguing thing about the man, however, was the fact that, other than Ron and Lily, he was the only other person Jim had seen so far in Shamballa whose skin tone marked him as a European rather than Asian. The man brusquely identified himself as Brother Chandra and said that due to unexpected developments, he would be canceling his appointment with the healer scheduled for that afternoon. Then, as he turned to leave, he noticed the two boys and gave Jim what he thought was a surprisingly angry glare before storming out. Jim wondered if he'd ever met the man before, but he didn't look at all familiar.

After fifteen minutes, Lily exited the healer's office bearing a thoughtful expression. Jim's talk lasted longer, about thirty minutes, as did Ron's subsequent meeting. Jim came out surprisingly upbeat. Ron, less so.

* * *

_**Lily and the Healer**_

"Mrs. Potter, in the interests of time and efficiency, I will come straight to the point. As your son's mind healer, it is my strong recommendation that you spend as little time as possible personally observing Jim's treatment and training here at the Temple. Ideally none at all."

Lily blinked in surprise. "Excuse me?! This is my son we're talking about!"

"I am well aware of that. I am also aware though several weeks of research of what it means to be the Boy-Who-Lived. And also by extension, what it means to be the Mother-of-the-Boy-Who-Lived. Without even a formal examination of the boy's psyche, it is obvious that he values your approval highly. Which makes it _a problem_ that you cannot bear the sound of Parseltongue spoken aloud without visibly flinching."

The woman fumed at that but couldn't deny the accusation. "I'm sorry, Healer Baskar, but I can't help it. Growing up in the era I did, the sound of Parseltongue to me sounds like ... like the sound of _You-Know-Who himself_."

Baskar blinked twice. "You ... Know... Are your referring to the Dark Lord Voldemort?"

She flinched again. "We ... don't like to say his name."

"Really? How very odd."

She shrugged. "Yes, well, his being one of the worst Dark Lords in history made something of an impact on people."

The healer scoffed gently. "With all due respect, Mrs. Potter. I wouldn't even characterize Voldemort as the worst Dark Lord of _Europe _within the past _century_. Grindelwald was indubitably worse, and the Dark Lady Echidna might well have been if she hadn't been caught early."

Lily stiffened with just a hint of brewing anger. "Healer Baskar, I _lived_ through the War against You-Know-Who. I know first hand what it was like, as does every single resident of Wizarding Britain who survived that era."

"I have no doubt. I merely note, Mrs. Potter, that during that same period, we here in Shamballa were rather more concerned with the Dark Lord Li-Tsien Chang's efforts to claim the mantle of the Fifth Dragon Emperor and with the Malaysian Witch Queen Salanga's schemes to open a portal to the Yomi Realm and unleash an army of undead penanggalan. Not to mention the horrific violence perpetrated by various Muggle military organizations across Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia during that era, violence which not only decimated local Wizarding communities but also unwittingly threatened the integrity of magical seals which had been containing ancient horrors since before the time of Merlin."

He took a sip of tea. "Britain is not the World, Mrs. Potter," he finally said. Caught off guard by his remarks, Lily said nothing, and after a moment, Baskar continued.

"But enough of ancient history. Let us return to the matter at hand. As one of the world's foremost experts on Parseltongue, I can assure you that it's not _just_ fear of ... You-Know-Who that causes your reaction, Mrs. Potter. It is an inherent quality of Parseltongue that it triggers a powerful fear reaction within those who cannot speak it. That is the primary reason it is so difficult to learn. Most dedicated students with an ear for languages could probably master Parseltongue in under a year except for the unfortunate complication that simply _listening_ to it for extended periods of time prior to mastery often causes extreme psychological distress. We generally do not even allow any student here at the Temple of Wisdom to begin a study prior to mastering the third-level of Occlumency or the equivalent." He smiled at an old memory. "Sometimes, of course, that aspect of the language can be quite useful. Many years ago, I once drove off a gang of Muggles who sought to do me harm simply by loudly insulting their ancestry in Parseltongue."

The healer shifted in his chair before changing the topic. "But setting aside your own psychological response to your son's ability, I am more interested in how he came to possess it. The British news articles I read seemed to suggest that he acquired the skill from Lord ... You-Know-Who through what was described as '_right of magical conquest_,' a fanciful suggestion that seems like something out of a children's fairy tale. Tell me, does your other son show any signs of being a Parselmouth?"

Lily frowned at the mention of Harry. "None that I'm aware of. Though to be honest, Harry didn't grow up around us, so I really couldn't say definitively. He's given no sign of being able to talk to snakes since he's come back to our family."

Baskar nodded. "And if I may ask, under what circumstances was your other son separated from your family?"

Lily looked down at the table and took a deep breath before exhaling. "When Harry was a baby, I made a decision that I thought was the right thing at the time but which I've since realized was a disastrous horrible mistake, one we're still trying to correct as best we can."

The healer made a mental note of the apparent sensitivity of the topic of Harry Potter. "Is there any possibility that this is a magically inherited trait? That either you or your husband are descended from Salazar Slytherin?"

"Absolutely not. James's family tree goes back almost a thousand years. There's no evidence that any of his ancestors intermarried with known or suspected Slytherin families, and after Jim was revealed publicly as a Parselmouth, James checked with all the family portraits to see if anyone had any memories of a Parselmouth in the family."

"And on your side of the family, Mrs. Potter?" he asked delicately.

"I'm a Muggleborn, Healer Baskar."

He frowned at the term. "There are no Muggleborns, Mrs. Potter. One is either magical, nonmagical, or latent-magical. Here in Shamballa, we use the terms _Muggle_ and _squib _only when the idiosyncrasies of Language compel us to. Your parents, grandparents, and other forebears may have lacked obvious magical potential, but somewhere in your family tree, one of your ancestors was a witch or wizard, or else you would not be here for this conversation." He paused to study Lily's reactions. "As I'm sure you know quite well, Mrs. Potter. You strike me as a highly intelligent woman, one who is also a Hogwarts Professor. The unlettered masses may entertain fantasies of nonmagicals stealing away the magic from their children to leave them as squibs, but no educated wizard or witch believes that a _Muggleborn_ is anything other than the magical offspring born of a lineage of latent wizards. Though, of course, a great many educated wizards and witches still _feign_ belief in such fantasies for personal or political reasons when they really know better."

"Well, be that as it may, Healer Baskar," Lily said firmly, "I am confident that there are no wizards in my family history as far back as I've been able to trace it."

If Gupta Baskar noticed that Lily avoided eye contact as she made that declaration, he was too polite to comment.

"And besides," she continued, "if Jim's Parseltongue comes from my side of the family, why can't _I_ speak to snakes?"

"Well, you're a _woman,_ of course," he said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. She narrowed her eyes dangerously at what she assumed was some form of sexism.

"I beg your pardon!" she said testily.

Baskar studied her with some confusion. "Oh, I apologize. I assumed you knew. The form of hereditary Parseltongue that Salazar Slytherin incorporated into his genetic code only manifests in his male descendants. Women can, of course, learn Parseltongue the hard way just as I did, but they cannot inherit it naturally just by virtue of being one of Slytherin's heirs."

She paused in surprise. "Oh, no, I didn't know... Wait, Slytherin's genetic code? You understand genetics?" The witch appeared visibly shocked by his casual use of the scientific term.

The healer nodded. "Naturally. In addition to a Mastery in Magical Healing, I also hold an M.D. from Johns Hopkins in America, and I strive to stay abreast of new developments in both magical and Muggle healing."

Lily's eyes lit up, and she started asking him surprisingly insightful questions about the application of Muggle science to magical practices. Bascar smiled to himself.

"_In retrospect,_" he thought, "_I suppose I should have led with the fact that I have a Muggle medical degree if I wanted her to agree to my recommendations. Lily Potter is __exactly__ the sort of witch who would consider a university certificate more impressive than even a dozen Masteries._"

* * *

_**Jim and the Healer**_

When Jim returned to Healer Baskar's office, he noticed that the furniture had been rearranged somewhat. The desk and most of the chairs around it were gone. Only two comfortable chairs remained situated so as to face each other. To the side of one was a small table holding a tiny glass globe. Baskar gestured for Jim to take a seat, and as he did so, the healer produced a long thin willow wand with which he affirmed his healer's oath of patient confidentiality before placing the wand next to the globe.

"Now that the formalities are done, Mr. Potter," the healer began as he the opposite seat, "I'd like to start with a general Legilimency scan to assess the current state of your mind and soul so that I can properly devise a course of treatment. Have you learned how to clear your thoughts yet?"

Jim frowned. "Not really. Professor Dumbledore worked with me some, but we didn't make much progress last year before things ... went crazy."

Baskar nodded. "Well, I shall endeavor to avoid looking at any particular thoughts or memories. And since you can't actively clear your mind, you can do the next best thing – ask me questions!"

"About what?" Jim asked.

"About whatever pops into your head. Your goal is to keep your attention directed towards my responses and any follow-up questions you choose to make so that you don't have an opportunity to fixate on personal memories you do not want me to see." And with that, Baskar held up his hands in front of Jim's face and waved them back and forth several times in a stylized manner before gently touching the boy's temples with his middle fingers. "_Contact_," he whispered softly.

Jim had been surprised by the man's approach to mind-reading which seemed different from both Dumbledore and Snape, and his first question was about his Legilimency technique.

"Your Professors Snape and Dumbledore are, understandably, steeped in Western magical tradition," Baskar replied without taking his eyes off of Jim's. "Specifically, the Merlinian system and its reliance on wands and incantations. While I am proficient with wanded magic, I learned Legilimency in India where our traditional magical styles rely on mudras and katas as magical foci instead of wands."

"Mudras?" the boy asked with some confusion.

"A mudra is a stylized hand movement with magical significance within Indian mysticism. A kata is much the same except that it involves the whole body and is more associated with Chinese mysticism."

"I know what katas are. We learn them in Taekwando. Do you mean you can use those to do wandless magic?"

"Not in the sense you mean. In the Merlinian system - try not to blink so much if you can help it - anyway, in the Merlinian system, one learns to cast a spell with wand and incantation first. Then, after years spent mastering a spell, the wizard is eventually able to imagine casting the spell so clearly that he does not actually need the wand or the words to cast the spell. Traditionalist Eastern wizards, however, do not begin their studies with wands or words but with meticulously exacting body movements. This general technique has many forms and many names depending on where in Asia you find yourself. In India, it is known as the Mayavani technique, while in China, its more martial equivalent is called Wu Xi Do. Here in Shamballa, Language generally renders our common approach as the Enlightened Path."

Jim frowned as he considered the healer's words while trying to hold eye contact. "So why would people ever use wands if it's possible to just use your bare hands?"

"Because the process of learning magic through the Enlightened Path is incredibly exacting, to the extent that we generally begin magical training at the age of four instead of eleven. However, using a _tool_ instead of just the body allows one to produce magical effects with movements that are at once less complicated and less precise. In China and Japan, swords have been popular magical foci for many centuries, and nearly every magical culture has made extensive use of carefully crafted wooden staffs. The innovation of the Roman wizard Merlinus Ambroginus was to carve a staff down into a hollow wand and then fill its interior with biological matter from a magical creature of some kind. The result was a lightweight instrument that could be held in one hand and was inherently magical. Wands can be used to cast Charms with very simple movements that don't require the high levels of precision or physicality demanded by other foci. A wizard who studied the Enlightened Path was considered a Charms master if he could perform twenty-five or more Charms with just body movements. A wizard trained with a staff was considered a Charms master if he could use it to cast a hundred Charms. With a wand, a Charms Master is expected to know a thousand or more Charms. According to his biographical information, your Charms instructor Filius Flitwick has committed over 20,000 Charms to memory."

The boy blinked as he absorbed all that. Like every other British wizard, he knew who Merlin was ... sort of. Depending on which historian you asked, Merlin was either one incredibly powerful and long-lived wizard who influenced European and especially British wizardry for over a thousand years ... or else he (or she) was one of at least five individual wizards who'd all had similar names that got shortened to Merlin by sloppy record-keeping. The fabled wand-maker Merlinus Ambroginus was only oldest name associated with "Merlin" according to his _History of Magic_ notes. Jim was actually more intrigued by the reference to Professor Flitwick. He'd known the diminutive Charms Master for years and had completely failed to realize how exceptional he was within his area of expertise.

"So why do the wizards and witches here still use those other, um, _foci_?"

"Foci is the plural of focus. And it's for a variety of reasons. The most important is that we have kept ourselves separate from the West for most of our history. The Romans never came this far East, and the Ottomans were only occasional visitors. Muggle Britain has dominated both India and China but only quite recently by our reckoning, and not many wizards came with them. We have only had wand-makers in this part of the world for the past few centuries, and to be frank, their quality remains below that of the top European wand-makers like Gregorovich and Ollivander who are the inheritors of a 2,000-year-old art form. But more importantly, there are inherent advantages of our traditional techniques which, to many of us, outweigh the superior Charm-casting advantages of wand-working. Some of those advantages we'll be discussing as part of your treatment."

With that, the healer removed his fingers from Jim's temples and leaned back in his chair. Then, he took up his wand and tapped it against the globe which lit up with a soft light. Baskar addressed the globe, and its light shimmered in response to his words.

"This is Chief Mind Healer Gupta Baskar on 3 July 1993 recording the results of a preliminary psychic examination of one James Evan Potter Junior. Subject is a male wizard of British birth and descent approximately one month shy of his thirteenth birthday. Subject has an unusually strong core for his age registering between 9 and 11 on the Lubinsky-Chang scale, and he has completed two years of Hogwarts curriculum. Preliminary soul analysis indicates the following proportions: Air and Earth each between 15 and 20%. Fire a whopping 55%. Water less than 3%. Assessment of elemental soul sub-aspects to come later. Subject presents emotionally as a fairly well-adjusted boy for his age, but there are lingerings symptoms of PTSD and also aftereffects of exposure to a cursed Occlumency text which has resulted in a recent history of anger management issues. I am prescribing as an initial treatment an introduction into Water-style Wu Xi Do both as a relaxation and meditation tool and also to help realign the subject's Fire-Water imbalance."

Baskar tapped the globe again with his wand and it disappeared. Then, he turned to Jim with a smile. "Now, I suppose your wondering that all that jargon means. Where would you like to start?"

"Um, my ... Fire-Water imbalance, I guess?"

"There are four metaphysical components to the wizarding soul. In India, we have traditionally described them using the four traditional elements of the Buddhist cosmology: Air, Earth, Fire and Water. In the West, they might instead be described using the four bodily humours: sanguine, choleric, melancholic, and phlegmatic. Or to put it into more familiar terms, your extreme imbalance in favor of the Fire element is why you are a Gryffindor instead of a Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw and why there was never a chance of you being a Slytherin even though the Sorting Hat surely knew you were a Parselmouth."

"Actually, the Hat offered me Slytherin."

"And let me guess, you rejected the suggestion out of hand and practically begged for Gryffindor."

Jim blushed at that as Baskar continued.

"In fact, I would hazard a guess that the Sorting Hat sensed your Fire-Water imbalance – or however a magical hat might consider it – and encouraged you to go to Slytherin in the hopes that being around so many Water-aligned classmates might help you to realign."

The boy considered that. "How do you know so much about Hogwarts Sortings?"

"Personal experience. I was sorted into Ravenclaw in 1914, though I returned to Shamballa after my Fourth Year and eventually took my OWLS here. The British climate was not conducive to my health." Then, Baskar chuckled. "By which I mean both the Scottish weather _and_ the local political climate, but that's neither here nor there."

Jim pondered about that remark before moving on. "And my anger management issues?" he asked.

"Being Fire-aligned, you might be expected to have behavioral problems of that nature, but they were surely aggravated by the Occlumency book you had been studying as well as PTSD arising from your two encounters with Voldemort." He paused. "I notice you don't flinch at that name."

Jim smiled. "Somebody tries to kill you enough, you get used to it. At this point, I refuse to give the bastard the satisfaction of being afraid of him."

"Of course. _Exactly_ as a Fire-aligned would say."

Jim's smile faded. "And that's ... a problem, then?"

"It is not a problem for one aspect to predominate, Mr. Potter. That's actually usually the case. It _is_ a problem for one aspect to outweigh _the other three combined_ and for one – the Water aspect, in this case – to be almost wholly absent. Based on my assessment and without having any personal knowledge of your personality and history, I would predict that you have a tendency to react on instinct instead of after considering all your options, that you have a heroic impulse that almost rises to the point of a martyr complex, and that you are generally impatient and impetuous in your decision-making. I also suspect that this imbalance is your biggest stumbling block to becoming an Occlumens, a skill that is generally considered Water-aligned. Would you say that describes your fairly well?"

The boy nodded. "And we're going to correct that with ... magical Kung Fu?"

Baskar snorted softly. "It's hardly Kung Fu, Mr. Potter. To the uninitiated, the style you'll be learning might look somewhat like Tai Chi, though its forms would look completely different to anyone who actually knew anything about Tai Chi. Basically, you'll be learning a system of body movements that will focus your magic through your body in a way that will relax your mind and harmonize the disparate elements of your soul."

Jim's eyes lit up. "Will I be able to learn to cast spells with martial arts?!"

Baskar suppressed a laugh. "Theoretically... if you practice at least ten hours a day ... for the next ten or so years. Right now, we're focusing on a more realistic goal of you spending an hour or so every day working on katas that will help you to control your emotions and experience a less stressful life."

Jim laughed as well. "Okay, we'll _start_ with that."

* * *

**To be continued.**

* * *

**STATUS UPDATE: 2016 continues to be a miserable bitch. A few weeks ago, my mother suffered a mild stroke, and I was the only family member whose work schedule was fluid enough for me to stay with her for a week before we could get her set up for home health management. Understandably, I've had little time for creative writing and never even considered NaMoWriMo this year. Maybe in 2017.**

**In light of the foregoing, I honestly can't predict my update schedule for the immediate future. Originally, this chapter was going to be about 10-13k words, but I decided to break it in two just so that I could post something now and let everyone know what's what. Part 2 of "JP and the Beast of Shamballa" will be up within the next 10-14 days ... unless the election goes badly and I spend a week or two curled up in a fetal ball while sucking on a whiskey bottle like it's mother's milk. **

**After that will likely come a Ron-centric chapter about his own Shamballa adventures and a fairly short "Weasley family" chapter (SPOILER: They still get a trip to Egypt out of the Daily Prophet draw). There may also be a short chapter focusing on ... someone else, or that may get folded into one of the other chapters. While Harry may seem to be on the periphery for a while, he is very busy during the Summer of 1993, as you will soon see.**

**AN1: I swear to God and JKR, I wrote 95% of this chapter prior to seeing "Doctor Strange," and in particular, the Himalayan magical city of Shamballa was called that in my notes over four months ago. While Jim (and a few others) will be studying what appear to be wandless magical martial arts, they will not be remotely as flashy as in Doctor Strange or the Matrix, although a few Wu Xi Do tricks that Jim picks up may seem familiar.**

**AN2: Likewise, while elemental aspects are discussed as a fixture of Eastern mysticism, rest assured no one is going to learn Fire-bending or anything of that ilk nor any other form of elemental manipulation. While I love Avatar: The Last Airbender, that's not how things work in the POSverse. Wu Xi Do may provide Jim a few cool tricks, but he won't be wandlessly shooting fireballs or jets of water with his bare hands or flying through the air without a broom. **


	87. HP&DEM 4: Prelude (Jim) pt 2

**HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATH EATER MENACE**

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated charaters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership. **

* * *

**CHAPTER 4: Jim Potter and the Beast of Shamballa (pt 2)**

_**15 July 1993  
Longbottom Manor**_

As the warm afternoon sun shone down on his back, Harry Potter sat alone at a table on the balcony outside his room at Longbottom Manor while going over his daily correspondence (which was unusually heavy for a boy not yet thirteen). At the moment, he was reading the letter from his twin brother that had just arrived from India, and he suppressed a twinge of jealousy that Jim Potter of all people would be receiving specialized instruction into how to incorporate Parseltongue into spellcasting. Of course, once Harry was the Prince of Slytherin, he would have access to the largest treasure trove of Parseltongue lore in the world, but it still chafed that Jim would come back from India knowing more about their mutual gift than he. The boy shook his head as he shrugged off the negative emotions. He had business to attend to here in Britain that took precedence over both Parseltongue and sibling rivalry. Besides, from the tone of Jim's letters, had Harry gone to India as well, he would be spending as much time embroiled in interpersonal drama as he would be learning new magic.

From the nearby swimming pool, Harry heard a soft splash as Neville dove in for yet another set of laps. The young Slytherin glanced down at his friend and watched as he tore furiously through the water. Neville had been in a right state ever since Hermione's letters arrived from Italy the day before. The girl seemed quite eager to set up a "support group" for Theo Nott, a prospect which baffled Harry and enraged Neville. Not even several hours spent wrestling with a Venomous Tentacula had cooled his fury, so the boy had spent most of the afternoon engaged in disturbingly vigorous swimming. After at least fifty laps so far, he showed no signs of slowing down.

Harry had quietly broached the topic of Neville's extreme reaction to Theo's Ultimate Sanction with Lady Augusta. Aside from the obvious effects the spell seemed to have on Neville's mental health, it seemed increasingly likely that Neville's attitude might complicate their mutual plans for the summer. Augusta nodded and said that she was "considering options."

* * *

_**Earlier...**_

_"I must say, Lady Augusta, that you seem to be handling the effects of the Ultimate Sanction rather well," Harry had said. "If it's not rude for me to ask, are you an Occlumens?"_

_"As I have stated, Harry," she replied imperiously. "I disapprove of the studying of Occlumency both due to its social stigma and attendant risk of mental impairment."_

_"So you have, Lady Augusta. And if I may say so, the way you just dodged my question was worthy of a Slytherin."_

_The dowager turned to Harry and lifted her chin. "Thank you, Harry. The Sorting Hat did offer it as my second choice, after all."_

* * *

_**Now ... **_

Harry smiled at the memory as he continued to read Jim's letter. The Slytherin in him kept looking for subtext or hidden messages, and he was continually annoyed to not find any, but his inner Gryffindor found Jim's hopelessly direct writing style to be almost refreshing considering how many letters he'd exchanged with other Slytherins so far this summer.

"_Speaking of which_," Harry thought to himself as he set aside his twin's letter and pulled a fresh sheet of parchment and an Everfull Quill from his bag. After mentally composing his message, he set to writing.

_To My Good Friend Marcus Flint – _

_When last we spoke, you reminded me of your intention to return to Hogwarts for an eighth year to finish NEWTS level instruction in Transfiguration, but you were concerned about the expense. I have previously assured you that I would do everything I could to help you fulfill your academic goals, and I am happy to tell you that my efforts have borne fruit. If you would do me the courtesy of coming via Floo to Longbottom Manor on the afternoon of July 24__th__ at around two o'clock, I would be delighted to introduce you to several friends who have need of a young man possessed of your particular skills and who are prepared to pay you enough to cover your expenses for the coming school year. __Trust me__ when I say that the job they will be offering is one for which you are particularly suited and also one of great importance to the public welfare. _

_I look forward to your response._

_Your friend – Harry_

* * *

_**3 July 1993  
Shamballa  
(about two weeks earlier)**_

A few hours after completing Jim Potter's initial examination, Healer Baskar introduced the Boy-Who-Lived to his trainer for his initiation into the mystical Four-Fold Path of Enlightenment – Padma Patil! Baskar and his niece explained that she had started training since she was a little girl, though she had perhaps not been as diligent as most of the initiates, particularly so after starting Hogwarts. Nevertheless, she was fully qualified to introduce Jim to the basic concepts, and Baskar thought Jim would be more comfortable taking such instruction from someone he knew than a stranger. Padma would spend the afternoon and part of the next day teaching Jim the basic relaxation katas which were designed to promote mental healing. Then, she and they would join one of the classes at the Temple of Wisdom along with a room full of acolytes who were studying a series of movements which would replicate the most basic levels of Occlumency. In the meantime, Healer Baskar would consider the best approach for allowing Jim to conceal his personal thoughts from Legilimency (a skill far beyond the beginning levels of the Path). Jim inquired after Ron, but the healer somewhat evasively said that the other boy would require some additional healing of a less physical nature but that he would be joining them in a few days.

Padma showed Jim to a locker room where he changed into the clothing provided: a yellow martial arts uniform similar to a gi or a dobok but with a small magically-reinforced pocket for holding a wand securely without any chance of it breaking. When he came out of the locker room, Padma was waiting for him in an identical outfit except that hers had two patches, one green and one blue, sewn onto the sleeve. He asked about them.

"Oh those?" she replied. "We don't change belt colors as we advance the way Muggle martial artists do. We just transfigure our patches. This one identifies me as a ninth-step acolyte of the Path of Water and a twelfth-step acolyte of the Path of Air."

Jim whistled. "Impressive."

Padma chuckled softly. "Not really. There are _433_ steps on each of the four Paths. I started when I was seven, which is actually kind of old to begin training, and I didn't really take it as seriously as I should have. I mainly focused on Mayavani mudras that would help me in my future education. Water to improve memory and keep me calm under stress. Air to improve my intuition and analytical skills."

"Do they really help with that?"

"I'm third in our class, Jim," she said with a mischievous smile. "Draw your own conclusions."

As the two talked, Padma led Jim down a corridor to a 30x30 exercise room with mirrors covering every wall and thickly padded floors. In one corner was a brass sitar mounted on a stand. Padma stroked the sitar's strings gently and said "Water Style. First Degree. Peace and Relaxation." Immediately, the sitar started playing a gentle relaxing tune, and Jim was surprised to hear the soft sounds of waves lapping against a shore, sounds that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere.

"Right, listen up, Jim Potter. Because this will be simultaneously one of the easiest and one of the hardest things you've ever had to do." Padma paused. "Mentally, that is – I'm sure it's not nearly as hard as killing a Basilisk or any of that fash. First of all, just stand still with your eyes closed and listen to the music while you think about being relaxed and at peace with yourself. Let yourself sway in time with the music if you're into that. Then, when you're ready, open your eyes and just start to move. I'll be doing the same kata beside you, and you can see us both in the mirror. Use my movements as a rough guide but you don't have to mirror me perfectly. The easy part is that you don't have to do anything yourself. Just let magic and intent guide your body. The hard part is that what I just told you to do defies everything your Taekwando teachers ever told you about executing your forms perfectly, as well as everything that you as a Gryffindor understand about ... well, about being a Gryffindor, I suppose.

Jim's forehead furrowed a bit at that last comment, but he nodded and closed his eyes for a good fifteen seconds to focus on the gentle music. Then, he opened them to see his and Padma's reflections in the mirror in front of them. Padma was already moving in time with music, her movements graceful and sinuous. In fact, Jim thought they were quite ... serpentine.

"So, um, are you actually going to teach me the moves?" he asked.

"No," the witch replied placidly. "You're going to decide that you want to feel peaceful and relaxed, and then you'll simply move. Magic will do the rest, guiding your movements as necessary ... if you can get your ego out of the way long enough."

Jim made a face. "My ego isn't _that_ big."

She laughed. "I didn't say it was. _Everyone_ has an ego, a sense of self-importance that stops you from letting your Magic simply lead you along the Path to where you want to go. Stop thinking so hard and just ... be."

Jim fought the urge to roll his eyes and instead started copying Padma's movements while trying to keep his head clear. It wasn't easy. Jim had come to understand what Healer Baskar had meant by his "fiery Gryffindor nature." It seemed like no matter how hard he tried to clear his mind, his thoughts were always churning and racing. Nevertheless, after about five minutes of trying to follow Padma's flowing movements, it felt like his mind was finally slowing down and his breathing was more relaxed. He also noticed to his surprise that even though he didn't actually _know_ the movements for this kata, he was now somehow performing it perfectly in sync with his tutor even though there seemed to be no rhyme or pattern to the movements.

"I think I'm getting the hang of this," he said.

"This is the most basic pattern of Water Style, but yes, you are coming along very nicely for your first lesson."

He chuckled. "Maybe I'll be some kind of martial arts prodigy."

"And _there's_ that Gryffindor ego. Allow me to puncture it by noting that _four-year-olds_ pick up this technique after a few hours."

Jim blushed slightly. He was silent for another moment before speaking again. "Does this style have any, um, combat applications?"

"All of the styles do according to their nature. Water style is a passive style that focuses on dodging and redirecting attacks."

"Like Judo or Aikido?"

"I'll take your word for it. I know very little about Muggle martial arts."

He nodded and was silent for a few more minutes.

"So do _you_ know how to fight?"

"I can defend myself," she said primly as she raised her arm gracefully over her head and then brought it back down like a wave slowly crashing against a shoreline. "Somewhere around the eighteenth or nineteenth step on the Water Path, I should learn how to do nerve strikes that paralyze my opponents, but I can already cast Petrificus Totalus with a wand, so it's not really a priority."

"After we get to a stopping point, can you show me some moves?" he said with poor attempt at being casual.

Padma sighed loudly before turning to face Jim. "Fine. We'll get this out of the way now since you obviously won't stop thinking about it until we do." She stepped back and assumed a relaxed (looking) martial arts pose. "Hit me," she said.

Jim stopped his own movements and studied the girl before looking around somewhat nervously. In the background, the enchanted sitar continued to play. "Seriously?"

She nodded. "Come on then, Mighty Gryffindor. Show me what Taekwando can do!"

The boy shrugged and assumed a fighting pose. He bounced lightly on the balls of his feet for a few seconds while Padma waited calmly. Then, he lashed out with a kick to the girl's leg, though one without much force. To his surprise, Padma leaned to the side, casually dodging his kick and the next three that followed it without the slightest apparent effort. Now a bit frustrated, Jim attacked with his best roundhouse kick. This time, Padma didn't dodge but instead caught Jim's leg with her hands. Surprisingly though, she seemed to exert no force in blocking his kick. Instead, she simply placed her hands in the path of Jim's leg and then twisted them slightly. Instantly, the momentum that Jim had put into the kick changed its direction, and Jim was shocked when his whole body twisted around before he was dumped face first onto the padded floor. Instantly, he whirled around in surprise.

"How did you...?" he exclaimed. "I didn't even feel you grab my leg."

"I _didn't _grab your leg. I redirected the motion of your attack with a water mudra. Water style is about moving around attacks and redirecting them into other directions, much like water finding its way past obstacles."

Jim absorbed that explanation as he climbed to his feet. "So can you use it for direct attacks?"

"Not yet. Well, not with Water style, yet. I'm further along with Air style."

He smiled almost mischievously. "Show me?"

Padma rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Gryffindors," she sighed. Then, in a swift movement, she crossed her arms in front of her chest and then uncrossed them so that they were stretched out like a bird's wings. And like a bird, she was suddenly airborne nearly four feet off the ground with her legs tucked up under her and nearly even with Jim's head. In a flash, she struck with a mighty kick that hit Jim right in the solar plexus and sent him flying twenty feet across the room. He landed roughly and coughed a few times before looking up towards Padma in shock.

"Okay, -cough- I probably deserved that, but wasn't that bit of overkill? I mean, you could have really hurt me with that!" Then, he paused in confusion and felt his chest where Padma's kick had struck. It didn't even feel sore. "You _should_ have really hurt me with that! How did you not hurt me even though you kicked me the length of a room?!"

Padma chuckled as she walked over. "Jim, if you want to study magical martial arts, you will first have to accept the fact that they are _magical_. Muggle martial arts are governed by physics and biology. Magical martial arts are governed by _intent_. I had no desire to hurt you, and so my kick _didn't _hurt you even though it did knock you across the room. In fact, to be honest, at my current step on the Path of Air, I don't think I _can_ form the intent to harm needed to truly injure someone with just an attack. I mean, if you were at the edge of a cliff or at the top of a tall staircase, you might get hurt or even killed if I knocked you over, but I literally can't cause direct bodily harm with any of my current techniques. If I push myself this summer, then _maybe_ I'll be high enough to intentionally injure someone with an Air attack, assuming for some silly reason I was inclined to do so. We'll see."

As she reached down to help the boy up, his face thoughtful as he considered her words.

"Now then," Padma said. "Can we please get back to the stuff you're _supposed _to be studying? I promised Uncle Gupta that I'd have you ready for an actual _class_ by tomorrow afternoon."

"You really think I'll be ready to practice in front of a group by tomorrow?" Jim asked in surprise.

"Not only ready," she answered with a smirk. "You'll be head and shoulders above the rest."

* * *

_**4 July 1993**_

As he surveyed the classroom, Jim resisted the temptation to stick his tongue out at Padma. He was indeed head and shoulders above the rest of the class ... as every other student was somewhere between the ages of 5 and 7. There were about forty pint-sized martial artists in the room, all of them already performing the relaxation kata in perfect unison. And based on his embarrassing "fight" with Padma the previous day, he figured half of the little sprogs could probably beat the stuffing out of him.

In the front of the classroom, Jim saw the tall muscular monk he'd briefly encountered the day before and who was now leading the group in their exercises. The one who looked like a bald-headed European who'd been in way too many knife fights judging by the scars on his exposed arms. "Brother Chandra" (if Jim remembered the man's name properly) glanced over at the two and practically grimaced. He immediately stopped his kata, and as one, the young students snapped to attention.

"Students," he said with only a hint of harshness in his voice, "we are honored with a special guest today – Jim Potter, who is known around the world as the famous 'Boy-Who-Lived!' Please afford him every courtesy."

The children in the class, none of whom seemed to have any idea who Jim was, turned towards him and bowed in unison. Jim returned the bow clumsily and then turned back towards Brother Chandra who once again seemed to regard him with barely concealed dislike. Inexplicably, Jim had a flashback to his first day of Potions with Snape, and he desperately hoped today didn't turn into as big a fiasco.

"You and Padma may take a spot all the way in the back, Mr. Potter," Chandra said. "We wouldn't want you block the younger students' view, after all."

Jim nodded and allowed Padma to lead him to the back of the room. He noticed that even Padma was surprised by Brother Chandra's attitude.

"I get the feeling he doesn't like you, Jim," the girl whispered. "It's very strange. I've studied under him since I was a little girl, and he's always been very kind, especially with new students."

"How long has he been here?" Jim asked quietly.

The girl thought. "He started training me when I was about seven, and I think he said he'd been here for about four or five years at that point. He was from Britain originally. He must have come here after the war."

As the two took their positions and joined in the group kata, Jim studied the instructor as best he was able, with particular emphasis on the man's forearms. They were bare and free of tattoos, but that didn't necessarily prove anything. As far as Jim knew, there was only one sort of person who might have fled Britain in 1982 and who would hate the Boy-Who-Lived on sight.

A Death Eater.

* * *

_**6 July 1993**_

Death Eater or no, Brother Chandra took no harmful actions against Jim beyond constant sullen glares. It was a somewhat surprising attitude given the man's otherwise sterling reputation within the Temple. According to Padma, Chandra had mastered the 99th Step along the Path of Water, and he was nearly as high in the other three paths, a meteoric rise for someone who didn't start until his twenties. Even more surprising, Chandra had chosen to pursue all four paths in harmony instead of just one. Had he specialized, Chandra would likely be much higher ranked and have a much more influential position within the Temple of Wisdom. Regardless, the man should be the equivalent of a Level 3 Occlumens, and for him to show so much obvious anger told Jim that Chandra either didn't care about letting the boy know how much the man disliked him ... or Chandra's anger at Jim was so great that he was literally unable to Occlude it away.

On the morning of the 6th, Ron finally joined Jim and Padma in training. The other boy had spent most of the last two days in private sessions with Healer Baskar, and he was still reluctant to share too much with Jim, who elected not to push. If nothing else, Ron seemed calmer and more at peace than when they'd left Great Britain.

The two boys spent about three hours a day on Water Style. That was the only time they ever saw Padma, who was otherwise engaged in private martial arts lessons. The rest of the time, Jim and Ron spent on Parseltongue lessons, both learning more about their rare ability and, to their mutual surprise, _teaching_ the ability to others. As Healer Gupta explained, a non-Parselmouth could actually "learn" the language by rote-memorizing a set number of Parseltongue phrases. After learning how to "pronounce" (i.e. accurately hiss) enough phrases flawlessly, the student would "harmonize" with the inherent magic of the language and thereafter be able to understand the whole language intuitively. Unfortunately, the process wasn't as easy as it sounded. First, the number of phrases that would need to be memorized ranged from several hundred to over a thousand depending on the individual learner's innate facility with magical languages. Second, the pronunciation had to be _perfect_ which was incredibly difficult for human beings not inherently able to detect the subtle variations in snake hisses. Finally, and most problematically, Parseltongue triggered an automatic fear response in most people who didn't speak it, and according to Gupta, most students who tried to learn the language had breakdowns and gave up before properly mastering even a hundred phrases.

To hopefully improve Gupta's teaching methods, the boys were asked to spend several hours a day speaking various English sentences followed by their Parseltongue equivalents while in front of the glass globes that were used in Shamballa for recording purposes. Gupta himself had generated several hours worth of Parseltongue globes for students to listen to, but he theorized that the circumstances by which Ron and Jim had learned the language might make it "purer" than his self-taught version and thus easier for aspiring Parselmouths to master.

Last but certainly not least, the two boys spent several hours every day with Gupta himself learning what he called "Parselmagic."

"I should say that _Parselmagic_ is not an officially recognized term, my friends," he had explained during the first session. "It's an neologism I came up with to describe the effects of saying conventional Western magical incantations in Parseltongue. Most of the time, there's no discernible difference in the effects, but some spells are more powerful when cast with Parseltongue, and a few spells are _much_ more powerful when cast with Parseltongue. There is an anecdotal evidence of past Parselmouths casting in this way, most notably the Dark Lord from whom you two acquired your own abilities. However, as an organized field of analytical study, this is all quite new and, well, I'm apparently the only one who's studying it. Frankly, I am delighted to have other Parselmouths who can confirm my findings."

Thus far, those findings were somewhat sparse. The most important was that the more S's there were in the incantation, the more of a boost it got from being spoken in Parseltongue. By an interesting coincidence, this included a large number of both healing spells and damaging curses. Both Ron and Jim noted that it felt uncomfortable and strange to cast in Parseltongue, but Jim did notice that his Expelliarmus was more powerful when hissed. Unfortunately, that hiss added onto the end word ("_**EXPELLIARMUSSSSS!**_") significantly increased the casting time to the point that Jim thought it would be less useful in a duel than casting the spell normally despite the more potent effects from a successful Parselmagic hit.

* * *

_**7 July 1993  
Healer Baskar's Office**_

The next day, Jim was called to a meeting with Gupta Baskar while Ron and Padma trained together without him.

"Good afternoon, Jim," Baskar said cheerfully as he gestured for Jim to take a seat. "I've called you in because I wanted to talk to you about your Occlumency situation. First of all, how do you feel about your Water style progress?"

Jim thought about the question. "I feel more ... relaxed, which is good I guess. I'm not sure that it's translated into better Occlumency shields."

"No, I imagine it hasn't. As we discussed during your initial interview, you have an extremely powerful Fire nature which resists Water style mental conditioning. I do want you to continue studying Water style for its mental health benefits, but I don't think it's going to help you develop psychic shields in the near future. And just to clarify, your primary goal is simply to be able block Legilimency, correct? To conceal secrets you consider too dangerous to know?"

Jim nodded.

"Well, then. I think it's time we considered alternative approaches. If you don't mind, we'll start with the simplest one first." Baskar paused. "I apologize. This might be a bit ... painful."

Jim hardly had time to respond before he felt a powerful Legilimency attack burning into his mind. For just a few seconds, he was back in the Chamber of Secrets, dying in agony from the Basilisk's bite. Then, it was over and he was slumped back in his chair as the Healer stood over him holding out a Headache Potion.

"What the hell was that?!" Jim exclaimed.

"A waste of time, I'm afraid. A small percentage of wizards can quickly develop an automagical defense to Legilimency when exposed to intentionally painful psychic assaults. For the rest of us, it just ... hurts. You are not part of that fortunate minority, but I thought it best to eliminate the possibility before moving on to the more ... complicated approach." With that, Baskar pulled out his wand and summoned his Patronus, which manifested as a silver mongoose.

"Please go to Brother Chandra and to Lily Potter and ask them both to come to my office as soon as possible." The mongoose nodded and twitched his nose before disappearing in a flash of light.

"Why do you need my Mum here?" Jim asked. "_Not to mention the guy who may be a Death Eater_," he thought to himself nervously.

"Because the only other shortcut to viable mental defenses I know of is one that I would not wish you to pursue without discussing the matter with your parents. As you are a minor, it would be improper for me to proceed without their consent. Tell me, Jim, what do you know about ... _animagi?_"

The boy stared in confusion. "Um, not much. I know a animagus is a wizard or witch who can transform into an animal without using a spell. My Transfiguration Professor back at Hogwarts is a cat animagus."

"Really?!" Baskar perked up in surprise. "How fascinating! I should like to interview her some day to see how cat psychology has affected her human personality!"

"Uh-huh," said Jim, who was distracted by the Healer's sudden excitement. "But in the meantime, what does being an animagus have to do with Occlumency?"

"Nothing," Baskar replied. "It is completely unrelated to that power. _But_ it can provide a useful substitute. During the early phases of learning an animagus form, the wizard develops a dual-process mind. He simultaneously thinks as both a human and an animal. This provides a powerful defense against Legilimency, as the wizard can simply choose to think with his animal-mind which the human Legilimens cannot comprehend."

Jim's eyes widened in surprise. Then, he frowned in confusion. "But I thought it took a long time to become an animagus."

"Well, as I said, you don't actually need to master the skill in order to block a Legilimens. But regardless, as it happens, we are pleased to have something of an expert on the topic here at the Temple of Wisdom, one who has successfully taught a number of wizards and witches to completely master the change much more quickly than through traditional approaches."

"Brother Chandra," Jim said with a frown.

"Indeed." Baskar paused at Jim's expression. "Is there a problem between you and Brother Chandra?"

Before Jim could respond, there was a knock at the door, and then at Baskar's invitation, Brother Chandra came in, pausing only for a brief instant when he saw Jim.

"You wished to see me, Healer Baskar?" the man said coolly.

"Why yes, Chandra. I gather you've already met young Mr. Potter if only in passing. We're awaiting the boy's mother now. If she approves, I would like to ask you to take Mr. Potter on as a animagus student."

At that, Chandra looked back and forth between the Healer and the Boy-Who-Lived for an uncomfortably long time.

"No," he finally said.

"Excuse me, Brother Chandra?" Baskar asked in confusion.

"I said no, Healer Baskar. I will not train Jim Potter to become an animagus. If it is, for some unfathomable reason, necessary for his treatment to learn that skill, I will be happy to recommend former students of mine who have completed the transformation. But I will not teach this boy."

With that, Chandra turned back towards the door, while Jim shot out of his chair, uncertain as to whether he should be insulted or relieved.

"May I ask why?" Baskar persisted.

"You may ask, Healer, but I have no desire to tell. My reasons are my own." Then, Chandra yanked the door open somewhat angrily only to step back in surprise when he found Lily Potter on the other side.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Lily said, equally startled. She stepped past the monk into the room to acknowledge the Healer and her son before looking back to the man she'd almost run into. Then, her eyes widened in shock. "You!"

Chandra closed his eyes and exhaled deeply as he sought to center himself.

"Oh," said Baskar. "You two know each other?"

"Yes, Healer," Chandra said, his eyes still closed. "We do indeed."

Then, the man opened his eyes to glare at Lily Potter. For just a second, Jim thought those eyes flashed amber rather than the pale green they'd been before. And the look of disdain that the monk had been giving him was nothing compared to the obvious contempt he had for the still speechless Lily.

"It's so very nice to see you again after all these years, Lily," said Remus Lupin with a cold sneer. "By the way ... _how's Harry?_"

* * *

_**11 February 1982  
A quiet back booth at the Leaky Cauldron**_

"They're going to send Harry to _the Dursleys!_" Remus said with visible disgust.

"I know, Remus, I know. It hurts. I remember how well you and the little tyke got on." Peter sighed as he tore off piece of bread that came with the Venison and Leek Stew that was on special today. "But I think you have to accept that this may be for the best. If Little Harry is truly a squib..."

"You _don't know_ that he's a squib! And neither do James nor Lily nor Dumbledore! He's still a baby for Merlin's sake!"

"Maybe so, my friend. But the best pediatric healers at St. Mungo's agree with Dumbledore's assessment. Harry shows no signs of magic whatsoever. I'm sorry, but I agree with Dumbledore on this. If Harry's a squib, then it's a cruelty to raise him in a magical household and particularly one that might someday be targeted for revenge by Death Eaters. Better to send him off to Muggles relatives now where he'll be safe rather than let him have the memory of magic he'll never be able to use and a wizarding inheritance that will be dangled in front of him until it gets snatched away on his eleventh birthday. And besides, if he does show magic, Petunia has promised to let Lily know so we can bring him back."

"_Petunia_!" Remus practically spat the name out. "You _remember _what she was like!"

"Remus," said Peter gently. "This isn't about Petunia, I think. It's about you and James."

Remus stared down at his untouched bowl of stew on table. It took all his will not to grab it and fling it against a wall. "I was willing to go Muggle if that's what it took to become Harry's guardian. To forsake the magical world forever and live as a Muggle. And James laughed. He literally laughed in my face and said '_How could that ever work, Moony? You're a __werewolf__!_'"

Peter stiffened and looked around quickly. "Shhh!" he hissed quietly but urgently. "I know your upset, Moony, but for Merlin's sake, let's not start a riot in the heart of Diagon Alley."

Remus scoffed. "I set up a privacy ward, Peter. I'm not stupid."

Peter relaxed but only a little. "I know you're not stupid, Remus. You've always been the smartest of us all. But ... you're emotional right now. We're all still raw about everything that's happened, and I understand that. But try to think about this sensibly. Given your condition, you'll always have difficulty maintaining employment even if no one knows the real reason why. You'll have constant health issues. You'll have to arrange for someone to take Harry when it's ... your time of the month. And if it _ever_ gets out about your furry little problem, not only will Harry be taken from you by the Ministry and you probably _put down like a rabid beast_, but James and Lily might be judged unfit parents for entrusting you with him, and they could lose Jim as well." Peter took a deep breath. "And that doesn't even get into..."

Remus looked up at him sharply. "Into what?"

The rat animagus grimaced and put on a show of reluctance and embarrassment. "I think James and Lily thought you might ... that you might finally be going _dark_."

The werewolf's nostrils flared angrily and he suppressed the urge to growl. "It's been _sixteen years_! Sixteen years and I've never given in to the Beast!How could they possibly think such a thing?!"

Peter shrugged. "Well, let's be honest. You _are_ rather unusual in that regard. Possibly unique. Besides ... I think... that Sirius may have put the idea into their heads. Possibly as a way of further isolating the Potters before You-Know-Who's attack."

"_Actually,_" he thought to himself smugly, even as his face remained a mask of compassion, "_it was me putting the idea into Sirius's head first, but let's not quibble over who started that ugly rumor._"

Remus shook his head in amazement. "I still can't believe that. Sirius Black, of all people. I've known him since I was _eleven_. I could conceive of him doing some pretty bad things but _never _in the service of You-Know-Who. What happened to him?!"

"I dunno. Life, maybe?" Peter paused to take a spoonful of stew as he considered his words. "You know as well as I that the Marauders started drifting apart after that business with Snivellus and the Shrieking Shack. And then James started dating Lily at last, and Black was suddenly a third wheel." He chuckled softly. "I was never quite sure who Sirius was most jealous of – Lily for stealing away his best friend, or James for finally landing Lily right after Sirius and Marlene broke up for good. And _then _we graduated and went our separate ways. Regulus died around then leaving Sirius as the only viable Black heir. I was unemployed and stuck at home taking care of Mother. You were off with the werewolf packs on the continent, a fact which James and Sirius and Lily all found ... suspicious."

Remus's eyes goggled. "I was _doing that_ at the personal request of Albus Dumbledore! He needed a spy within the packs to find out if they were going to ally with the Death Eaters! I risked my life daily on that mission!"

Peter put his hands up to placate the other Marauder. "I know, I know. But think of it from their perspective. You were living constantly with other werewolves. With _real_ werewolves."

"I _am_ a real werewolf, Peter."

"You know what I mean, Moony." Peter paused for a moment as if distracted. "You know, after all these years, I've never even bothered to ask. Do you _like_ being called Moony?"

Remus was surprised by the question. "I never minded it. It was just one of Sirius's little jokes. You got used to those if you spent enough time around him."

"It was Sirius sticking you with a mean-spirited nickname to remind you of your place in the pecking order," Peter said with a trace of bitterness. "You know - like _Wormtail_."

"I never realized you disliked the name Wormtail so much, Peter."

"Oh of course you did, Remus. I noticed long ago that when neither Padfoot nor Prongs was around, you _always _called me Peter. And I was always grateful." He held up his glass as if for a toast. "Here's to the bottom half of the Marauders – Moony and Wormtail. May we always remember our place ... and who our real friends are."

Remus snorted and clinked his glass against his friend's. The two each took a drink. But then, Peter grew more serious.

"But I digress. You were off with werewolf packs who generally if not universally lack your apparently unique self-control and dignity. Honestly, Remus, how did you avoid killing innocent people when you were running with the packs? How did you avoid _eating_ innocent people?"

Remus leaned back and looked away. "With great difficulty and almost Slytherinesque cunning. But I did it. My slate is still clean. My ledger has no red in it. But that still didn't stop James and Lily from just assuming ..."

Remus paused abruptly suddenly overcome with emotion. He rubbed his face with his hands, trying to wipe away tears with as much dignity as he could muster. Peter suddenly became very interested in his venison stew which he toyed with for several seconds while the other man fought to regain his composure.

"There's nothing for me here in Britain, is there Peter?" Remus finally said.

"You've still got me, old bean," Peter said meaningfully. "Always."

"I know Peter, and thank you. But this country has too many bad memories. Perhaps a few years on the Continent will do me good."

Peter scoffed. "If there's nothing for you here in Britain where you at least have a network of friends, one of whom is quite wealthy, then there's definitely nothing for you in _France or Germany_. None of the European Wizarding nations will treat you better than Old Blighty, and most of them will treat you worse."

Remus frowned. "Well what would you suggest, Peter?"

The other man thought for a moment. "The Far East!" he suddenly exclaimed. "Do you remember that book you found back in Fifth Year? The one about the magical city of Shamballa and the monk-wizards there who taught mystical Zen mumbo-jumbo or something like that?"

Lupin gave one of his famous long-suffering looks. "It's called the Four-Fold Path of Enlightenment, Peter. It's a perfectly legitimate approach to magic, albeit one very different from the Merlinian system."

Pettigrew waved his hand diffidently. "Whatever. Anyway, you wondered at the time if studying their techniques might allow you to gain some measure of control over your transformations. If you want a change of scenery, why not try there? You just said Dumbles owes you a favor for risking your neck during the War. Contact him and see if he can get you an introduction to the Chief Monk or Head Guru or whoever's in charge."

Remus's eyes lit up, but then he shook his head. "Peter, I don't have the funds to relocate to the other side of the world. I can't ask from Dumbledore, and I _won't_ ask from James, not after he..."

"Then take some money from me, Remus." Peter put up a hand to stop his friend's objections. "It's _okay_, Remus. I've got some money to burn. I'm getting an award for helping James capture Sirius that will have some cash with it. And besides, after I turned twenty-one, I was finally able to access my father's old vault. Obviously, I'm not supplanting James as the Pampered Prince of Gryffindor, but I've got a nice little nest egg that I never knew I had."

"Your father left you an inheritance and you're just now getting it? But I thought he died when you were a small child."

Peter smiled but without any humor. "Mother did something to get it tied up until just last year. She was afraid I'd squander it, I suppose. But it's all mine now. A nice sum of Galleons ... plus a few family heirlooms hardly worth mentioning."

Remus gave Peter a quizzical look. For just a second, it seemed his fellow Marauder was struggling to suppress a giggle. Then, he shook his head. "That reminds me, Peter. I am so very sorry to hear about your mother's passing. I was in Europe at the time and knew nothing about it until quite recently. How are you holding up?"

Peter broke eye contact for a few seconds. "Oh, I'm alright, Remus. She'd been so sick for such a long time, as I'm sure you know. I'm just glad that in the end she died peacefully in her bed."

He picked up a napkin and took his time wiping his face with it. Long enough to fight down the urge to smile. "_Well, for __some__ definitions of 'peacefully,' I suppose,_" he thought to himself.

"But enough of the past, Remus. Let's talk about your future. Tell me more about ... Shamballa."

* * *

_**From Jim Potter's letter to his brother Harry ...**_

_So after that, I got kicked out of Healer Baskar's office while he, Mum, and "Brother Chandra" aka Remus Lupin talked things over. And by talked things over, I mean shouted for about twenty minutes. Apparently, Lupin was close friends with Mum and Dad back during their Hogwarts days and both our middle names come from him. Yours directly, mine in some roundabout way involving Welsh. Did you know any of that? Anyway, when you got sent to the Dursleys, he got real mad and moved all the way to the other side of the planet to study the Paths of Enlightenment, and all because Mum and Dad wouldn't let him raise you instead of that nutter Petunia and her psycho family. Unfortunately, he's got some kind of medical condition that would have made him an unfit guardian, but well, I sort of swore a vow not to tell anyone what it is. And to be fair to Mum and Dad, it really __is__ the sort of condition that would make him unsuitable to be your guardian in most people's eyes._

_So anyway, after a good long shout-fest, Baskar pulls me back into the room and tells me that Brother Chandra or Mr. Lupin (I'm still not sure what I'm supposed to call him) will be teaching me about becoming an animagus. Then, Chandralupin summons a big thick book about animagi and tells me to start reading it and contact him to begin actual lessons when I've finished. And then, he just storms out. Please note that I'm learning __about__ becoming an animagus and only to the extent needed to protect my mind from intrusion. I'm not actually learning to__ become__ an animagus because if I did, I'd have to register on something called the Conscription List or risk being sent to Azkaban. So don't go spreading any rumors that I'm actually becoming an unregistered animagus or something (wink, wink!). _

* * *

Harry laughed out loud at that. "_Seriously, Jim?! You reveal something like that in a letter and include a 'wink, wink!'_ _Good thing for you we don't hate one another at the moment._" Later on, he would have to decide whether to burn the incriminating letter or just hide it away in the secret compartment of his trunk in case it became useful later.

In the meantime, though, the young Slytherin set his mind to Remus Lupin's mysterious "medical condition" which was so serious that it would bar him from acting as legal guardian to a child. The clues found in Jim's letter were sparse, but Harry closed his eyes and considered what he knew. Fourteen years was a long time to survive with a terminal illness, so most of those were out. Lily was letting Jim study complex magic from Lupin, so mental illness was unlikely and the guy probably wasn't a sexual predator. Then, Harry considered the few non-fatal magical illnesses he knew of along with their symptoms, and an answer immediately presented itself.

"_Of course! It's so simple!_" he thought to himself. "_Obviously, Remus Lupin is a __vampire!_"

* * *

_**16 July 1993**_

Jim knocked gently on the door to Brother Chandra's private rooms. "Enter," came the man's voice from inside. Jim opened the door and came in just in time to see the man hammering a nail into a nearby wall to hang a small picture on.

"I've, um, finished the book you gave me, Brother Chandra. I think I understand the concepts involved."

"Good," said Chandra as he walked over to the boy and retrieved the book. "I'll put it back where it belongs and fetch some tea. Please make yourself comfortable."

The man exited through a door on the other side of the room, leaving Jim alone. Still somewhat nervous, the boy walked slowly around the room before stopping in front of the two pictures that Chandra had obviously just put up. One was a magical picture that showed four teenage Hogwarts students roughhousing and waving out at him from in front of the Whomping Willow. To Jim's shock, he recognized three of them instantly: teenage versions of James Potter, Peter Pettigrew, and a boy who was almost certainly Remus Lupin. The fourth one he didn't recognize, but from the context, he guessed that it was the Traitor Sirius Black. The picture hanging next to it was also a moving picture, but this one consisted of three animals: a majestic stag, a rather sinister looking black dog, and a brown rat that was perched somewhat precariously on the stag's head and holding onto its antlers for dear life. Curiously, the animals were _also_ standing in front of the Whomping Willow, though the picture appeared to have been taken late at night. Jim was still studying the two photos when the man reentered the chamber bearing a tea tray.

"Please have a seat, Mr. Potter. I hope Oolong is satisfactory. Earl Grey is hard to come by in these parts." He set the tray down and took a seat. Jim did likewise. "Before we begin, I must ask you to take an Oath of Secrecy regarding our discussions today. Any objections?"

Jim shook his head no, pulled out his wand, and swore the oath. Satisfied, the older man poured a cup of tea for himself and his student.

"Now, I'm sure you have questions and I don't know what either of your parents has told you, so why don't we start with you asking for what information you feel you need."

Jim thought. "Um, for starters, do you want me to call you Brother Chandra or Mr. Lupin? I'm fine either way."

"I think it would be best if you called me Brother Chandra when we are in front of my fellow monks or other citizens of Shamballa. When we are alone, please call me Remus. And before we proceed any further ... I wish to apologize for my earlier treatment of you. Since we last spoke, I have spent much time in meditation evaluating and isolating my own feelings. To be perfectly blunt, you parents have done things that I consider nearly unforgivable. But you are not James Potter, no matter how startling your resemblance to him might be. It was unprofessional of me to hold you responsible for things over which you had no say, and I will endeavor to treat you as your own unique personage henceforth."

Jim absorbed all that silently. "Thank you, sir, um, Remus. I accept your apology and would be pleased if you would call me Jim." He hesitated. "I want you to know that while I still love my Mum and Dad, I also know that they've made some poor decisions especially where my brother is concerned. But if you're willing to work with me, I'll do my best to be a good student." He perked up suddenly. "And, I don't know if this helps, but if the rest of this summer works out well, I'm hoping I can talk Harry into coming back with me next summer. Then, you can finally meet him in person."

Remus's eyes widened a bit in excitement. "Yes, I would like that. Thank you, Jim. Now, do you have any other questions?" From his tone, Jim almost got the impression that Remus was prompting him about something.

The boy paused and looked around the room and over to the two photos. "That picture up there. That's ... the Marauders, right? Dad didn't tell me much about you guys, but my Uncle Pete said you were a '_quartet of merry pranksters_.' Though I kinda got the impression that he was being sarcastic about it."

Remus nodded with a slight frown. "Some people described us as merry, others as cruel, depending upon who we targeted with our pranks. Mainly, those targets were Slytherins, and since that word had nearly become synonymous with 'Junior Death Eater' by our Fifth Year, we received a great deal more respect and adulation from our peers and even our teachers than we deserved."

"I know how that goes. This past year, I got drawn into a prank war with some Slytherins ... sort of. To say it went badly is an amazing understatement. I've sworn off pranks completely now."

"Very sensible. And much more mature than we were at your age. At the time, we saw it as striking a blow against Pureblood bigots, but of course, the truth was that we were venting our own childishness against the only acceptable targets."

"Oh?" Jim asked in surprise at that description. "How so?"

"One of our dirty little secrets is that the Marauders learned early on was what a bad idea it was to harass Hufflepuffs or Ravenclaws. Hufflepuffs are all about loyalty, and if you attack one, you can expect twenty hexes a day from their friends in response. Ravenclaws are all about obscure knowledge, and if you prank one, you can expect to be pranked back with some curse that went out of fashion when Queen Anne was on the throne and that requires two weeks of research to counter. Attack a Slytherin, though? He'll just counterattack on his own or with the aid of his closest friends rather than ask for help from his House as a whole and thus show himself up as weak. Most of our conflicts were with a small coterie of Slytherins in the same year as us and who were quite free themselves with rather dark and nasty curses, and most of them did indeed go on to become Death Eaters. But I'm ashamed to say that we weren't above hexing younger Slytherins who couldn't defend themselves just because one of us overheard them refer to a classmate as a _Mudblood_ or _blood traitor_. It was, on the whole, unacceptable behavior on our part, and I'm glad that by Sixth Year we finally started to outgrow it."

"Was Professor ... I mean ... was Severus Snape part of that group you fought with regularly?"

"Hmm, I'd heard he'd become a Potions instructor. Certainly he had the brains for it, but I'm amazed he found the temperament. Yes, we skirmished with Snape a great deal. He was never an official part of the group I mentioned, which included future convicted Death Eaters like Rosier, Mulciber, and Avery. But he was on their periphery, rarely participating directly in their bullying but regularly supplying them with new curses and potions he'd found or invented. He was a very brilliant young man, though somewhat vindictive, especially towards James and Sirius." Remus paused. "It didn't help that your father took a strong dislike to Snape literally from the first day they met on the Hogwarts Express. Jealousy over Snape's friendship with your mother, I suppose. How is he as a teacher?"

Jim shrugged. "Kind of a jerk to be honest. He hates me and is happy to let me know it every class. On the bright side, Mum tutors me in Potions during the Summer break, and she's pretty confident I'll be able to pull an O on my OWL even though I'm barely getting A's in Snape's class."

Suddenly, Jim looked a bit embarrassed. "I called him Snivellus during my very first Potions class. Dad sort of encouraged me to do it if I thought he was treating me unfairly."

"Mm-hmm," said Remus who was torn between being scandalized and amused. "And how did that work out for you?"

"Lost a lot of points. My whole house got mad at me. Professor McGonagall and Mum both got mad at me. I ended up in the Headmaster's office with both my parents. It ... was a bad day."

Jim looked around the room, suddenly uninterested in maintaining eye contact. He still owed Snape an apology since, alas, he didn't die in the Chamber of Secrets when he was supposed to and thus leave Harry to deliver it for him posthumously. Then, his attention was drawn to the other picture which Remus had deliberately placed on the wall next to the one of the Marauders. He looked around again. There were no other pictures on any of the walls.

"So ... the Marauders. Did any of _them_ become animagi?"

Remus gave Jim a funny look as he took a sip from his tea cup. "Why, Jim, whatever would make you ask a question like that?"

"Well, for one thing, you've got a picture of the Marauders on the wall next to a picture of three animals standing around in front of the Whomping Willow. And I'm pretty sure you don't normally see a rat perched on the head of a stag that's calmly standing next to a grim."

"Well, Jim, _you_ might suspect that those animals are actually transformed animagi, but I couldn't possibly speculate on such things," Remus said with an odd smile.

Jim sat for several seconds while quietly considering Remus's peculiar statement. Suddenly, he really wished Harry was with him because he was certain his older twin would instantly understand the subtext. Then, it hit him – at least three of the Marauders actually had become animagi, and Remus had sworn an oath not to reveal it, one he was now trying to work around.

"Well, then," Jim said slowly. "Speaking _hypothetically_, if those three animals _were_ animagi and also Marauders, how would I be able to tell who was who?"

"An interesting question. All animagi have Tells in their animal forms – markers that give a hint as to their true identities. Perhaps you could try examining the picture more closely."

With that, Remus rose and went to a nearby drawer from which he produced a magnifying glass that he handed off to the boy. Intrigued, Jim studied the photo of the three animals more carefully through the glass. After a moment, he let out a gasp. Though it was hard to tell with the animals moving around, he was certain that the majestic stag had tiny circles around each of its eyes, circles that reminded him of his father's glasses that were so similar to the ones he wore himself. Then, he studied the rat that had attached itself to the stag's antlers and noticed that there was a thick patch of hair on the back of the rat's head that reminded him of the unfortunate mullet that his teenage godfather was wearing in the other photo.

"If I had to guess, I'd say that the stag was James Potter and the rat was Peter Pettigrew."

"And the grim?"

Jim studied it for a few minutes carefully and finally noticed that the grim had pale gray eyes unlike Lupin's green ones. "That's Sirius Black."

Remus laughed. "Well done! And as a reward for guessing properly, I will now answer any specific questions you have about how the Marauders became animagi, since I am no longer bound by that silly Unbreakable Vow we all swore as Third Years."

Jim did a double-take. "You swore an Unbreakable Vow?"

"Yes, to never reveal to anyone else the fact that James, Peter, and Sirius were animagi."

"But you just told me!"

"No, I did not. I simply left some clues laying about that you were able to use to deduce the truth."

Jim stared at Remus for several seconds in confusion until the man finally grinned at him.

"It was a _very _poorly drafted Unbreakable Vow, as it turned out. A foolish venture for thirteen-year-old boys to engage in, though probably not in the top ten most foolish things we did while at Hogwarts."

The boy accepted that with some difficulty. _An Unbreakable Vow_? _While they were just thirteen?_ And he thought his own exploits so far had been ridiculous. Jim shook his head to clear it.

"So why did my dad end up a stag and my godfather a rat?"

"The animagus doesn't choose his form. Magic does. In so choosing, Magic is guided by a number of factors, many of which are not easily categorized. It is known that family history, personality, and even one's own name play a role. Sirius's surname was Black, and his given name was derived from the brightest star in the constellation Canis Major, a star which is also known as the Dog Star. So Magic decided that his spirit animal would be a large black dog. Peter's connections were more nebulous, but the name Pettigrew, which suggests "little" and "grow" when viewed symbolically, implies that his spirit animal would be something relatively small. That said, he was rather stout at that age. If Peter had been small and thin instead, it's entirely possible that his spirit animal would have been much bigger since his human form would be the small one that grew to a larger size."

"For what it's worth, it looks like Uncle Pete has lost weight since then. And gotten a much better haircut." Jim glanced back to the picture of the animals and focused on the stag. "And my dad?"

"James was an interesting case. He had the toughest time mastering the transformation despite the fact that he was a prodigy at Transfiguration. He had no personal symbolic connections to any animals. Not even the Potter coat of arms had any animal-themed heraldry that might have forged a connection. He was on the verge of giving up when he had a breakthrough from a remarkable and unexpected source – Lily Evans!"

"My Mum? Did she become an animagus?"

"Not to my knowledge. _But_ a few months into our Fifth Year, Lily mastered the Patronus Charm because she'd heard it would be worth a great many points on our DADA OWLs, and her Patronus manifested as a beautiful silvery doe. And then, not a week later, James overcame his block and was able to transform into his stag form."

That information astounded the boy. "Wait a minute. My dad was only able to become an animagus after he figured out what form would most impress my mum?!"

"An oversimplification, but not much of one. James had been deeply infatuated with Lily since the day they met, but it was completely one-sided. _Toe-rag_ was her favored nickname for James until Sixth Year when she finally consented to go out on a date with him, and over the next two years she overcame her animosity and came to care for him a great deal. I think learning that Lily's Patronus was a doe – and one's Patronus and animagus form overlap more often than not – caused James to subconsciously believe that a form which was in some way mated to her spirit animal might bridge the gap between them. Since they _did _end up getting married, who's to say he wasn't right."

Jim seemed almost dazed by all that. He'd always viewed his father – Lord Potter for as long as he'd been alive – as such a dominant figure in his life. It was startling to realize the extent to which he'd once followed his mother around like a love-sick puppy.

"So what's your animagus form? And why aren't you in the picture? Or do I have to guess that too?"

Remus grew more serious and took another sip of tea before setting his cup down. Then, he rubbed his hands together nervously, surprising himself with his sudden tension. It had been a long time, after all, since he'd actually had to admit his secret to anyone else who didn't already know it from some other source.

"I'm not in the second picture, Jim, because I was the one who took it. And I don't have an animagus form of my own." He took a deep breath. "I can't have one ... because being an animagus and being a werewolf are mutually exclusive."

Jim froze. "Erp?" he finally said.

"Yes, Jim. I am a werewolf. I was bitten at the age of four by Fenrir Greyback on the night of the full moon, and I have transformed every full moon since. Your father figured out my secret when we were Third Years. That was the impetus for him, Sirius, and Peter to become animagi because all animagi are immune to lycanthropy. In fact, a transformed werewolf will not even attack an animagus whether in human or animal form unless provoked, and if the animagus's form is large enough and imposing enough, it's actually possible for the animagus to _herd _a werewolf away from potential victims."

There was a lengthy silence.

"You're ... a werewolf," Jim finally said while swallowing hard. "And you were a werewolf at Hogwarts and my dad knows all about it." Remus nodded yes. "Does my mom know?"

"Yes. Actually, she was the very first to figure it out though she never told a soul, not even your father who figured it out on his own. Dumbledore and the Hogwarts teachers, of course, all knew before I started school. Being a Muggleborn, Lily associated the signs of lycanthropy I displayed, mainly always being sick on the day after the full moon, with what she knew of werewolves from Muggle films and books. She didn't realize that the most well-known characteristic of true werewolves was the one I lacked – a violent and homicidal disposition even when not transformed. And since I _did_ lack that characteristic, all of my classmates other than Lily and eventually James, Sirius, and Peter completely discounted the possibility of my being a werewolf."

"Because you _weren't _a violent homicidal maniac?" Jim asked with a tight voice.

"Correct," said Remus simply.

"Uh-huh. That's ... that's good to know, I guess. And how many people here at Shamballa know you're ... you know?"

"Oh, several dozen I should think, though they're all quite protective of my privacy. Albus Dumbldore arranged for my introduction to the city's leaders, and the Kampo Rimpoche – he's the leader of the monastery that took me in – has known from the start. The monks all ensure that I'm locked up tight on the nights of the full moon and that I receive proper treatment when I wake up the next day. You see Jim, I came to this place in the hopes that the Four-Fold Path of Enlightenment might be the key to controlling my changes, and the monks were just as eager to see if their techniques could help me. So far, they haven't, but both the monks and healers who watch over me still have hope, as do I. More importantly, though, the Path has brought me the serenity to accept my condition even as I continue to study and research and meditate and do everything else I can to overcome that affliction. I have been a werewolf for twenty-nine years, Jim, and while transformed I have never taken a human life nor caused injury to any human other than myself." He held out his scarred arms. "These scars are from my youth, from those days when the Beast was angry that I would never let it take control. Nowadays, I don't even eat _meat_ anymore, and I can feel the Beast sulking bitterly every time I dig into a bowl of rice, but it can do nothing more to harm me or anyone else."

Jim crooked an eyebrow at that. Remus smiled back at him bashfully.

"Well, so long as I remain contained on that one night of the month anyway. I don't know why I alone seem immune to the spiritual corruption that accompanies the curse of lycanthropy. If I knew, I'd bottle it in a heartbeat and offer it up to save all those others who've been lost to this foul condition. But after nearly three decades, I still have no explanation. So I do what I can as a teacher and advisor to those who need either teaching or advice. And now that I've told you the truth, you can decide whether you still want to learn from me. Despite my earlier hostility, I tell you know that I am eager to teach you how to become an animagus and anything else you want to learn. Because you are the son of my former friends. Because you are the godson of one who I hope is _still_ my friend. And because you are the brother of someone who I regret not being able to raise as my own. But most of all, because you have come to me for learning and I am a teacher. So, do you still want to learn what I have to show you?"

Jim looked at the former Marauder for a long time as he processed everything Lupin had said. Then, he took a deep breath and summoned his Gryffindor courage. "When do we start?"

* * *

_**15 DAYS UNTIL AZKABAN**_

* * *

**The endless nightmare of 2016 continues unabated. My mom is doing much better, but then the unimaginable catastrophe of 11/9/16 hit, and I literally spent the next three days in bed with the sheets up over my head. And then, if that wasn't enough, I managed to drop my laptop and put a big crack in the touchscreen. I'm using an older laptop now for writing, but it's six years old and ... tetchy. Next chapter will be up sometime before the end of December. "Ron Weasley and the Secret of the Naga."**

**AN 1: It was almost cruel, I know, to have Peter Pettigrew be the one to say "Always" (and especially since he was completely insincere), but Snape doesn't have that motivation anymore and anyway it was so delicious a subversion that I couldn't resist.**

**AN 2: If I have any readers who are really good at math (as in "able to explain differential calculus to someone who knows jack-all about the subject), please message me as you may be able to help me on a future plot point. **

**UPDATE: Please disregard AN2! I no longer require mathematical assistance. Thanks to all the wonderful followers with math degrees who have been sending me increasingly complicated and obscure math problems, but I've had an epiphany and decided to go in a different direction that will be both easier on me and ironically more topical for 1993.**

**AN 3: Considering how deeply traumatized Remus is by his Lycanthropy and how full of self-loathing he is in canon over being a werewolf, I am really the first to think that the Marauders were kind of assholes for giving him the nickname Mooney?  
**

**AN 4: It always bugged me that fiery strong-willed Lily would develop a Patronus that was just the female version of James's stag. So I thought it would be fun to flip the script. Lily got her doe Patronus first (very minor spoiler: the doe's name is Faline, which was Bambi's girlfriend), and then her admirer/stalker James claimed a stag as his spirit animal in response. **

**AN 5: An unusual number of people over the last few months have been asking complicated questions in Guest reviews. Please sign up for an account and leave reviews I can respond to or else IM me. I generally do not respond to Guest reviews in Author Notes and will never do so if it's potentially a spoiler.**


	88. HP&DEM 5: Prelude (Ron)

**HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATH EATER MENACE**

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

* * *

**CHAPTER 5: Ron Weasley and the Secret of the Naga**

_**4 July 1993  
3:00 p.m. (local time)  
Healer Gupta Baskar's Office  
The Temple of Healing, Shamballa**_

Ron sat quietly in the healer's office and tried not to show his nervousness. He was a Gryffindor, after all, and if he couldn't stop himself from being afraid, he could at least try not to show it. Jim had given him a look of quiet encouragement as the two passed by one another a few minutes before. Apparently, Jim's "examination" had gone well. Of course, Jim hadn't experienced months of possession by the teen-aged specter of a not-so-deceased Dark Lord, so Ron was less optimistic about his own mental health.

Healer Baskar had explained the process patiently before commencing. He would look into Ron's eyes and through them into Ron's mind and soul. He reassured Ron that he was under a Healer's Oath and would not reveal any of Ron's personal secrets without his consent, but unlike with Jim (to whom the healer had given advice on how to hide deeply personal matters), Baskar made it clear that he would need to fully inspect Ron's psyche to determine if Tom Riddle had damaged him in any way and, more importantly, whether any vestige of Tom Riddle still remained. With that in mind, it was a rather tense ten minutes that Ron spent quietly staring into the deep piercing eyes of the mind healer.

Finally, Baskar leaned back in his chair and blinked rapidly for a few seconds. "Well, Mr. Weasley, let us get the most pressing matter out of the way. I am quite confident that there is only one mind inside your head, and it is indubitably yours. I see no signs that the Riddle persona has any active presence at all within your mind."

Ron almost smiled when the subtext hit him. "Active?" he said with a swallow. "What about ... inactive?"

Baskar sighed. "I'm sorry, Mr. Weasley. To be 100% honest, I do see ... remnants of the Riddle spirit. Faint signs of the psychic architecture it created over the course of several months. I believe that they will fade over time, but they are still present right now." He paused and then frowned. "To be honest, your case is most unusual. Indeed, probably unique. I have participated in many exorcisms and in both the destruction of possessing spirits and the treatment of former possession victims. But as far as I am aware, yours is the only case in which the possessing spirit was completely destroyed while still in the act of maintaining the possession instead of being removed first. I suspect that is how you acquired your Parseltongue abilities which otherwise can only be acquired either through genetic inheritance or years of study. It is possible that you may have gained other benefits from this experience And, to be blunt, perhaps some negative traits as well. But I see no signs of such now and no evidence that this residual architecture is in any way detrimental to you."

Ron was quiet for several seconds. "Speaking purely hypothetically, if ... if Tom Riddle came back somehow, could he affect me? Control me?"

Baskar's eyes widened in surprise. "My understanding was that the Tom Riddle entity was a residual soul fragment from a man who had died many years before. Do you have reason to think Riddle is still alive? Or exists in some spiritual form more powerful than his diary-self?"

Ron hesitated. Tom Riddle was the true name of Voldemort, and he definitely still existed ... sort of. Jim had told Ron everything he knew about what had happened down in the Chamber of Secrets. But Riddle's connection to Voldemort was still protected by the Fidelius Charm, and when the diary that had served as Secret Keeper was destroyed, Jim and Harry Potter jointly became the new Secret Keepers since they were the only ones (as far as anyone knew) who had been told the Secret directly by its previous Keeper. The two brothers had been advised to remain silent for now by Dumbledore and Rufus Scrimgeour, but even if they hadn't, Ron himself _couldn't_ tell anyone else because he _wasn't_ the Secret Keeper.

"Like I said," he finally answered, "_hypothetically._"

"Hmm," Baskar replied with Ron thought might be a hint of suspicion. "Well then, _hypothetically_ I honestly don't know. There is no precedent I'm aware of for a _living_ person to possess someone in this manner. There might be some sort of of inchoate connection, but I could not guess what form it might take if it became active. I can only counsel you to strive to maintain constant awareness of your own thought patterns. Your Wu Xi Do studies should help with that. But at the moment, I can say categorically that I perceive no indications of any foreign thoughts affecting your own."

Ron relaxed visibly at that.

"So with that out of the way," Baskar continued. "Let's talk about what Tom Riddle did to you and how he could affect you so deeply. Possession takes many forms: from periods of total control which you would perceive as blackouts to periods when you were still in control of yourself but were influenced on a more subtle level. Your memories indicate that initially Riddle relied on the latter. That is, you remained self-aware most of the time but were the subject of powerful emotional bursts that overcame your reason and caused you to act in ways that Riddle desired."

Ron nodded but said nothing.

"I bring this up now, Mr Weasley, because I think it is important for you to understand one thing. The things you said or did while under Riddle's influence _were not your fault._ I know people have undoubtedly told you that, but it is clear from my assessment of your mental state that you don't quite believe it. You remember _those_ events. You remember saying and doing those damaging things. And Riddle's influence was too subtle for you to realize that the emotions you felt which led you to say and do those things were unnatural. So it is understandable that you would feel guilt for those things even though you were not truly at fault. I promise you, Mr. Weasley – viewing your memories from an external perspective, I can clearly see when the unnatural emotional forces came into play and overcame your reason. My goal for our next several sessions will be to work through your memories together so that I can point out to you those occasions when your will was overcome and help you to understand why you acted as you did and why you should not feel responsible for it. This will be a lengthy procedure, but for today, let us take one particular instance and examine it together."

Ron sat impassively for a moment. "Okay," he finally said. "Where do you want to start?"

"At the beginning. The first time your memories clearly show the signs of external influence was last September on the first day of classes at Hogwarts. Your mother sent you a Howler." Baskar frowned. "Very nasty those. I remember students getting them from my own time at Hogwarts. But I digress. You immediately felt feelings of embarrassment and shame, but I could also detect the emerging influence of Riddle as he reconfigured those emotions into feelings of resentment towards your family and especially towards your younger sister, Ginny."

The boy's forehead furrowed at that. "Why would Riddle want to turn me against Ginny?"

"Oh, I doubt he cared about her at all. He was still feeling you out at that point. Working to find which buttons he could push to provoke a response in you. Sibling rivalry and latent feelings of jealousy towards a younger sister, and especially one you perceive as being favored, are perfectly natural for a young person of your age and background. But Riddle heightened those normal feelings into a deep paranoia which resulted in that unpleasant confrontation between you and your sister later that night. You became openly resentful towards her because of the idea that had been put into your head suggesting that your parents only had so many children due to a desire for a daughter and that this was the reason for a perceived neglect of you by them. Now then, compare how you felt that night to how you feel now. Do you still believe that your parents only had you because they were holding out for a girl no matter how many pregnancies it took?"

The boy blushed deeply and looked away. He sat silently for a long moment. "Did ... did you only look into my memories from when I was possessed?" he finally asked in a quiet voice.

The question surprised Baskar. "Yes. Were there other memories that were relevant to this question?"

Ron took a deep breath and looked back towards the healer. "I _know_ that my parents only had me because they were aiming for Ginny. I'm not ... mad about it anymore. I understand why they did what they did. But ... I know for _a fact_ that they were holding out for a little girl."

The answer took Baskar aback. "And how would you know that, Mr. Weasley?"

The boy paused and rubbed his fingers across his eyes.

"Because my father told me so."

* * *

_**The Hogwarts Infimary  
10 May 1993  
9:30 a.m.**_

Ron's eyes fluttered open as sunlight streamed down from the Infirmary's windows. He blinked and wiped the sleep from his eyes before looking around the room. It was the morning after Jim had rescued him from the Chamber of Secrets. It was also the morning after he had tried to hurl himself from the Astronomy Tower only for Jim to rescue him a second time. As he looked around, Ron noticed that Jim was lying in the bed opposite his own on the other side of the room still asleep, and he was surprised to see that his father was asleep in a chair next to his bed. At the sound of Ron moving about, Arthur's eyes fluttered open and he smiled at his youngest son.

"Ah, good morning, son," Arthur said quietly but warmly. "How are you feeling?"

"Okay, I guess," Ron said. "Where's Mum? I'd have figured that she'd be here and you'd be at work."

"I took a few days off so that I could be here with you as well. Your mother's here, but she stepped out to grab some breakfast from the kitchens." Arthur paused and grimaced slightly. "You, um, ... you gave us a bit of a scare last night, son."

Ron didn't respond to that. When he and Jim had returned to the hospital the previous night, they'd made up a story about how Ron had just "stepped out for some fresh air" and Jim had come with him. It seemed obvious that no one believed them, but everyone was so uncomfortable with the possibility of Ron being suicidal that once Madam Pomfrey put a tracking ward on the boys to make sure they didn't get out of bed without her knowing, the other Weasleys let the matter drop.

The father and son made sparse small talk for a while, but it was obvious that Arthur had something to say. Finally, he pulled out his wand and cast a privacy ward.

"Ron, we need to talk about something. Actually, I suppose we need to talk about a lot of things, but one in particular. Your mother and I had a long talk with your sister and brothers about everything that's been happening this year. And especially with Ginny. It took some doing – I promise you, she did _not_ want to go back on her word to you – but she finally told us about that ... _conversation _you two had the night after her Sorting. The one where you talked about Ludmilla Weasley and about Ginny's seventh birthday party ... and about how you believed that your mother and I set out to have as many children as it took to get a daughter..."

Ron's face reddened in embarrassment. "Dad, that wasn't me. That was the diary talking. It wasn't ..."

"You were right," Arthur interrupted.

" ... what?" the boy said in a small voice.

The man looked down at the floor in embarrassment. Then, after he'd collected himself, he began his tale. After Ludmilla Weasley and Meleager Malfoy ran off together, it began a feud between the houses of Weasley and Malfoy that lasted literally until Lucius and Arthur's handshake the day before. The story handed down from Weasley father to Weasley son was that the Malfoys somehow used forbidden magic to curse the Weasleys into continual ruination. The exact form of ruin varied from generation to generation though the failure to produce any daughters after Ludmilla was common to every surviving Weasley. For Arthur's father, his ruin had been drink. For his grandfather, it had been gambling. Arthur himself carefully avoided those vices other than an occasional galleon spent on the Daily Prophet Prize Draw, but he had struggled continually through school and ended up as the Ministry's resident "expert" on Muggle Affairs simply because Muggle Studies had been a notoriously easy class during his student days and it had been the only NEWT for which he'd scored an O. A Muggle-related job was literally the only form of Ministry employment open to him, particularly since the Death Eaters in those days actively targeted Muggle-philes in the Ministry as blood traitors and so appointment to any office in the Muggle Affairs division was widely considered to be a death sentence. By the time Ron was born, Arthur had risen to become Assistant Director of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department simply through bloody attrition.

"My father never told me about the family curse until after I'd already married Molly. I told her at once, of course. I figured she'd want to annul the marriage. We hadn't had Bill yet, and she was entitled under those circumstances. But you know your mother – once she sets herself on a course, she won't ever back down. She took her dowry money out of Gringotts and spent it all on a seer who gave her a prophecy about how to break the curse. The seer said that if we had seven children and the last one was a witch, the curse would be broken. So we talked and argued and even shouted a bit before I finally gave in. No matter what it took, we would have seven children even if it meant that we'd struggle financially for all of our lives and theirs. And sure enough, Ginny came in at number seven."

Ron nodded as he absorbed all that. "So Ginny really did break the family curse. That was why you treated...?" He trailed off, suddenly embarrassed at his own jealousy.

"Why we treated her better than you and your brothers? It's alright, Ron. Looking back, I can understand how you'd feel that way, and I am truly sorry for it. But the thing you must understand is this. You're mother and I weren't overprotective of Ginny because we thought she'd broken the curse. It was because we thought she _hadn't_."

Ron stared at his father in confusion, and Arthur closed his eyes for a few seconds as he dredged up painful memories.

"I know you talked with Ginny about her seventh birthday party and about the magic cake with the moving decorations. The ones that showed Jim Potter flying around on a dragon. Well, you see, the truth of it was ... we _didn't_ buy Ginny a magic cake. We couldn't have afforded such a luxury back then. Your mother did those decorations herself, but they were ordinary decorations made from butter cream and food coloring and love. It was _Ginny_ who animated the decorations with accidental magic. Her _first_ accidental magic."

Ron stared in shock as he considered the implications of a witch who showed no magic before the age of seven.

"Up until that point, Ginny had shown no magic at all. You don't remember it because, well, I supposed because the twins kept you preoccupied – which is another thing we'll be having a family meeting over – but by the time Ginny was five, your mother and I were resigned to the fact that Ginny was most likely a squib. We had to sit down with Bill, Charlie, and later Percy when they started to notice and make them promise not to speak of it until Ginny turned eleven and we'd know for sure. You see, the prophecy Molly had paid for, after all, had only specified that if our seventh child was a _witch_, it would end the curse. I figured that was how the curse had finally ruined me like it did my ancestors – by tricking me into have more children than I could afford in the hopes that it would all magically work out instead of leaving my children destitute. That was the real reason we were so overprotective of Ginny. Your mother loved her cousin Steven dearly, and when the Prewitts sent him away for being as squib, it hurt her a great deal. So we resolved that whatever it took, Ginny would never feel unloved or mistreated on account of her lack of magic."

Suddenly, Arthur's face lit up almost reverentially. "But then, on the morning of her seventh birthday ... it was like a miracle. She had wished for a magic cake ... and the cake _became_ magical. Not just magical, but with a complex animation, a continuous transfiguration effect that would have been hard for NEWT-level students! And she'd done it on accident! Your mother and I were just getting over the shock of that when the school owls arrived with the news that Bill had been made Head Boy and that Charlie was both a Prefect and Quidditch captain. I should have said something then, but I was too overcome with shock. I couldn't quite believe that the curse might be broken just like that. But sure enough, later that afternoon, I got word from Billy McElroy that he was taking retirement and was going to nominate me to take his place as head of the department! Honestly, it was like a dam bursting! All the good fortune our family had been denied for centuries coming to us at once."

Ron stared at his father in amazement as the man continued with a strange urgency. "A few nights later, I told Bill and Charlie everything I just told you. And I told them something else as well. _Don't settle_. For far too long, us Weasleys have had to struggle for everything we could get only to lose it all and have to start all over again. But I truly believe that's over for us now. My children will choose their own futures from now on, and I think you will _all_ go on to do great things. _That_ is why Bill decided to go work for the goblins as a curse-breaker instead of just settling for a Ministry position. _That_ is why Charlie applied for that fellowship with the dragon sanctuary that eventually turned into a full-time job. I was going to tell Percy everything this summer, but I see now that I was wrong. I should have told _all of you_ the truth before, but I'm telling you now. Because maybe if you'd known all this a year ago, you might have been better able to fight off that damnable diary. It was my fault for not seeing that you might feel insecure in comparison. I just hope one day you can forgive me for it."

Ron opened his mouth to respond, to reassure his father that he was forgiven, but no words came out.

* * *

_**Healer Baskar's Office  
3:30 pm (local time)**_

"And did you forgive your father?" Baskar asked gently.

"Of course!" Ron said forcefully. "How could I not?!" Baskar crooked an eyebrow at him, and Ron finally sighed and shook his head from side to side. "Yeah, okay. It took a little longer. At first, I was still in shock over everything. But after I got home from school, me and Dad and Mum had another longer talk. This one had a lot of crying and a lot of hugging."

He paused. "My Mum is a big crier ... and an even bigger hugger. Sometimes, that gets annoying, but other times..." His voice trailed off but his smile indicated that sometimes he didn't mind hugs at all. "She even made a point of burning her '_Howler Quill_' right in front of me! I felt sure she'd want to hang onto that at least until the Twins graduated. Since then, we've been fine."

The healer nodded. "And what do you think now of your father's advice that you _don't settle_? Has it changed your career goals?"

Ron shrugged. "I dunno. I honestly didn't have any career goals before that. I'm scraping by in school. I'm passing everything, but it's a struggle. If I weren't pushing myself so hard to try and keep up with Jim, I'd probably be in danger of flunking out."

"What are your favorite classes?"

"Um, Transfiguration, probably. The reading's tough, but there aren't a lot of wand movements to learn like in Charms and not really any incantations at all. Herbology and Astronomy are okay, I guess."

Baskar studied the boy for a few seconds. Then, he rose and moved over to a bookshelf from which he extracted a old textbook. Flipping the pages as he moved, he returned to his chair and placed the book on the table next to his patient. "Take a look at this Charm for a few seconds and then try to perform it."

Ron looked dubiously back and forth from the Charm description to Baskar's face. The healer offered no guidance, not even to give the spell's name so that Ron would know how to pronounce it. There was a pronunciation guide, but as with his Charms texts back home, Ron thought it was complete gibberish. "Sam-Sara," he said experimentally, as if the incantation were the names of a man and a woman.

"_Sam-SAR-a_. The second syllable is strongest and longest, and it rhymes with _tar _and _mar_."

Ron flushed and tried again. Then, he studied the symbols below the name that described the proper wand movements. He moved his own wand experimentally, trying to match the descriptions in the book, but it was a complicated pattern and the symbols almost seemed to swim before his eyes. Finally, after almost a moment of study, Ron tried the Charm. Nothing happened, and the boy was disappointed but not particularly surprised.

Baskar, who had been watching the boy intently, spoke up. "Try watching me. _**SAMSARA.**_" He executed the wand movements flawlessly, and a small ball of blue light materialized at the tip of his wand. Ron asked him to perform the Charm twice more before trying again himself, and this time, the same blue light emerged from his own wand.

"Cool. So what does Samsara do? It looks like a Lumos but not as bright."

"Oh, it's not just a light, Mr. Weasley. Samsara is actually a very powerful healing Charm: the Life Support Charm. It allows your wand to act as a direct conduit for your life force. By using the Charm and then touching your wand to another person who is critically injured or otherwise nearly at the point of death, you can use your own life energies to sustain their own, delaying death long enough for proper healing to be applied."

Ron smiled broadly. As dangerous as Jim's life seemed to be, that might be a good spell to know.

"But I had another reason for asking you to learn it, Mr. Weasley. I wanted to see through your eyes how you went about the process of learning a new spell. May I look into your mind again?"

He nodded, and Baskar once again made use of his Legilimency. After just a few seconds, he withdrew from Ron's mind looking satisfied. "As I thought. Mr. Weasley, you suffer from a learning disability."

Ron's brow furrowed at the unfamiliar term. "Yeah, well, I said I wasn't doing well in school. Is 'learning disability' fancy healer-talk for 'dumb'?"

Baskar made a face of mild consternation. "It most certainly is not, Mr. Weasley! On the contrary, my assessment indicates that you are actually quite intelligent but are being sabotaged by a neurological condition that prevents you from properly absorbing information that you read and study. That much was obvious when I compared how well you performed the Charm after reading the instructions versus how well you did after watching me cast the spell just three times."

"Neuro...logical?" he said somewhat dubiously.

"Yes. Language here in Shamballa unfortunately renders the condition's name as _Uneven Thinking_, a rather inaccurate description based on a translation of a very old Sanskrit name. A healer back in Britain might call it _Mordenkainen's Disjunction_, while Muggle medicine recognizes a similar condition called _dyslexia_. The condition manifests in many different forms, but most often, it interferes with your ability to read or otherwise interpret written symbols. You might find that words and letters reverse themselves or change order. You might have difficulty in pronouncing uncommon words or interpreting the symbols in your textbook that show how to perform wand movements or in comprehending the measurements and preparation times of potion recipes. That is why I asked you to try the Life Support Charm. The written notations of its wand movements contain the sort of complex markings that often trigger dyslexic results and so it's a good diagnostic tool. The condition is very rare among wizard-folk but well-documented. It is also usually an inherited condition. Tell me, Mr. Weasley, do either of your parents display any of the symptoms I've described?"

Ron sat very still as he thought about how is father, supposedly a Ministry expert on Muggle matters, still consistently mispronounced words like _ekeltricity_ and _fellytone_. "... maybe?" He said in a very soft voice. "So, um, how do you treat this ... _dixlessia_?"

"Dyslexia. And I'm afraid there is no cure. The condition is a part of your brain's basic wiring. You can no more permanently fix it with a potion or a Charm than you could improve your friend Jim's eyesight so that he wouldn't need glasses. His own body recognizes his vision problems as normal, and so his magic inevitably works to change his body back to its default condition. Dyslexia is the same. _But_, now that we know you have the condition, there are a number of treatment options and techniques to help you stay aware of it and overcome the limitations it places on you."

Ron's mouth quivered a bit, and he quickly wiped his eyes. Suddenly, he vividly remembered every time he'd embarrassed himself by mispronouncing a Charm's incantation. Every time he'd ruined a potion because he'd somehow misunderstood the instructions on Snape's blackboard. The way it had taken him six tries to properly say _Wingardium Leviosa_ (and if it had been anyone else but Jim who'd finally corrected him, he'd have probably exploded in frustration). The idea shook him to the core – after all these years, was it really possible that he wasn't actually ... _stupid_?

* * *

_**6 July 1993  
The Weasley Burrow**_

"And what, _pray tell_, does a Ministry auror want with one of my sons?" Molly Weasley asked in a cold voice as she fixed Auror Proudfoot with a glare that would have been worthy of Alastor Moody himself.

For his part, Proudfoot grimaced nervously and adjusted his collar. It seemed obvious that he was fresh from the Academy, and if he was so visibly intimidated by an angry mother, one might wonder how he'd ever handle an actual dark wizard.

"I assure you, Madam Weasley..."

"_Mrs._ Weasley!"

"Ah, yes, right! Mrs. Weasley, of course! Well, I assure you that your son George has done nothing wrong. I just have a few questions for him about the work he was doing for Gilderoy Lockhart. You see, Lockhart himself may be stuck for life in the Janus Thickey Ward at St. Mungo's, but the Ministry is still interested in finding out exactly what he was up to. And in the course of the investigation, it was brought to our attention that he might have provided your son with..." Proudfoot paused and took a deep breath. "... explosive runes."

"HE WHAT?!" Molly shrieked so loudly that despite himself the young auror took two steps back. "GEORGE! GET DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT!"

Barely a second later, George Weasley, who had obviously been listening in from upstairs (along with Fred, Percy, and Ginny), came down bearing a nervous expression.

"George!" Molly exclaimed with a tiny bit less fury. "What's this about explosive runes?!"

George swallowed. "Well, Mum, I was on Lockhart's research team devoted to experimental portkeys, and he gave me a sheet of explosive runes to study. He wanted to see if you could reconfigure them to supercharge a portkey so that it could penetrate anti-portkey wards."

"Explosive runes!" Molly huffed, her hands on her hips. "To a Fourth Year!" Proudfoot winced slightly at the woman's fury.

"Mum, I was careful with them and nothing bad happened." George paused at that. Inwardly, he thought to himself "_Well, nothing other than my possessed little brother stealing a copy and using it to try to kill people,_ _but I reckon I shouldn't mention that in front of the auror._"

Then, before Molly could get started again, George barreled forward. "And to be honest, it's a good thing he did, too! Or else I wouldn't have recognized them with they were used to blow up all the Mandrakes at Hogwarts. Harry Potter would have died in front of me, and me and Fred might well have died with him."

George then cringed at Molly's shocked expression. He'd forgotten that with all the confusion surrounding Ron's possession, the family had not spent much time discussing his own brush with death, and his mother was only now realizing how narrowly he escaped. Luckily, Proudfoot stepped in to divert her.

"I've read the report on how you saved young Potter, Mr. Weasley. It was very impressive. You're a credit to Gryffindor." The boy smiled and ducked his head at the praise.

"However," the man continued, "I'm afraid the Ministry cannot allow such dangerous spell materials to remain in the hands of a minor. If you still have the runic array Lockhart gave you, I must ask you to turn it over to me along with any notes you may have."

George's smile faded, and he actually looked a bit crestfallen. For a second, he considered lying, but respect for the title of auror won out. "Yes sir. They're up in my room, locked up in my trunk. Do you want my solution as well?"

Proudfoot blinked twice. "Your ... solution?"

"For how to convert an explosive rune into a ward slicer. I kept working on it even after I got home." He coughed delicately. "I, um, get bored easily."

The auror nodded slowly. "Yes, I think I'd better have that as well."

George turned and bounded up the stairs. While he was gone, Proudfoot studied the cozy Burrow while resolutely ignoring the suspicious and hostile glare the overprotective Weasley mother directed towards her son's interrogator. About a minute later, George returned and handed him a stack of carefully arranged papers.

"That's all of it," he said with a hint of sadness.

"Thank you." The auror paused. "And you actually think you've solved the problem Lockhart set for you?"

The boy shrugged. "Well, obviously I can't rightly test it. And I still think it would be kind of unstable and would probably cause a discharge of some kind, so don't try it while standing next to your gran's china cabinet. But yeah, I'm pretty confident."

Proudfoot smiled. "I look forward to what the boys in the research division have to say." He looked back and forth between Molly and George. "Given the nature of this research and its possible criminal applications, I must ask that you not discuss your work on this project with anyone else."

George nodded while Molly said nothing. Finally, his presence no longer needed, Proudfoot showed himself out and headed down the lane to the edge of the wards so that he could apparate. Once he was outside the Burrow's wards, he pulled out George's notes and his runic solution and spent a few minutes studying them. As he did, his naive expression melted away to a more thoughtful demeanor, and for just a second, his blue eyes turned gray.

"Ah, Mr. Weasley. You always were my favorite student." And then, with a soft pop, "_Auror Proudfoot_" apparated away.

* * *

_**10 July 1993  
5:00 a.m.  
The Kumar Towers Hotel  
Shamballa**_

Jim Potter's eyes fluttered open as the early light of dawn came in through the window of the hotel room he shared with his best friend. He rolled over and noticed that Ron's bed was empty. Immediately, Jim sat up and saw that the door to the balcony was open. The boy's eyes widened and a cold fear clenched his heart. Quietly, he got out of bed and crept to the balcony door. To his relief, Ron was there but nowhere near the ledge as Jim had feared. Instead, he was standing in the middle of the large balcony in his pajamas and facing the rising sun as he went through the relaxation kata that Padma had taught him the prior week and to Ron just days before. Ron was not yet as proficient with it as Jim, but he was learning fast.

"Well isn't this a sight," Jim said. "Usually, I'm the one dragging you out of bed for early morning workouts. What brought this on?"

"Couldn't sleep," Ron said simply. "Bad dreams. Thought this might help."

"And has it?" Jim asked as he stepped out onto the cool balcony and took his place by Ron's side, easily falling into the rhythm of the Water Aspect kata.

"Yeah, actually. I've been doing this for about five minutes or so, and I already feel less like vomiting from terror."

Jim winced. "That bad?"

"It was the '_spiders crawling up my throat_' dream again. Pretty sure that's as bad as it gets. Healer Baskar says we'll try to work on my arachnophobia while we're here if there's time, but obviously all the Voldemort stuff I went through takes priority."

Jim nodded. "You, uh, haven't talked much about that since we got here. You know you can always talk to me, right? I mean, no matter what happened last year, we'll always be best mates."

Ron said nothing at first, but then after a few seconds, he suddenly paused his kata and then turned to face Jim.

"I've still got bits of Voldemort in my head," he said without preamble. Startled, Jim dropped his own kata and turned towards Ron, his eyes wide.

"Baskar told you that?" he asked. Ron nodded.

"There's not enough there now to do anything, at least as far as Baskar can tell. But ... if Voldemort ever returns completely, there's ... there's a chance he could influence me or affect me somehow. You're my best mate too, Jim. But I want you to promise me..."

"Ron," Jim tried to interrupt.

"No, Jim," Ron said forcefully. "I want you to _promise _me that if you think I'm under his influence, you won't hold back just because we're friends. You can't. There's too much at stake."

Jim took a deep breath as he considered his friend's words. "Okay, I promise. But only on one condition. _You_ have to promise that you will never stop fighting him. That you will do everything you can to not let him control you or influence you."

Ron smiled. "Deal."

Jim relaxed and the two returned to their morning kata. After a few seconds, a calmer Ron spoke again. "Speaking of doing everything I can to get better, I've been thinking. We should bite the broomstick and join Granger's study group this year if she'll still have us. Or better yet, get her to tutor us individually. I think I may need some extra help."

"Oh?" Jim said, surprised once again.

"Yeah," Ron said as he swayed back in forth in a motion that he refused to call serpentine. "Tell me – have you ever heard of something called _dyslexia_?"

* * *

_**15 July 1993  
The Weasley Burrow**_

"Mum, the excavation is at an especially delicate point right now," Bill Weasley said earnestly to Molly through the green flames of the Weasley Floo. "I can't just pop up and come back home for a few days just for a party."

"Really, Bill? How odd! I flooed your supervisor to see if he could get you a message out in the field. Martin Pepperwinkle. Wonderful fellow. I was a bridesmaid for his daughter, Eudora. Did you know that? Anyway, he said the most dangerous part of your current dig was wrapping up and that he was planning on giving everyone on your team ten days holiday for ... R&amp;R? Is that the right term? In fact, I could have sworn that he'd also said something about how he'd already mentioned that to you. He said that you were excited to have some time off to take your '_new lady friend_' off for a week to some island off the coast of Greece where nobody ever wears clothes. But that can't be right, Bill, because I'm sure if you had a new lady friend you'd have told me about it in one of those letters you never find time to send home."

And with that, Molly Weasley actually _smiled _at her eldest son through the Floo connection. Bill closed his eyes and put two fingers up to his forehead as if to push the approaching aneurysm back into place. "Mum, she's not a ... lady friend. We're just friends from work, and we're going on holiday together."

"Well, Bill, you say she's a friend, and she's a '_she_' which means a woman. I certainly _hope_ she's a lady, though this whole '_naked island_' thing gives me pause." Then, her eyes widened with excitement. "I know! If you can't make it home for Ron's homecoming party, you can bring your lady friend home for _Christmas_. We can introduce her to everyone, and I'll get out all the scrapbooks of you growing up. I'm sure she'll love the one of you when you were a wee baby rolling around on that bearskin rug! And you won't even have any need to feel embarrassed that you were naked in that picture since she'll have already seen everything!"

Bill sighed in defeat. "When's the party?"

"Ron comes home on the 30th and we'll have a surprise party ready for him. Then, we'll all go to the Potters as a family for Jim's birthday party the next day. On the 2nd, you can either portkey back to Cairo or straight to whichever naked island you desire."

Bill's eyes goggled a bit. "You're remarkably blase about ... naked islands."

Molly shrugged. "You're a grown man, and I made sure you know contraceptive Charms. I've ... had an object lesson recently on the dangers of being an overbearing busybody of a mother." Then, she looked away while blinking rapidly.

"Mum," Bill said gently. "What happened to Ron was in no way your fault."

She paused before responding. "Bill, you can't imagine... When he woke up in the Infirmary after ... William, he _screamed_ when he saw us! Like he just knew we all hated him and he couldn't bear the sight of us judging him. It may have been the fault of Gilderoy Lockhart and You-Know-Who, but I played my part. And so did your father. And so did all of us. That's why your father and I want all of us to be here for Ron. So he _knows_ that we're all family and we all love one another. And if that requires me to hector my eldest into coming home for just a few days so that the boy who idolizes him can remember what he looks like..."

Bill laughed and raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. I'll come. Mind you, international port-keys are a bit pricey."

"Oh, did I forget to mention? Your father won 700 galleons in the Daily Prophet Prize Draw. We considered just using that money to visit _you_ in Cairo, but since Ron's off to India, we thought it unfair to go without him. So we're using that money to buy new wands for all the children who are still using starter wands that they got out of the Prewett vaults. Maybe a pet for each of them, too." She paused and frowned. "Oh, and better brooms for everyone... including Ginny."

"Uh-huh. I still can't believe you're letting her try out for Quidditch."

"Like I said. I'm going to try hard to stop being one of _those_ parents. I spent too much time fretting over your decisions and Charlie's. With everything that's happened, I don't have it in my to worry myself to death over my children doing risky things, particularly when I know perfectly well that they're all going to go behind my back and do what they want anyway." Then, she sniffed almost diffidently. "Not that I won't be having _words_ with Charlie about teaching Ginny to fly unsupervised in the middle of the night without our permission, mind you."

Bill laughed again.

* * *

_**Meanwhile, outside...**_

Percy was in the shed helping his father tinker with the Anglia while Ginny and the Twins degnomed the garden. At first, the Twins were surprised – amazed, actually – when Molly put Ginny on gnome detail with them. It was the first time she'd ever been given the chore. But their mother explained that Ginny had proven herself able to get into as much mischief as any of her brothers, so it was foolish to take it easy on her just because she was a girl. Ginny's initial pride in her mother's new sentiment lasted right up until the first time a gnome bit her on the finger.

Percy, who knew nothing about engines, was in charge of handing Arthur various tools out of the man's aggressively Muggle toolbox when requested. Although not a devotee of Muggle culture like his father, the boy was a quick learner and had reached the point where he could identify most of the tools in the box by name and function. Nevertheless, he was of his game today, as Arthur noted when Percy handed him a sledge hammer instead of the adjustable spanner he'd requested.

"Percy, you won't make the Hogwarts letter get here any faster by worrying yourself to death over it. To be honest, I asked you to help me with this to get your mind _off_ of it."

"Well, you know me," the teenager said ruefully. "Perfect Prefect Percy. Everything I've done has led me to one moment where the whole rest of my life will be decided by one little envelope with a tiny silver medallion in it."

"Son, I promise you. The whole rest of your life will _not_ be decided on the basis of whether you're made Head Boy. I firmly believe that you can achieve whatever you want out of life whether you get that honor or not. And your mother and I will be just as proud of you either way."

Percy started to answer but was then distracted what he now saw through the window of the shed: the quartet of Hogwarts owls he'd been expecting for days now approaching from the north. He glanced out the open shed door and saw that the Twins and Ginny were still engrossed with the gnomes. Cautiously, he moved around to the side of the house to intercept the owl meant for him without his siblings seeing. Arthur casually followed behind. It was silly, Percy knew, but whether he got the Head Boy position or not, the boy wanted to have a moment by himself to absorb the news since he was sure the Twins would tease him relentlessly either way.

The owl landed on a nearby fence post, and held out its talon with the Hogwarts letter attached. Nervously, Percy removed the letter, and the owl flew away. He tore the envelope open and turned it upside down to let the contents fall into his hand.

It was a standard Gryffindor prefect's badge, identical to the one he'd worn for the last two years.

Percy closed his eyes and exhaled the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Then, he felt his father reach out and put a consoling hand on his shoulder.

"Oh, Percy, I'm so sorry."

The boy opened his eyes to look at his father, and to Arthur's surprise, he actually smiled, if halfheartedly.

"It's okay, Dad. Really, it's ... okay. To be honest, I kind of expected this." He pulled out the letter that came with the badge and was unsurprised to learn that Bobby Lattimer of Hufflepuff would be the new Head Boy instead of him. The other boy had, after all, won his House a hundred points by calmly following instructions to protect the school instead of tearing off with an angry mob, thereby putting even more students in danger.

"Bobby's a fine fellow and a credit to the school. He'll do a good job. And without the added hassle of being Head Boy, maybe I'll have an easier time with my NEWTs."

"Percy, I'm sure it wasn't just a snap judgment Albus made based on how you responded to that Chamber of Secrets business."

Percy laughed. "Dad! Of course it was! And I can't really blame him. When push came to shove, I knew what I was supposed to do, but I let my emotions get the best of me, and I made the wrong call."

"You were worried about your brother, son. There's no shame in that."

"I know, but that doesn't change the fact that _I made the wrong call_," Percy said calmly but firmly and surprisingly without much bitterness. "I don't just mean by failing to follow instructions and Hogwarts procedures. I mean I _objectively_ made the wrong decision because if I'd _succeeded_ in capturing and detaining Jim Potter, he wouldn't have made it to the Chamber of Secrets _in time to save Ron_. Ron would have died, You-Know-Who would have returned, he'd have probably massacred half the school, _and it would have been all my fault!_"

With that, Percy's sudden energy faded and he leaned his back against the wall of the Burrow as if to draw strength from his family home. "And do you want to know the craziest bit, Dad? If I ever find myself in a similar situation again ... I'll probably do the same thing. Which is _why_ I have no business being the Head Boy if I can't put family loyalty aside when I've accepted a higher duty."

"Percy," Arthur said gently. "You love your family. There's no shame in that."

"We all love the family, Dad. But ... I think I've spent too much time in love with _The Family_." He emphasized the last two words with deliberate pomposity. "I was in love with the idea of the Noble House of Weasley instead of the actual family members who belong to it. Since I was a kid, I've dreamed about restoring the family name. Getting us back in the Wizengamot. That sort of thing. And since I first became a prefect, I think I've begun to resent the family members who seemed like ... obstacles to that goal. Bill and Charlie for running off to follow their bliss when they maybe could have done more to build up the family's fortunes here in Britain. George and Fred for ... well, being George and Fred. And ..." He paused and looked up shamefacedly at Arthur, who simply smiled indulgently at him.

"And your duffer of a father with his silly Muggle obsessions?"

Percy laughed and shook his head. "You are the best dad any wizard or witch could hope for. And I'm a bloody fool for not realizing it sooner." He looked back down at the Prefect's badge. "I'm ... glad I'm not Head Boy. Disappointed, of course, but also glad. I ... I think I've been headed down the wrong path for a while now. And being Head Boy would have only carried me farther along it."

Arthur pulled his son who was becoming a man into a tight hug that Percy returned happily ... right up until they were both startled by the loud shrieks from around the corner. They raced around to see what the commotion was but then stopped short and gawked in astonishment.

For in the garden, they could see the Twins, both of them staring in mute horror and amazement (and in Fred's case, _maybe_ a touch of betrayed anger) at the crimson and gold Prefect's badge that George held delicately between two fingers as if it had come dipped in a deadly poison.

* * *

_**24 June 1993  
The Naga Cultural Center and Ski Resort  
(20 miles north of Shamballa)**_

Lily Potter looked up in wonder at the thirty-foot behemoth than loomed over her. The creature had the body of an enormous snake, most of which was coiled to support its massive weight. Its torso made up less than a fourth of its total length but was marked by _six _lithe and sinewy arms. Two hands were joined in prayer or supplication of some kind while the other four were outstretched into what Lily assumed were occult mudras. But the most striking feature was the monster's head. Noseless, hairless, and clearly serpentine, it reminded Lily disturbingly of Voldemort's face from the last time she saw him at Godric's Hollow. The Dark Lord had, for some mad reason, used dark magic to transform himself into a hideous snake-man, though whether it was to secure the loyalty of his many Slytherin supporters, to terrify his enemies, or for some other occult purpose, no one knew. Lily shuddered once more at the sight, and the only reason the huge creature wasn't even more terrifying was that it was simply a statue. Specifically, it was a giant stone statue representing a mythical creature known as a _naga_.

Remus Lupin, who was acting as her tour guide at the moment, noticed her reaction. "It reminds you of _him_, doesn't it? I had the same reaction when I first came here for a visit."

Over the last few weeks, their mutual proximity to Jim had essentially forced Lily and Remus to at least be civil to one another, and while Remus still held a grudge on Harry's behalf, speaking with Lily had reminded the man of the friendship they had once shared. In time, civility blossomed into cordiality. It helped when Lily admitted to him that if Harry had shown magic at any point during his childhood, her plan had been to transfer custody to Remus who would raise him abroad until he was old enough to attend Beauxbatons under a false name. Now that he better understood Lily's somewhat obsessive desire to separate Harry from the public's obsession with the Boy-Who-Lived (and the attendant risk of Death Eaters targeting Harry), Remus thought her decision to send the boy to the Dursleys when he seemed to be a squib made a bit more sense, although he was still appalled that neither Lily nor James had ever checked up on him and that the Dursleys were even more awful as he'd expected.

On this day, as Jim and Ron started their last week at Shamballa before returning to Britain, Remus and Baskar had both decided to give the pair a day off from study to explore one of the region's more unusual cultural experiences. In part, it was because Healer Baskar was attending a Healer's Conference in Jakarta, but he agreed with Remus that the boys had worked hard and were entitled to down time. A weekend spent skiing would be perfect, to say nothing of the wonders of the Naga Caves. A hundred years earlier, wizards from Shamballa discovered the large cave network that had been hidden by the Himalayan ice since time immemorial. Within, they discovered ancient hieroglyphics that depicted a forgotten race of snake men that came to be known as the naga (after the legendary talking snakes of Indian Muggle mythology). Although he had no proof of it, Baskar was convinced that the site had some connection to the origins of Parseltongue, and he was quite curious to learn what two apparently natural Parselmouths thought of it.

The caves themselves were a minor curiosity until the 1930's, when the 9th Kumar Pasha (the grandfather of Parvati's fiancé) became enamored of Muggle skiing. Finding the slopes near caves to be ideal for that purpose, he had a private ski lodge built nearby which his son, who was a wizarding hotelier among other ventures, later expanded into a posh resort hotel for wizards who enjoyed skiing and other winter sports. By associating his resort with the nearby Naga Caves, the current head of the Kumar family was able to obtain certain concessions from the Shamballa city government, one of which was that the largest piece of naga statuary found within the caves would be relocated to the lobby of his opulent resort.

"Were there actual naga at one point?" Lily asked. "I don't remember covering them in Care of Magical Creatures."

"We didn't. And no one truly knows if they were real or not. The word itself is simply Sanskrit for '_snake_.' The Naga Caves were rediscovered in 1891 – they had a big fete two years ago for the Centennial – but they're old enough to predate the founding of Shamballa itself. Whether they were originally created by a now-extinct species of human-animal hybrid, that is, the snake equivalent of centaurs and veela, or by some forgotten tribe of ancient humans who simply venerated snakes is unknown. Probably the later, since a serpentine race would most likely be cold-blooded and unlikely to make its home in the Himalayas. Either way, the ones who decorated the caves probably weren't wizarding-folk. There are no signs that the builders of the caves used any magic we know of in their construction." He paused and looked back up at massive bronze statue. "Which only makes it more astonishing that they could move something that massive halfway up one of the world's tallest mountains."

"Do you agree with Healer Baskar that there's a connection between the naga and Parseltongue?"

Remus shrugged. "Possibly. But the ones who built the caves left hieroglyphics that have not yet been fully translated, and anyway, that tells us nothing about their spoken language. Unless definitive proof is found somehow, there's no real way of knowing."

Lily nodded before looking back up at the colossus standing before her. She shuddered again.

* * *

Meanwhile, a few miles away from the hotel, Ron walked carefully down the dim and somewhat spooky pathways of the Naga Caves, pausing every now and then to study the strange serpentine markings etched onto the cave walls that were illuminated by glowing spheres every few feet. With him were Jim, Padma, Pavarti, and Sanjeev Kumar, Pavarti's fiancé who had arranged the excursion. The two boys had spent the morning learning to ski, which Ron had found surprisingly enjoyable, but now they were taking a break for a tour of the famous cave system while letting their lunch digest. While the tour was rather interesting to the two young Parselmouths, Ron and Jim's initial impression of Sanjeev as being "the Indian Draco Malfoy" was confirmed. In particular, the older boy apparently viewed the cave and everything in it as essentially his family's property rather than ancient artifacts to be admired for their inherent cultural value. Ron eventually started to entertain himself by counting the number of times Sanjeev said "my father" in the course of their tour, but he lost count somewhere around twenty. They were also less than impressed with the exceptionally gaudy ruby ring which he presented to Parvati but which apparently had been sized incorrectly and kept sliding off the girl's finger. Padma visibly loathed the boy, and while he appeared not to notice, Pavarti was increasingly annoyed by her sister's attitude.

By now, the group had entered a large open chamber which Sanjeev identified as "the Grand Balcony," a level outcropping of stone that stuck out over a deep chasm some fifty feet across and twice as deep. On the far side, illuminated by glow spheres suspended from the ceiling, was a sheer granite cliff face onto which had been carved a magnificent and enormous bas relief of the same six-armed naga whose statue now stood in the lobby of the ski lodge. Surrounding the great naga were hundreds of other snakes carved into the wall in an ornate interlocking design. The edge of the balcony had been roped off to prevent anyone from falling over the edge, and there were other signs of recent construction work, including the caution tape and a "Do Not Enter" sign which Sanjeev had simply pushed aside before leading the group into the chamber.

"One of my father's companies is doing some renovations to the Caves," Sanjeev explained loftily. "For safety purposes. There was some minor structural damage caused when the great naga statue was relocated from this chamber to the lodge."

Padma muttered something under her breath about the propriety of relocating an artifact that had stood unmolested for millennia to serve as a decoration for a hotel lobby, and Ron and Jim both fought down smirks. Pavarti glared at her twin, while Sanjeev was distracted by one of his father's employees who had entered the chamber to speak with him. From what Ron could hear, the conversation consisted of the worker insisting that the chamber was off-limits for safety reasons followed by variations on "_Do you know who my father is?_" from Sanjeev. Finally, Sanjeev called out to Parvati, saying that he needed to speak with the site manager but would return in a few minutes. As soon as Sanjeev and the worker left the chamber, Parvati whirled on Padma in anger.

"What is _wrong_ with you?! You've been horrible to Sanjeev all day!"

"Oh I don't know, sister. Perhaps I'm just irritated to see you hanging all over that spoiled child like some bauble he purchased at a village fair!"

"How dare you speak about the Pashazada like that!"

"The Pasha-what?" Ron interrupted suddenly.

"Pashazada," Parvati said. "It means '_the Pasha's son_.'"

Ron nodded. "Okay. Can you also explain what a Pasha is? 'Cause I've been wondering that since we got to India."

"Me too, actually," said Jim, "but I've been too embarrassed to ask."

"That's okay, Ron," Padma said drily. "It's just a meaningless courtesy title."

Parvati gasped. "PADMA!"

Her sister shrugged. "It is! '_Pasha_' was an honorific title given to generals and governors in the Ottoman Empire, as well as to private individuals who had done something to please the Sultan. Over _four hundred years ago_, back before the Statute of Secrecy, one of Sanjeev's ancestors performed some service for the Sultan of that era. No one even remembers what it was! But he was awarded the title of Pasha which has been handed down from father to son ever since. Even after the Statute of Secrecy meant that the Kumar Pasha couldn't use that title in front of Muggles. Even after the Ottoman Empire _ceased to exist some seventy years ago_! But they still call themselves Pasha and Pashazada because they think it sounds more impressive than '_elitist prats_.' And everyone just goes along with it because they're _so bloody rich!_"

Ron and Jim glanced at one another nervously as months, perhaps years, of suppressed anger between the Patil sisters finally erupted in front of them. Quietly, they took a few steps back and contemplated whether to wait outside the chamber rather than continue to witness the scene.

"SO THAT'S IT!" Parvati shrieked. "This isn't about cultural respect or courtesy titles! I'm engaged to a billionaire's son and you're JEALOUS!" As she spat out the accusation, Parvati gestured wildly towards her sister, causing her expensive but oversized ring to fly off her finger and skitter across the cavern floor. She gasped in horror as it rolled to a halt right at the edge of the chasm before falling onto its side. Then, she gave her sister another furious look before storming over past the rope barrier to where the ring had landed.

"I swear, Padma, if that had gone over the edge, I'd have sent you right after it," she spat as she bent over to pick up the gaudy jewelry.

Padma snorted. "I'd like to see you try!"

For their part, Ron and Jim were still paralyzed with discomfort and wondering if they were about to have to break up a fight between the two girls. It would have been better for all concerned if that had been the case, for at that moment, Parvati jerked back up and whirled around to shout something back to Padma when her foot slid on some loose dirt and gravel at the landing's edge. The girl lost her balance and fell, barely grasping the edge of the balcony while letting out a shriek.

"PARVATI!" Padma screamed, while Ron looked on in horror.

"_Sssshit!_" Jim, in his surprise, actually hissed out the expletive in Parseltongue, as he desperately fumbled for his wand beneath multiple layers of heavy winter clothing. He'd thought about getting a wand holster of his own but resisted the idea as being "too Harry." At this moment, he cursed himself for that sentiment as Parvati lost her grip and fell before he could get his wand out to catch her. Padma screamed again, and all three children rushed to the edge of the balcony with Ron and Jim holding Padma back so she didn't fall over after her sister. The bottom of the chasm was shrouded in darkness. Jim finally got his wand out and cast a Lumos Maxima. Parvati's body looked terribly broken, but to the trio's amazement, there seemed to be signs of life.

"PARVATI!" Padma called out again, tears streaming down her face. Jim looked around for some way to get down to the injured girl. Seeing none, he looked up and spotted the secure metal posts from which the light globes were suspended.

"_**CARPE RETRACTUM!**_**"**With a flash, a sturdy rope shot out of the tip of Jim's wand and wrapped itself securely around one of the posts. Then, to Ron's shock, the Boy-Who-Lived stepped off the balcony himself and swung out to the middle of the gap before willing the rope to slowly extend itself and lower him down to the ground below. Realizing what his friend had done, Ron rose and prepared to cast the same spell, when Padma grabbed his arm.

"Take me with you!" she said urgently.

"I, ah, don't know if ..." Ron sputtered.

"_Please!_ She's my _sister!_"

Ron scrunched his eyes up for a second and then let out a loud sigh. "Grab round my neck. I need both hands to hold onto the wand."

The girl did as instructed while Ron focused his attention on another of the light posts. "_Pleasedon'tbreakpleasedon'tbreakpleasedon'tbreak..." _he thought urgently before casting Carpe Retractum and then swinging off into the chasm with Padma Patil hanging on for dear life. Slowly, the two of them lowered down to the cave floor where Jim was already performing the diagnostic spell on Parvati.

"She's alive," he said. "But she's badly hurt, and I don't know if we know any spells that will save her." He looked back down at the unconscious girl and took a deep breath.

"_**EPISSSSKEY!**_" he hissed, hoping that the only Parselmagic healing spell he knew might do some good. Parvati's body twitched slightly and some of her smaller wounds closed, but she did not regain consciousness.

Ron thought for a moment and bit his lower lip in nervousness. "Let me try something. _**SAMSARA.**_" His wand lit up with a soft blue light, and he touched the top of it to Parvati's forehead. Her breathing became stronger and less labored.

"What spell is that?" Jim asked in surprise.

Ron kept his eyes closed in concentration. "Life Support Charm. It'll keep her stable until you get help. But _hurry_. I've never actually done this on a person before and I don't know how long I can hold it."

Jim nodded before jumping back up. He fired off another retracting cable to the overhead lights, one that pulled him all the way up to the ceiling. Then, grabbing hold of the light post with one hand, he dispelled that rope before firing another one to a light over the balcony that he used to swing over.

"Hang on, Ron! I'll be back as soon as I can!" he yelled down as he ran off in search of medical assistance.

Down below, Padma was holding onto her sister's hand while weeping uncontrollably. "Please, Parvati. Be okay. I'm sorry for what I said. For everything."

Ron focused as best he could on maintaining the life force connection forged by the Samsara Charm. But it was a difficult Charm to maintain and the spell was not one with which he'd had much (or really any) experience. After nearly a minute, his concentration finally broke, and Parvati's breathing once more grew labored and ragged. He cast the spell a second time, but it was less effective and only lasted for about thirty seconds before breaking. His third try lasted only for ten seconds, and his head began to swim from the strain.

"I'm sorry..." he said in a thick voice. Padma seemed to ignore him as she wept over her dying sister. Ron's own eyes teared up as well, not only at the impending death of a fellow Gryffindor but also at the symbolism of the scene in front of him. Padma, influenced by jealousy, had lashed out at her sister, and disaster had followed. He could relate. Ron looked down at the unconscious girl and imagined George or Fred or even Ginny lying in her place. Then, he closed his eyes and cast his memory back to the previous week.

_It was a Tuesday. Jim was off on one of his private lessons with Brother Chandra, so Ron spent the afternoon one-on-one with Healer Baskar, working on various healing spells that could be augmented with Parselmagic. As Ron reviewed the list, he suddenly noticed an absence. _

"_I don't see Samsara on here. Does Parseltongue not work with it?"_

"_Very perceptive, Mr. Weasley. The Life Support Charm is indeed susceptible to Parselmagic. But think about what that would mean if you used it in such a fashion. Samsara functions by linking the life forces of the caster and an injured person, allowing life energy to flow directly from one to another. So if we boost the spell's normal effects with Parselmagic...?"_

_Ron thought for a moment. "You could transfer more life energy than you intended! How dangerous would that be to the caster?"_

"_Very. I've only attempted the Parselmagic version of Samsara once to save someone at the very brink of death, but even with years of experience, I was barely able to keep my very life from draining away in the spell."_

Ron thought about Baskar's warning, but in the end, it didn't matter. A young girl, a friend, was dying in front of him, and he (maybe) had the power to save her. He knew what was easy and what was right. And he knew what he had to do. Ron took a deep breath, focused his attention on the tip of his wand, and hissed. "_**SSSSSAMSSSSARA.**_" Instead of a soft blue glow from his wand tip, he was rewarded with a brilliant while light. Immediately, he touched his wand to Parvati whose entire body went rigid and was enveloped in a halo so bright that Padma had to look away.

Then, Padma's concern for her sister was overcome by a sudden wave of terror as the hundreds of snakes carved into the great wall above her, as well as the great naga they surrounded, all _hissed_ in unison in response to the boy's actions. Outside the chamber, Jim had only just passed the news of Parvati's injury to Sanjeev when the various snake symbols and carvings on the nearby cave walls also hissed as one, their message filling the boy with dread. After practically yelling at Sanjeev and the workers to summon a healer, he raced back towards the chamber where he had left his best friend behind. Meanwhile, miles away, Lily, Remus, and the other guests at the ski lodge were equally as startled and amazed when a deep and terrible hissing sound bellowed forth from the mammoth naga statue in the hotel's lobby.

Down in the chasm, the light from Ron's wand grew brighter and brighter until Parvati's whole body shook violently as the worst of her wounds and broken bones healed instantly. Her eyes shot open and she sucked in air with a loud gasp. Padma cried out and embraced her twin in a fierce hug. Parvati hissed in pain – Ron's s spell had only brought her back from the brink of death and had not healed her completely, but she was just as relieved to be alive as her sister was to witness it. Only after Parvati reassured Padma that she was okay did the two girls glance over at Ron and become shocked at his appearance. The boy was as white as a sheet, more pale than any person they'd ever seen. His head was bobbing, and his wand trembled violently in his hand.

"...worked?" he asked in a shaky whisper. "S'good." Then, his eyes rolled back up into his head and he fell over onto the floor, unconscious or worse.

"Ron!" Jim cried out to his friend from the balcony up above. Padma looked up at him and did a double-take. She'd never seen the Boy-Who-Lived so frightened. She could not possibly have known why, for other than Ron, Jim Potter was the only person who had heard the terrible hissing that rose up in response to Ron's spell and understood what the snakes of the Naga Caves had said.

"_Your sacrifice has been accepted._"

* * *

_**Elsewhere...**_

After an unknown time, Ron's eyes suddenly opened and he sat up and looked around. He saw nothing but darkness, but he could feel his wand still in his hand, so he held it aloft and cried out "_**LUMOSSSSS.**_" The boy was actually surprised that the spell came out as Parselmagic, for he had not intended to hiss. He was even more surprised when, instead of a soft light from the tip of his wand, there was a bright light coming from above that completely illuminated the area in which he found himself. He looked around again and was amazed (and somewhat alarmed) to realize he had been transported somewhere else. Possibly to some other part of the Naga Caves, but for some reason he doubted it.

The chamber seem impossibly large. Roughly twenty feet in every direction stood a massive stone column, five feet in diameter and adorned with a snake made of some precious metal that wrapped around each column before disappearing into a thick mist far above the floor. The mist was luminescent and was the source of the light that manifested in response to his Parselmagic Lumos. Not all of the mist though; the glowing part was limited to a rough circle centered on Ron. The columns themselves seemed endless and formed a regular grid, one every twenty feet at right angles, as far as the eye could see. "As far as the eye could see" actually meant about a hundred feet in every direction, as the glow from the mist did not penetrate the darkness beyond that.

Ron stood up and yelled. "Hello?! Is anybody out there?!" There was no response, so the boy picked a direction and started walking. He soon noticed that the aura of light followed him. After an indeterminate time (truly indeterminate – the boy tried to cast Tempus, but the spell refused to function, even when he hissed it in Parseltongue), Ron suddenly developed the strong feeling that he was being watched, or at least observed somehow. Soon after, however, that nagging sensation was washed away by a more important concern, for Ron suddenly heard a voice. It was Jim Potter calling for help from somewhere in the distance!

Ron took off in a run, but soon he skidded to a halt, transfixed by what lay ahead: still more impossible tall columns, but these were marked by a familiar yet terrifying sight. Webs. Lots and lots of webs. More than the boy had ever seen in his life. The Twins had told him scary stories before he started Hogwarts about the Forbidden Forest and the acromantula colony within it. Even those tales, as embellished as they must have been, were not as disturbing as the forest of spider webs that lay before him. And somewhere within, Ron could still hear Jim weakly calling for his aid. Ron swallowed fearfully and then raised his wand.

"_**LACERO!**_" A knife-blade of magical force sliced cleanly through the nearest web. After a few more cutting curses, a path began to clear through the webbing. But Ron's efforts also alerted the inhabitants to his presence, for soon, huge spiders – no, acromantulas! – came down from whatever was above and beyond the mists, crawling down the columns and the webs that connected them. Instinctively, Ron took a step back, but another frightened cry from Jim stiffened his resolve, and he raised his wand again.

"_**LACERO! ARANA EXUMAI! LACERO! STUPIFY! **_" The boy threw spells faster than he ever had before, but more and more acromantulas came down to replace their fallen brethren. And each new wave included larger spiders than the one before. Now shaking in fear, Ron nearly faltered, but another cry from his friend somewhere beyond the webbing stiffened his resolve. He knew he was outnumbered, but then he thought of something to even the odds.

"_**SSSSERPENTSSSSORTIA!**_" The boy nearly staggered under the power of the Parselmagic spell as it erupted from his wand. There was a flash of light, and then suddenly nearly a dozen vipers materialized and practically flew through the air towards the acromantulas. "_Attack the sssspiders! Sssstrike at them all!_" His viper servants obeyed without question, tearing at the deadly spiders and giving Ron some breathing room. Emboldened, he returned to attacking the web itself. He had avoided using fire spells for fear that the flames might spread and endanger Jim and himself, but the sheer number of spiders attacking led him to abandon that restraint. As more and more of the foul creatures fell to his magic, he became less afraid of them and more ... _incensed_ by their attacks.

"_**INCENDIO!" **_The webbing caught fire easily but luckily did not start an inferno. The spiders climbing down through the webs instead fell down to the waiting fangs of the vipers, and when their numbers started to fall, Ron conjured more snakes to bolster them and added his own attacks to those of his serpent-fighters. "_**LACERO! DEPULSO! LACERO! FLIPPENDO TRIO!**_"

Finally, he had fought his way to the center of the webbing and found Jim on the floor wrapped up tightly in webbing.

"Jim! Jim! Can you hear me?!" The boy seemed to still be alive but paralyzed and in pain. He had a number of bite marks on his skin. Suddenly, Ron _sensed_ rather than heard the arrival of something behind him. Something _big._ The boy jumped up and whirled around just in time to see the largest spider he'd ever seen, ever _imagined_, lower itself to the ground in an eerie unnatural silence. Hagrid had told Ron and Jim all about his friend Aragog, the spider-king of the acromantula colony in the Forbidden Forest. This looked even bigger. Ron wasn't sure if the monster could even fit inside the Gryffindor common room even if it were some how possible to get it through the doors. And then, the foul thing _spoke_...

"_Run, boy. You are no match for me. And you will not deprive me and my children of their meal. Run now, and I will let you live._"

Ron's eyes narrowed as he realized that Jim was the meal the monster was talking about. The old wave of fear he'd felt since he was a child every time he saw a spider rose up once more. The wave that had turned into a tsunami after Tom Riddle's spider-themed tortures. But this time something was different. This time he was all that stood between the Boy-Who-Lived and certain death. For the first time, Ron felt that wave of fear crash against something unyielding and resolute ... and for once, the wave of fear fell short.

"You want Jim?" Ron asked in a fury. "I'll see you in HELL first!" And then he raised his wand aloft. "_**INCCCCCENDIO**_" he hissed in a fury of Parselmagic, and white-hot flames practically exploded from his wand to engulf the acromantula and its spawn. The boy spun around where he stood, ensuring that the waves of fire washed over the spiders in every direction. Finally, Ron released his spell. The flames dissipated, and Ron fell to his knees, nearly exhausted. But he knew there was no time to rest. Who knew how many more spiders were still around! Shaking off his exhaustion, the boy pulled himself up to his feet and scanned the room with his wand.

There were no more spiders. Indeed, there were no signs that there had ever been spiders or webs or even vipers summoned through Ron's magic. And there was no sign of Jim Potter either. Then, Ron jerked around in surprise with his wand still ready for battle. For somewhere nearby, Ron could hear the sound of someone clapping, along with the oddly familiar sound of some large creature _slithering _towards him.

"Well done, Child of Man," came a deep sibilant voice from deeper within the maze.

"Who's there?!" Ron yelled out. "What have you done with Jim?! And what is this place?!"

"Your friend was never here, Child of Man." The voice drew nearer, and finally, Ron saw its source shimmer into existence out of thin air not thirty feet from where he stood. The form was certainly familiar, as Ron had seen its image all over the caves today. The creature – no, the _being_ – was at least thirty feet long from the top of his bald head to the tip of his serpent's tail. Three-quarters of his body was given over to the form of a massive snake, while the rest was a scaly torso with six arms and a head that resembled a man's save for the brilliant green scales and other serpentine features.

"Those you fought, like the one you fought to protect, were never truly here but were merely constructs drawn from your mind to test you. As for your other question. I am Sardeth, Last of the Naga. I bid you welcome, Ronald Weasley. This is the last citadel of my race. This is my home... and my prison."

Ron swallowed and tightened his grip on his wand. The snake-man was quite near and now towered at least ten feet over him. "Prison? And, um, what exactly are you in prison _for_?"

Sardeth smiled in a way that Ron thought showed too many teeth. "Hubris, Child of Man. I am the last of the naga ... because I _annihilated _all the others.

* * *

_**The Temple of Healing  
Shamballa**_

Jim stood at the foot of Ron's bed staring down morosely at his friend, with Lily and Remus behind him. It had been less than an hour since healers had transported Ron and the others back to Shamballa and the Temple of Healing. Miraculously, Parvati was almost completely recovered from what should have been a mortal injury, but Ron was still comatose and deathly pale. The healers muttered about his low body temperature and heart rate and his apparent lack of any brain activity. Word had been sent to Gupta Baskar who would be arriving from Jakarta by portkey at any time, but there seemed to be genuine concern as to whether the boy would last that long.

"It's all my fault," Jim whispered.

Lily looked at him sharply. "Jim, that's utter nonsense. You did nothing to cause Parvati to fall and nothing to cause Ron to use a spell beyond his capability to save her."

"Mum, Ron wouldn't even be here if I hadn't pressured him into coming. He'd be safe at home at the Burrow with his family. Instead, he's ..." Jim's voice broke and he wiped a few tears from his eyes. "Have anyone even contacted the Weasleys yet?"

"No," said Remus. "Healer Baskar will be here soon to give his diagnosis. Then, if Ron's condition seems unlikely to change, we'll contact his family."

Jim shook his head. "They'll hate me forever for this. And they'll be right to."

"Enough, Jim," Remus interrupted. "Focus on your training. The Third Step Exercise."

"You want me to leave and go practice my martial arts?" Jim said incredulously.

"No," Remus said as he placed his hand on the boy's shoulder. "I want you to close your eyes and imagine that you are in the training room going through your kata. You've reached the point where sense memory can be as effective as actually performing the moves. Everything you've been working on with Wu Xi Do for the last few weeks has been for the purpose of strengthening your emotional control, has it not?"

Jim made a face, but then, he closed his eyes and imagined himself back in the training room. After a few seconds, he could feel himself mentally going through the relaxation katas, and the strain and unhappiness faded somewhat from his face. Then, his eyes jerked open as the doors to the infirmary burst open. Healer Baskar had returned. After barely acknowledging the others, he sat down beside Ron on his bed and pried his eyes open so that he could properly scan the boy with Legilimency. After a long moment, he let go of Ron's head and slowly stood.

"Remarkable," he said in a soft voice. Then, he turned to Jim and the others with a confused expression. "This may seem a foolish question, my friends, but is there any possibility that Mr. Weasley was attacked by a Dementor down in the cave?"

Jim, Remus, and Lily looked back and forth in surprise at the odd question. For his part, Jim didn't really even know what a Dementor was other than a creature that served as guard at Azkaban and occasionally as the Ministry's executioners.

"As far as we've been able to tell, Ron collapsed after using the Samsara Charm in conjunction with Parseltongue," Remus said. "Why would you think a Dementor was involved?"

Baskar looked back and forth between Ron and the others with a pensive expression. "Because I can say with authority that Mr. Weasley's mind and body are both perfectly fine... but at the moment, it appears as though his soul has been removed from his body!"

* * *

_**Elsewhere ...**_

At Sardeth's confession, Ron tensed and pointed his wand up at the towering naga. Sardeth merely smiled.

"Be at peace, Child of Man. I mean you no harm."

"I kinda doubt that since you just confessed to killing off your own people _and_ you sent an army of illusory killer spiders after me."

The naga laughed with a soft _ki-ki-ki._ "It was not I who summoned the spiders. It was the magic of this place. Before any visitor may speak with me and seek my knowledge, they must first make a sacrifice and then pass a test. The nature of the test varies from visitor to visitor, but in your case, it required you to overcome your greatest fear in defense of another. The only spiders in my domain are the ones you brought with you concealed deep in the recesses of your own mind. I commend you for the bravery you showed in defeating them, though I must warn you against pushing yourself to such extremes when you return from whence you came. We are much closer to the source of Magic than you have ever been, and your spells are more potent here than they would be within the World of Man."

Ron considered that. "You said something about a sacrifice. I don't recall sacrificing anything to come here."

Sardeth laughed again in his strange sibilant way. "Yes. I must confess that I found the whole thing quite amusing. There have been many who have quested their way towards here only to be stymied by an inability to find the proper occult sacrifice that would open the spiritual door to this place. And now, a child has done so completely by accident simply through his willingness to sacrifice his own life in order to save another by means of a spell cast in the language of my people."

The boy did a double-take. It was only then that he realized he and Sardeth had been speaking Parseltongue this whole time. "The language of... You mean Parseltongue? That's actually the language of the naga?"

Sardeth nodded almost proudly. "The word _naga_ is a human word for my kind even though no human has ever encountered one of us in the flesh. Our own name for our species was _Paar'zheal_ which simply meant '_the people_.' The first human to find his way here returned with the gift of our language which he called Parseltongue. And so that word passed into the vocabulary of your race." As Sardeth spoke, he slithered casually back and forth while gesturing with his many arms in a manner that strangely reminded Ron of how some of his professors gestured when lecturing. "The word '_naga_' was one imposed by human wizards upon us when they sought to understand our mysteries through the lens of human mythology. It is the way of this realm to be shaped by belief and consensus, and so I accept _naga_ as yet another name for my kind."

By this point, Ron had begun to relax. "The first human named your language Parseltongue? By any chance was that a bloke named Salazar Slytherin?"

"No, it was an ancient Egyptian wizard who your history books call Imhotep. But I have been visited by the one you speak of. As a young man, Salazar Slytherin taught himself the language of the Paar'zheal but with incredible difficulty as he had only the written texts of others to learn from. He feared that Parseltongue might become completely lost over time without a fresh supply of speakers, and so he asked for it to become a birthright to be passed down to his heirs and preserved forever. I granted his wish. Regrettably, I later realized that I had shortchanged the man. I knew little of human-kind then. I did yet not comprehend the concept of 'gender' since my own people reproduced asexually and I had never met a female human at that point. As a result, the magic I used to grant Slytherin's wish caused Parseltongue to pass down only among his male descendants." Sardeth shrugged, which Ron thought was an odd motion from someone with six arms. "These things happen when one steps beyond Reality in pursuit of one's desires. Precision is important when dealing with the Wild."

Ron didn't know how to respond to that so he changed subjects. "So people come here to get magical blessings from you and then go back. Does that mean I'm not trapped here or anything?"

"Of course not, child," the naga said almost genially. "You are free to leave whenever you wish, though the magic of my prison compels me to grant you some boon simply for coming here."

Ron nodded as he absorbed that. "Yeah, your ... prison. If you don't mind me asking, how exactly did you end up killing all the naga. Or all the Paar'zheal, I guess."

"Either term is appropriate now. And I killed no one. My race was undone by my actions, but there was no harmful intent on my part. Indeed, I foolishly thought that my plans would benefit all Paar'zheal. Back then, I was considered the greatest wizard among the naga, admired far and wide for my wisdom and power. But my heart chafed at how delineations of power tore at our society. Among the naga, there were powerful wizards, weak wizards, and the children of wizards who had no magic at all. This led to much social strife as the strong inevitably abused the weak who just as inevitably rose up with superior numbers against the strong. I judged this wrong, and in my arrogance, I sought to ensure that all naga should be equal in the blessings of Magic."

"What did you do?" Ron asked.

"I used forbidden rites to take myself beyond the gates of our world. Past the guildhalls of the Lares. Past the graveyards where the first gods slumbered fitfully in their tombs. Out, out into the deepest parts of the Wild from whence both the root and heart of Magic came. And there, I performed the greatest Working in the history of the Paar'zheal. I cast a spell that made our very _language_ inherently magical. There would be no more need for wand or cauldron or carefully mastered incantation. The naga would speak his desire and by his will and word alone it would come to pass." He laughed again, though bitterly this time. "My people did not last a day."

"What happened?"

"Like all sentient beings, the Paar'zheal carried within themselves the capacity for self-destruction. Impetuousness when not trained to discipline and cruelty when not constrained by law or custom. Given limitless transformative power, they did not hesitate to use it for frivolous purposes or to revenge themselves on others over trivial slights. Irem, the City of 10,000 Pillars, was shattered unto ruin by what started as a disagreement over a bar tab. In the great Necropolis of Kemet, where we committed our dead to the Great Beyond, a grieving naga's wish to see his dead hatchlings once more brought forth a plague of what you would describe as inferi. The island of Mu sank beneath the waves so swiftly that I didn't even have time to learn whose ill-considered words doomed it. So it was in every city on every continent. Reality strained and then buckled and then came close to utter collapse before Magic came forth to judge us and found us lacking. And so, the Paar'zheal were undone. A great fire fell from the sky unleashing a conflagration that touched every inch of the world, and when it had passed, I alone remained to tell the story of the naga to those rare few who came to seek my blessing. But our cursed dead language echoed in the dreams of human wizards, a few of whom puzzled out its secrets to find their way here through hidden redoubts high atop the Himalayas, deep within the Amazon rainforest, buried beneath the Saharan dunes, or sunken far under the ocean depths. Of those few who have found me, only the one you call Slytherin had the wisdom to ask for something that might benefit others instead of just himself."

Ron thought about that for a few seconds. Then, an unpleasant thought came to him. "Did, um ... by any chance did a wizard named Tom Riddle visit you?"

Sardeth nodded. "He was the last before you. To my surprise, what he wanted most was knowledge of my people and how they fell into oblivion. He had much disdain for humanity, both wizards and non-wizards alike, and so he sought knowledge of how to more fully reject the humanity within himself. I found myself flattered by his admiration for my form, so I provided him with knowledge of rituals which, in time, would transfigure him bodily so as to gain naga features."

"Tom Riddle was a dark wizard. He ... did things to me."

Sardeth shrugged again. "I get so few visitors, Child of Man. Who am I to judge? If Tom Riddle's journey carries him too far into the Wild, perhaps he will join me here and I might have a companion for eternity."

Ron considered that but decided not to pursue the line of inquiry. "How long have you been here?"

"A difficult question to answer, I fear. Time in this place does not have a strictly linear progression. The entryways found by you and my various other supplicants are scattered in time as well as space, and anyway, when I grow weary of my loneliness, I have the means to force myself to slumber away centuries until my next visitor arrives. But to answer your specific question, my Great Working and the resultant destruction of my species occurred approximately three hundred years ago as you humans reckon time."

Ron nodded but then did a double-take. "Wait ... What?! Three hundred years? I'd think that more people would know about the naga if they'd ruled the world just three centuries ago before getting destroyed in a worldwide ball of fire from the heavens."

"You misapprehend my words, Child of Man. When I said that I annihilated all the other naga, I was not referring to all of my peers. I meant _all naga who had ever existed._ The Great Fire which came down from the Heavens did not strike in my own time but rather _tens of millions of years before. _The ancient ancestor creatures whose descendants eventually called themselves the Paar'zheal were exterminated long before any of those ancestors even bore a form such as this one. Before they even knew speech let alone magic. That is the true reason for my banishment into the infinite madness of the Wild, why I am forever barred from the world of my birth. Because I am an impossible anomaly – the last survivor of a race which never existed – and were I to slither back into your world, Reality itself would reject me and undo my existence even as it did my people."

Sardeth laughed again. "You should thank me, Child of Man. It was only after my most primitive ancestors were wiped out that room was made for yours. Tiny rodents who evolved into primates who evolved into men who evolved into wizards. You and your fellow humans are the heirs to my folly, the beneficiaries of my people's erasure. You have my congratulations."

"Um, thanks. So why don't more people, heck, any people know about this?"

"The human mind is poorly suited for travel into places which are nowhere and no-when. When you leave this place, you will remember little of your sojourn here and nothing of me or the fate of my people. Nothing save perhaps as an unconscious intuition that perhaps there is a reason that forbidden magic is best left ... forbidden."

Ron nodded. "Okay then, since you brought it up, will it be time for me to leave soon?"

"Very soon, child. The rules of my captivity say that I must reward you somehow for winning your way here. What blessing would you ask of me?"

The boy thought, but then, he remembered the lessons he'd been taught by his parents, and this time, there was no cursed diary to make him forget.

"Well no offense, Sardeth, but ... my Mum and Dad kind of taught me when I was growing up that I should be careful about what gifts I accept from strangers ... especially if they're magical creatures who, again no offense, seem a bit creepy."

Sardeth laughed once more. "For what it is worth, child, the thought of a world ruled by hairless mammals is quite disturbing to me as well." Then, Sardeth's serpentine body bent forward until his torso and head were low enough to look Ron in the eye. "Shall I simply look into your heart and grant unto you your heart's fondest wish?"

Ron blinked. "To be Head Boy and Quidditch captain?" he asked lamely.

Sardeth stared deeply into Ron's eyes, and the boy suddenly felt completely exposed, more so than if he were nude. "No, Child of Man. You want something else." Abruptly, the naga leaned back away from Ron. "But it is something I cannot give to you, though I see that for good or ill it will come to you one day regardless. Fate has marked you so. I hope when one day you are granted your desire, you find that it is worth whatever price you pay for it."

The great naga slithered back away from the boy and regarded him less intently. "So, if your fondest wish is beyond my power to grant, what other boon would you desire? I perceive that you are both too wise and too humble to ask for mere power. What other desire drives you?"

Ron thought for a moment and then looked up with sudden excitement. "You said I won't remember anything from here. Can you fix it so that I at least remember fighting off all those spiders? Maybe I won't be afraid of them as much.

Sardeth tilted his head as if studying the boy. Then, he reached forward and touched Ron's forehead with one of his fingertips while the other five arms made various occult gestures.

"It is done. The spiders of your mind are gone, defeated forever by you in psychic combat. Those nightmares at least will trouble you know more."

Ron smiled at that. "Thank you, Sardeth. I'm very grateful."

The naga bowed to Ron. "Go in peace, Child of Man."

And with that, Ron Weasley faded away from the prison-citadel of the Last Naga. Sardeth spent several minutes watching the spot from whence the boy had disappeared, a look of strange sadness on his face.

* * *

_**The Temple of Healing**_

Healer Baskar had only just made his dramatic pronouncement about the apparent loss of Ron's soul when the boy himself proved the healer wrong by gasping loudly and sitting up in bed. Naturally, there were several seconds of pandemonium, including a surprisingly high-pitched scream from Jim and a very loud expletive from Lily Potter, before Baskar yelled out. "SILENCE! You will all get hold of yourselves _this instant_ or I will clear you from the ward!"

With that, he sat back down next Ron and conducted another psychic examination. When he was done, he spoke to the boy reassuringly but with an undercurrent of concern. "Tell me, Mr. Weasley. What's the last thing you remember?"

The boy seemed to spend a long moment in thought before finally looking up to the healer with a mild confusion. Truthfully, he had a very strong _impression_ of listening to snakes hissing for a long time, but he couldn't give any context to that pseudo-memory. "Um, I remember Parvati falling and not being able to maintain the Samsara Charm on her, so I tried it with Parseltongue." Baskar frowned, and Ron blushed slightly. "I know you said not to, but she was _dying_ and I couldn't think of anything else. How is she?"

"Parvati is fine, Mr. Weasley. Quite better for the last hour than you have been." The healer spent a few more minutes gazing deeply into his patients eyes. "Hmm, despite your ... _condition_ over the last hour, you now appear to be in perfect health." And it seemed true, for color was already swiftly returning to Ron's cheeks, and he seemed full of energy. Baskar's eyes narrowed as he continued his Leglimency examination. "Better than before, in fact. Somewhat oddly, it _appears_ that you have been completely cured of your arachnophobia!"

Baskar and several other healers spent another hour checking Ron's vitals before finally declaring that he would be kept overnight for observation but otherwise appeared to be in excellent health and should be released in the morning. Lily and Remus soon left, but Jim remained and watched over Ron throughout his medical review. For once, Jim's presence discomfited Ron, as the other boy seemed oddly intense. Possibly even angry. After the healers left, Jim sat down in a chair next to Ron's bed but said nothing at first.

"Jim?" Ron began, but the other boy put up a hand to stop him while he went through another mental calming exercise. Finally, after he'd collected himself, Jim raised a privacy Charm and then spoke.

"What. Were. You. _Thinking_?! Baskar _told you_ that the Charm you used could be fatal if used with Parseltongue. And you did it anyway!"

Ron sighed and shook his head. "Jim, Parvati was dying. I had to do something."

"I know. I understand she was dying. What I don't understand is why you decided that it was okay to just ... substitute your life for hers? You have so many people who love you. Why do you value your own life so little?"

"It wasn't like that!"

"Wasn't it?!" Jim's voice rose. "For the last hour, I've felt like I was back on top of the Astronomy Tower only this time I was too late to catch you. All I could think of is '_what will I tell Ron's mother at his funeral_?' This is the _third _time I've watched you almost die since May, and it's killing me. I need to know that you care about yourself enough to _want_ to live."

Ron looked down, unable to maintain eye contact at first. "I wasn't trying to kill myself, this time," he said quietly. "I genuinely thought I could heal Parvati and break contact before I got hurt. But I _am_ a Gryffindor, Jim. _Do what's right instead of what's easy._ Remember that? I couldn't just ignore a friend dying in front of me and more than ... well, than you could if you'd been there instead of me and known how to cast that spell. You can't expect me to be friends with the Boy-Who-Lived and not want to live up that standard. You just can't."

Jim stood up, still obviously displeased with his friend. "We'll talk a bout this more later. But you listen to me, Ronald Bilious Weasley. From now on, you are not allowed to die, do you hear me? I forbid it."

Despite his friend's intense demeanor, Ron laughed. "Orders acknowledged, captain."

Jim sighed. "Chess?"

* * *

_**That night...**_

Madanapala Patil was a proud man who loved his children. Unfortunately, in Wizarding India and for a wizard of Patil's background, loving one's children often meant making hard decisions on their behalf. Sometimes even decisions for which those same children might judge their fathers harshly. Ultimately, however, "for the good of the family" were the six magic words that, for good or ill, guided Patil's every action, including his current conversation with his daughter Parvati's future father-in-law.

"It pains me to say so, Madanapala, but I have concerns. _Grave_ concerns." The Kumar Pasha was an exceedingly corpulent man, so much so that his jowls flapped as he emphasized the word _grave_. His weight also made the fez on his bald head seem disproportionately tiny, almost to the point of being humorous, not that Patil found anything humorous about the current conversation.

"Certainly," the Pasha continued, "I am pleased that my prospective daughter-in-law survived her fall, though it speaks poorly of her wisdom – not to mention her grace – that she should nearly fall to her death while being given a tour of one of our properties."

Patil winced, not just because of the implied insult to Parvati, but also to the Pasha's use of the word _prospective_ rather than the word _future_ which had been the word used for their prior conversations over the last few years. Surely the Pasha was not reconsidering the marriage over the day's events?!

Then, as if reading Patil's mind, the Pasha continued. "My concern at the moment is with the Weasley boy and the fact that he single-handedly saved your Parvati at the risk of his own life. I have made inquiries. The Weasleys, while Pure-blooded, are a poverty-stricken family barely able to keep a roof of their heads. Certainly, I had no interest in supporting Britain's most recent Dark Lord, but neither do I have truck with whose who magical society condemns as _blood traitors_. If nothing else, it's bad for business. Accordingly, it troubles me that the House of Patil now owes a life debt to the House of Weasley. The prospect of my Sanjeev _buying into_ that life debt through marriage troubles me even more."

Patil opened his mouth to argue but could think of nothing to say. He could mention that Ron Weasley was a confidant of the Boy-Who-Lived, but he was unsure of whether the Pasha, who had never been to Britain, even knew who Jim Potter was. Finally, he gave up and threw himself on the Pasha's mercy.

"What would you have me do, Kumar Pasha?"

"I would have you resolve this life debt situation how ever you can, Honorable Patil. Until you do, the wedding of Sanjeev and Parvati shall be held in abeyance. Handle this, Patil. Whatever it takes."

* * *

_**The Rookery in Ottery St. Catchpole  
Sometime earlier**_

It was the middle of the night in Britain when Luna Lovegood awoke from a most peculiar dream. She had many strange dreams, most of which she did not recall when she awoke, and already the memories of this one were fading. But for once, she clearly remembered a few details. She was floating through the air in an enormous cavernous space marked by a seemingly infinite number of stone columns. And from somewhere in the distance, she distinctly heard the sound of Ron Weasley talking, or more accurately _hissing_, with someone or something else that hissed back to him. She did not understand hisses herself, but nevertheless, she felt that the hissing conversation which she could not understand was somehow fraught with import. The dream ended quite abruptly, which was most likely why she was startled into wakefulness and remembered any of it at all.

The girl tried to remember more of the dream but then became distracted when a trio of particularly iridescent nargles flew over her face. For some reason, they glowed more brightly than she was accustomed to, and their colors were even more brilliant than usual. From this, the girl deduced that she must have observed something in her dream which was of incredible importance but which she could not presently understand and which, by morning, she would likely not remember at all. She smiled again at the beauty of her nargles, though she also felt a tinge of sadness because as far as she knew, there were no other heliopaths with whom she could share such beauty. In fact, it seemed that those who became aware of the creatures but who lacked her special gift recoiled from them in disgust. She could never understand why anyone could possibly be disgusted by such beauty simply because its colors could be found nowhere in nature and its shape was non-Euclidean. Then, her confusion over the issue caused a fourth nargle to spring into existence just long enough for her to shrug and decide it didn't matter, thereby causing the fourth creature to fade back into the folds of her thought-space.

"Of course," she said quietly to no one, "if people are so disturbed by the sight of nargles, it's a good thing they can't see wrackspurts."

_Those_ creatures were disturbing even to her, which made her glad to think how rarely she generated them within her own thought-space. She often wondered why that was. Was it that she found them unpleasant to see and so naturally avoided those thoughts which gave rise to them? Or was she simply a naturally serene and gentle person and so was simply untroubled by the kind of thoughts that gave birth to wrackspurts, thus making them less familiar to her than nargles? It was a conundrum, one which immediately caused yet another nargle to manifest. This one dove down at her side, flew underneath her, and came up from the other side, a behavior which Luna found rather unusual for nargles. It was at that point that Luna looked up and noticed for the first time that the ceiling seemed quite close – only two or three feet above her instead of the six or seven to which she was accustomed.

Perplexed, she rolled over and was further surprised to see that she was floating a good four feet above her own bed. And most surprising of all to Luna was the fact that there was a _second_ Luna Lovegood still lying in the bed underneath the covers, her eyes twitching as if she were in the midst of a most engrossing dream. Another nargle flickered into existence, and Luna reached out for it only to notice for the first time how strangely translucent her body now seemed to be in addition to its uncharacteristic state of "floatiness."

Luna looked down at her own sleeping body as more and more nargles were born of her confusion. "Well I must say," she finally said to no one, "this is _decidedly _peculiar. Even by _my_ standards."

* * *

_**Elsewhere...**_

With the boy sent on his way, the Last of the Naga returned to his den and prepared to slumber once more. He felt (not knew but felt) that he would have at least one more visitor before the turn of the present century. It was quite possible that it would be Ron Weasley, returning to him once more after he had grown into his power. But the truth of that matter was beyond Sardeth's sight.

The naga slithered around in a circle, coiling his lower snake-body again and again before he laid his upper body down upon the coils. His last conscious thoughts were sad ones, for he quite liked the man-child who had come to visit under such extraordinary circumstances. He was at once entertained by the boy's courage and amused by his charming collection of neuroses. But Sardeth's dominant emotion was sadness over the boy's destiny. For he sensed through the eddies of Fate that one day the young Parselmouth would indeed be blessed with his heart's true desire, with that thing he secretly wanted more than any other blessing the Last Naga could give.

One day, Ron Weasley would save the life of the Boy-Who-Lived, no matter what the cost.

* * *

_**7 DAYS UNTIL AZKABAN**_

* * *

**Next: Harry Potter and the Marauder's Map, in which we finally learn how our main protagonist has been spending his summer.**

**The good news is that I've been getting lots of overtime. The bad news is that I've been getting lots of overtime. Writing has been sporadic and will likely continue for some time. But I'll do my best to get on some kind of schedule soon but no promises.**

**AN 1: I have a good friend whose son has been diagnosed with dyslexia and have spent some time listening to him talk about treatment options for the son. At some point, I was struck by the symptoms of dyslexia as they were explained to me and by Arthur Weasley's inability to correctly pronounce electricity and telephone even though he's implied to be an expert on Muggle culture. Added to this was Ron's famous troubles with pronouncing "Wingardium Leviosa." I mean, come on! How many of us were able to pronounce those two words perfectly after hearing Hermione say them once in the first movie. **

**AN 2: Minor editing on 4/17/17. Mainly the scene between Molly and Bill.**


	89. HP&DEM 6: Prelude (Harry)

**HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATH EATER MENACE**

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

* * *

**CHAPTER 6: Harry Potter and the Supreme Art of War **

* * *

_**19 July 1993**_

Harry Potter opened his eyes and surveyed the Prince's Lair like a potentate studying his court. He was sitting comfortably on the Hydra Throne, and while the nine heads of the Hydra were silent at the moment, that was to be expected. The mahogany table was polished to perfection, and the brass adders atop the six chairs surrounding the table gleamed in the light. Harry turned his head to the right and saw that the silver placards identifying all of the prior Princes were in their proper place. Turning to the left, he saw that the great fireplace was cold, and with but a thought, he lit it up into a roaring blaze that further brightened the room.

Satisfied, the boy turned his attention to the nearest bookshelf and studied the titles. **_Harry's Charms Studies, vol. 1-2. Harry's Collected Transfiguration Insights, vol. 1-2. Harry's Potions Studies, vol. 1-2. _**He read each of the titles that represented his accumulated academic knowledge in turn. Then, he moved on to the more personal volumes. **_Harry's Favorite Recipes_** and **_Harry's Guide to the Perfect Garden_** were right where he expected. But then, he frowned at the next few titles. **_Harry's Worst Nights in the Cupboard. That Time Vernon Broke Harry's Arm. Harry Hunting. _**And a slim but ominous volume simply titled** _SUPPERTIME!_**

Despite his best efforts, Harry found it hard to focus on the titles to those volumes, so he turned his attention back to the academic section, only to frown ever harder when those titles began to change. **_Harry's Crahms Sutdies. Harry's Cloletced Trisnfagarutoin Insihgst. _**The remaining academic volumes were completely unintelligible.

"No," Harry said firmly, as if willing the words to unscramble themselves. Then, his attention was diverted by movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned to face the front only to realize that the great table and the six chairs surrounding it had disappeared, leaving the Prince's Lair nearly empty.

"No!" Harry said more urgently and with mounting frustration. Then, the Hydra Throne abruptly disappeared out from under him.

"NOO-oof!" Harry yelled out in surprise as he was suddenly and rudely deposited onto the bare floor of the now bare chamber, banging his head on the floor as he fell backwards. He hissed out an angry sigh and then closed his eyes.

* * *

Harry Potter opened his eyes and saw overhead the familiar ceiling of his room in Longbottom Manor. The first light of dawn was only just creeping in through the windows, and he reached up to rub his temples in hopes of forestalling the headache that was probably coming. Two weeks of practice, and he was still no closer to a stable memory palace. It was ... annoying.

Harry closed his eyes once more in frustration and thought back to his last conversation with Mr. X on the topic. Well, that topic among _others_.

* * *

_**8 July 1993  
Room 13 at the Leaky Cauldron  
(11 days earlier)**_

"I warned you, Mr. Potter, that this would be a difficult and challenging time in your Occlumency training," Mr. X said. "To progress beyond this point, you must have a stable memory palace to use as a basis for further developments of your psychic architecture. There are no short cuts."

Harry nodded but was still clearly frustrated. In the abstract, he understood what Mr. X was saying, but applying the knowledge to the inside of his own head was proving daunting.

"So explain it again, please, Mr. X. I'm trying to understand, but so far, I'm having trouble wrapping my head around it."

"That is not surprising, Mr. Potter. Constructing a memory palace is one of the most difficult aspects of Occlumency training. In fact, it is the reason why most Occlumens never advance beyond level three. Had you not shown remarkable dedication so far, I would not even consider asking you to pursue this level of development at such a young age. So, to review: Your memory palace is based on a real-world location where you feel safe and in control of your surroundings. It should also be a place which is, for lack of a better word, somewhat _cluttered. _A library or storage area, for example. A place where you can imagine yourself leaving things behind to be picked up again later. Once you have this psychic safe house fully developed, you can store your most sensitive memories there in a partitioned area of your mind, one where you don't simply hide your memories away but actively protect them with psychic traps capable of actually harming those who push too far into your mind. Ultimately, your memory palace can even be a place where you store false memories and even false personalities that you can drape over your true self to deceive an intruding Legilimens. Instead of putting up a wall against Legilimency and thereby let your enemy know that you have secrets worth protecting, you can allow the Legilimens to see _what you want_, and thus he will be more likely to accept your false memories as truth without digging any further."

Harry nodded. "And you've got a memory palace like that?"

"I do, though I don't anticipate you seeing it anytime soon. Or at all. However, my memory palace _is_ important to your future training. Since you seem bent on exploring Legilimency as well as Occlumency – and against my recommendations, as I've said – I have used my own memory palace to create a set of false memories. As you practice your Legilimency against me, we will see if you can penetrate my shields to discover the false information I have left for you. Frankly, you're not paying me enough to risk letting you see my true memories. My false persona, however, will be realistic enough to replicate the process of Legilimency thought-reading."

Harry nodded, but then, Mr. X paused.

"Not to beat a dead hippogriff, but you _do _realize that it is _illegal_ for someone not properly registered by the Ministry to read the thoughts of another without either permission or a judicial order signed by the Chief Warlock, do you not?"

Harry stiffened slightly. He knew all this already, but it still made him nervous to edge as close to illegal conduct as he was now contemplating. He wondered how Snape got away with it for so long. Dumbledore's influence, he supposed. "I understand all that, Mr. X."

The man sighed. "I am contracted to teach what you want to learn, Mr. Potter. But I feel compelled to say it once more. You don't _have _to develop your Legilimency powers just because some _school teacher_ tells you to, no matter how much regard for him you have. There are risks, both psychological and legal, to pursuing this path."

"I appreciate your concern, Mr. X. But I have this power. And I am afraid that I might be a danger to myself and others if I don't figure out how it works and learn to use it safely."

Mr. X grimaced and shook his head. "On your own head be it then. Alright, let's start talking about Legilimency exercises."

And after a brief and rather confusing introduction, Harry spent the next hour growing increasingly frustrated at how difficult it was to read someone else's mind with Legilimency, even when the intended target was actively trying to help you do so. By the end of his first Legilimency lesson, all Harry had to show for himself was a splitting headache and a vague feeling that Mr X (or rather the secondary persona whose false memories Mr. X had encouraged him to read) liked the Tutshill Tornados Quidditch Club, dark chocolate, and possibly a large orange tabby. Actual memories were still beyond the boy.

At the end of the lesson, Harry looked at the clock and saw that he still had a few more minutes before Artie and Mr. Y came in to oversee the Memory Lock Charm and ensure that Mr. X remembered nothing he might have learned from his psychic lessons with Harry. The boy thought for a moment and decided that there was no time like the present.

"Mr. X, before we break for the day, I have a question for you. Or more accurately ... an offer. I happen to know someone who is looking for a high level Legilimens for a job."

The other man, whose features Harry couldn't truly see due to special Notice Me Not Charms, studied the boy quizzically. "A ... job. I find it interesting how much portent you can impose on a one-syllable word like '_job,_' Mr. Potter. If I didn't know you better, I'd be certain that this _job_ was something of which the Ministry might disapprove."

Harry bit his lip. For one of the few times since entering Hogwarts, he was unsure of how to proceed in a conversation with someone else. He assumed it was because the other man was a far better Occlumens and Legilimens than he would likely ever be. Finally, he decided to bite the bullet, since the man was not expected to remember anything Harry told him in just a few minutes.

"Well, to be honest, it's not _entirely _legal." Harry swallowed. "Actually, in all honestly, it's pretty wildly illegal. But I can promise that it will pay _a lot_. And I am fairly comfortable in saying there's no way you'll get caught. My ... friend has ... some minds he needs read. And while I admit it's technically a criminal enterprise, I can promise you that it's for a good cause."

Mr. X smirked. "And what sort of good cause can come from something so nefarious that you are this evasive about what is entailed, Mr. Potter?"

Harry looked away for a second. Then, he realized what he needed to say. "When we first met, you were afraid for your family in the event that Voldemort returned. My friend wants to make sure that never happens, but he needs a good Legilimens to ensure it."

Mr. X was silent for a good long moment. "You need a Legilimens ... to forestall the return of You-Know-Who? I would say that I must think on this, but that will be a problem since my memories of this conversation will soon be erased."

"We'll use a different password to lock your memories of today, and I'll send an owl unlocking them tomorrow. Naturally, we won't tell you everything until you've sworn some pretty tough oaths, and I'll make sure you have the right to back out if you decide you won't want to be a part of it once you know all the details."

Mr. X nodded. "And how much is _a lot_ of money?"

Harry told him, and had Mr. X not been a master Occlumens, the figure quoted might well have given him a coughing.

* * *

_**19 July 1993  
Longbottom Manor  
5:45 a.m.**_

As the memories of his last Occlumency lesson ran their course, Harry sat up in his bed with some frustration. He'd never really broken himself of the Dursley-instilled habit of waking early, and he'd thought the pre-dawn hours might be a good time for meditation. But so far, his progress had been less than he'd hoped, in part because maintaining any sort of inner peace despite the enormous stresses of his summer break taxed his Occlumency to the utmost. Theo. Neville. Lessons with Mr. X and Alastor Moody. Regulus Black's crazy schemes. Against all that, the degree of serenity needed to advance in his Occlumency training seemed impossible.

"_I need something distracting,_" he thought to himself. His first thought was gardening which was his go-to activity for mental distraction, but it was too early for that. Besides, Neville would have a fit if he ever learned that Harry had dared to touch anything in the Longbottom family garden. And since Harry's relationship with Neville had become alarmingly strained in the past few weeks, he didn't want to do anything else to put pressure on it.

The boy grimaced in anger and once again cursed the name of Tiberius Nott. What the ex-Death Eater had done to Theo was bad enough, but now it was affecting another of Harry's best friends as well. According to Lady Augusta, the problem was that Neville was wearing his Heir's Ring which keyed him in magically to the oaths that bound House Longbottom to the Wizengamot and therefore, indirectly, to House Nott. In fact, it was worse for Neville than for most Wizengamot heirs because his parents were completely incapacitated at the moment. Consequently, Neville was being affected as if he himself were an actual Lord, even though he wouldn't be able to formally take that role for several years to come. And yet, when Harry had asked if Neville couldn't simply take off the Heir's Ring for a while, Augusta had looked so horrified by the idea that he'd never brought it up again.

"_And worst of all_," Harry thought ruefully, "_Neville really loves his parents._" Perhaps the cruelest aspect of the Ultimate Sanction effect, Neville's deep devotion to his near-comatose parents gave him a strong personal desire to live up to their memories by being the best Lord Longbottom he could be. And the Ultimate Sanction had apparently twisted that admirable impulse to render the boy even less able to resist the compulsion to hate Theo and, increasingly, anyone else who dared to support Theo.

His thoughts churning, Harry found it impossible to either return to his memory palace or to sleep. But then, he remembered one of the books on the shelf of his Memory Palace and found inspiration. The boy jumped out of bed, pulled on his robe, and made his way to the Longbottom kitchens.

Thirty minutes later, Harry was halfway through the prep-work for a Quiche Amandine (and feeling considerably more relaxed) when he was surprised by a soft cough from behind him. It was Hoskins, the senior of the Longbottoms' two house elves, regarding him with a mixture of surprise and concern.

The elf seemed almost embarrassed, but he persevered. "Apologies, Master Harry but ... surely Master Harry knows that if he desires an early breakfast, he need only call out for a house elf." Then, Hoskins' goggle eyes narrowed angrily. "Has the Dobby elf _refused a summons_?" the elf said, his voice rising slightly in what passed for fury among his kind.

"No, no," Harry said quickly. "I haven't called on Dobby or anyone else, Hoskins." Suddenly, the boy blushed slightly as he realized how silly getting up to cook breakfast would seem to a house elf, let alone to another wizard. "Honestly, I'm not actually hungry. I'm just ... frustrated by some things and couldn't sleep. I thought cooking might relax me."

As expected, Hoskins gave Harry a look that suggested (respectfully) that he thought the boy might be mad. "Master Harry," the elf said delicately, "cooking ... is _servants'_ work."

Harry shrugged. "I know. When I learned how to cook, I was still a servant."

That response seemed to leave the creature even more flummoxed. "Master Harry ... was a servant? For another wizard?"

"No," Harry blushed slightly. "... Muggles."

Hoskins said nothing, but his eyes widened in surprise. Then, he shook his head, as if realizing he'd gotten off track. "That may be so, Master Harry. But ... and Hoskins says this with the utmost respect, sir ... it is the job of us house elves to see that those who dwell in the House of Longbottom are properly..."

"Fed and watered?" Harry finished with a smile. Hoskins nodded. Harry looked back at his prep-work longingly. To his surprise, cooking – for pleasure, not out of servitude – really was relaxing and enjoyable to him. He turned back to the elf. "What if nobody here eats it?" he asked.

Hoskins blinked twice. "Master Harry wishes to cook ... not to eat ... but solely for pleasure?" Harry nodded. The elf considered that for a moment, and then his face suddenly brightened. "Can Hoskins assist?" he said cheerfully. Harry laughed and directed the house elf to begin chopping up some arugula.

* * *

_**18 July 1993  
Excerpt from a letter**_

_So all that happened. Near death experience from attempted Sicilian revenge, and all leading up to an exciting finish in an old Italian church. It was like something from a wizarding Francis Ford Coppola. Wait, never mind. You've never actually watched any __good__ movies._

_Anyway, I wanted to give you a heads up. Hermione has a bee in her bonnet about forming some sort of "support group" for Theo. Which, well, I'm certainly happy to support the third member of the "Silver Trio" (I still want T-shirts!), but I can't imagine how the ham-fisted Mugglish approach she has in mind will do anything except make things worse for Theo __and__ us. Try to make her see reason, please! But don't tell her I said anything! _

_Cheers, BZ_

* * *

_**19 July 1993  
1:08 p.m.  
**_"_**The Training Room"  
Hogsmeade**_

"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

Harry winced at the bellowing voice of his tutor ... and also from the pain from his backside upon which he had just landed. He'd started his summer lessons with the retired auror just a week after getting back from Hogwarts. Initially, he'd been hoping for an emphasis in dueling, and Moody seemed to be amenable. So every lesson began with a dueling match between Moody and his charges (initially Neville had accompanied Harry to these lessons), and as soon as he'd disarmed his pupils, Moody would offer a brief critique before moving on to less invigorating topics like Potions, Ancient Runes, and Arithmancy, the latter two being classes Harry would study as electives beginning in his Third Year. Moody also required a full three feet of parchment before the next session in which Harry was to outline every single spell cast during the previous duel and how to counteract or otherwise overcome it. Neville, who had never been particularly interested in dueling, was exempt from that assignment, and since Moody rarely used the same spell twice, Harry's essays were becoming quite expansive.

Alastor Moody, true to his reputation, was _a lot_ harder to duel than even the five Hogwarts upperclassmen Harry had taken down simultaneously the previous June. Since summer lessons had started, his longest time to last against Moody had been around two minutes, but he was usually disarmed, flat on his back, or both within thirty seconds. Thus far, he had never successfully disarmed Moody even once. Even dilating didn't seem to help at all since the man almost always cast silently and his wand movements were incredibly fast even at Harry's maximum dilation. Worse, he regularly switched wand hands in the middle of the duel (which Harry didn't even know was possible until the first time Moody did it), and Harry was completely unable to recognize wand patterns cast left-handed rather than right-handed when under the time pressure of a duel.

Today's lesson had been particularly embarrassing. The boy had thought he was doing exceptionally well for a change, lasting for over two minutes and eventually hitting Moody with an Expelliarmus for the very first time. But to his surprise, the Moody he hit simply popped out of existence, and Harry was immediately struck from behind by the _real_ Moody's Disarming Charm and knocked down.

"The Doppelganger Defense Charm!" Moody exclaimed as his true form shimmered into view. "It creates an illusory duplicate of yourself to distract your enemies. With enough concentration, you can make it talk and walk around however you want. Cast it along with the Disillusionment Charm, and you can just sit back and watch while your enemy wastes his time and energy boxing with shadows. It's almost relaxing."

Harry, who was still laying on the floor, considered that. Then, his eyebrows furrowed. "Wait a second! You must have had that spell active since before we got here! We carried on a conversation!"

"Yep," Moody said, his lip curling up on one side. "A four-minute-long conversation followed by a two-minute duel with a nonexistent person. And you noticed _nothing_ out of the ordinary. Even though the doppelganger casts no shadow, doesn't generate the sounds of footsteps when moving – and that alone should have been a dead giveaway what with my leg and all – and was a helluva lot more agile in combat than me, you never once considered the possibility that you were fighting a mere distraction the whole time until I got bored and took you out from behind. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

Harry sighed and climbed to his feet. To add to all his other disadvantages, dueling with Moody had become even tougher now that it was one-on-one. Not that Neville Longbottom was a spectacular duelist, but he at least provided an occasional distraction. However, just two days earlier, Lady Augusta, on the supposed grounds that she was getting tired of her grandson's "moodiness," had sent Neville off on a tour of the family's African holdings along with Cousin Reginald. Neville would be gone for six weeks, returning just a few days before the start of term. Harry would miss his friend, but for the time being, Neville's absence was necessary. Indeed, as far as Lady Augusta was concerned, it was a requirement.

"Isn't this a bit unfair?" Harry inquired of his tutor. "I mean, in addition to _every other _advantage that '_The Greatest Auror in History_' has, you also get a whole week to set up some impossibly devious strategy for kicking my teeth in!"

Moody let loose with a strange gargling sound that Harry had learned was how he laughed, and the corner of his mouth crinkled up in another malformed sneer. "Never thought I'd live to see a Slytherin whining about someone else being '_impossibly devious._' My job is (a) to make sure you do well in your classes and (b) to prepare you to deal with the unexpected. That's why you're paying me the big bucks out of that Gringotts account your old man doesn't know about."

Harry froze, and after a few seconds, Moody let loose with another gargling laugh. "Come on, kid. Give me a _little _credit. And stop worrying. I know you've got an account James Potter doesn't know about. I assume it's from an _inheritance_ that he _also_ doesn't know about. But once I was satisfied that my pay was on the up-and-up and not from some dark wizard who wanted to get the drop on me, I stopped giving a crap about what mysterious family you and your mother are descended from. I've got enough things to be paranoid about as it is without getting drawn into your tedious domestic drama."

"You were actually worried that I hired you for my tutor as part of an assassination plot?!"

"Lad, if you _had_ hired me for your tutor as part of an assassination plot, it would only be the fourth most byzantine and overcomplicated assassination plot I've had to dodge in my lifetime."

Harry shook his head. "Well, now that we're _provisionally_ agreed that I'm not an assassin, what's next for today?"

The ex-auror studied Harry for a few seconds, and then his lip crinkled up once more. "Well, first of all, I'm giving you a quick rematch. You just complained that I had illusion spells already running when you came in. Which was obviously unfair of me since no one who tries to kill you in the future would _ever_ engage in _advance preparation_ or anything silly like that. So to make it up to you, we'll duel again. And this time, I'll let you go first."

Harry's eyebrows rose. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." Moody popped his wand back out of his holster but then held it pointing straight off to the side. "You try to disarm me. I promise I won't cast any spells until after you've cast your first one."

Harry stared at his tutor for a good three seconds. He even dilated slightly to spend more time trying to figure out the catch. Then, when he couldn't think of one, he fired off the fastest Disarming Spell he could. "_**EXPELLIARMUS!**_"

But to Harry's amazement, as soon as he'd released the spell, Moody simply relaxed his fingers and let his own wand clatter to the floor. The Expelliarmus washed over Moody to no effect, and as soon as the wave of magic had passed ineffectually, Moody twitched his fingers slightly and his wand shot back up into his hand. Instantly, he whipped out a silent Expelliarmus of his own, and Harry was disarmed before he could wipe the shocked look off of his face.

"Hmph. That was less than two seconds, Potter. You were more impressive when you were fighting my doppelganger."

"That ... what ..." Harry paused, closed his eyes, and focused himself. "Okay, what just happened?"

"Theory is as important as practice, Potter. Always know what the spells you cast actually do! Expelliarmus – what is it?"

The boy blinked in confusion at the seemingly obvious question. "It's the Disarming Charm."

"And what does that mean?"

"Um, it ... disarms people?"

"Right. So what happens when you use it on an unarmed opponent?"

Harry opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again as his eyes lit up in understanding. "Nothing, obviously. If it can't disarm someone, then it has no other effect to perform."

"Correct, as you just saw in an object lesson. That's a neat trick that can get you out of a jam if you're in a one-on-one fight with somebody who gets the drop on you and goes for the disarm."

Harry's eyes narrowed in concentration. "Hang on a minute. Expelliarmus doesn't _just_ disarm. I've seen it knock people across the room."

"I've no doubt. A high-powered Expelliarmus can strike with considerable force. Nevertheless, those people _were_ armed in some fashion at the time. Or at least holding something in their hands, which satisfies the spell's definition of 'armed.' Otherwise, they wouldn't have been affected, just as I wasn't just now. It's a simple trick. Just toss your wand aside and then summon it back wandlessly. You have to time it just right so you're unarmed when the spell hits but still have time to summon the wand back and cast with it before your opponent can get off a second, more dangerous spell. You also have to let the wand fall far enough from your hand that the spell doesn't consider your armed even though it's no longer on your person. Generally, at least two to three feet from your wand hand."

"A simple trick?" Harry said in disbelief. "It requires _wandless magic_!"

"Yep. Which is why that's on the menu for today and the rest of this summer."

The boy paused in surprise, and then his face lit up excitedly. "You're teaching me wandless magic?! But it's the middle of July! Do you really think I can learn wandless magic before school starts?"

Moody scoffed. "Merlin, no! I think _maybe_ if you push yourself, you can learn one or two wandless spells by the end of your Fifth Year, which will be worth a boatload of points on your Charms and DADA OWLS. You're talented for your age, boy, I'll give you that. But wandless magic is a time-intensive process, and at your age, you simply haven't _used_ any of the spells you know often enough to develop the sense-memory you need to cast them wandlessly. Right now, you'll be doing good just to learn to cast spells silently and _that_ just requires you to think extra hard. Today, I'm just explaining the basics of wandless magic and giving you a few exercises to try at home."

"At home?" Harry asked in surprise. "But what about the Trace?"

The man gave him a withering look. "Potter, what is the Trace _on_?"

"My wand ... oh! So wandless magic doesn't count as underage magic?"

"Of course it does! It's just a kind of underage magic that can't be detected unless you're dumb enough to do it in front of a Ministry official. I'm assuming you're not nearly that dumb, are you?"

Harry sighed at the implied rebuke. "No sir. I'll be very careful."

"Good. Now what spell do you think you should start with?"

Harry thought for a moment. His first instinct was Serpensortia, but he doubted that was an acceptable answer. "Um, Protego?"

"DUMB!" Moody barked. "Spell power requirements increase by a factor of three to five when casting without a wand, and no wizard alive except Dumbledore or Voldie could _possibly_ cast a wandless Protego for more than a few seconds without fainting. We start with _Accio_. Specifically, _Accio Wand_. Since, should you be so foolish as to get caught without your wand, you number one priority should be to get it back!"

Harry flushed, as Moody summoned a nearby chair for him to sit in and take notes before drawing burning figures in the air with the Pyrologos Charm.

"Now then, here is wandless casting in a nutshell. _This_," he said while drawing a large flaming circle, "is your magical core. And this..." He drew a second large circle and filled it with tiny dots of fire. "... is your brain, or what passes for one in your case. Each dot represents a single spell with which you are exceptionally proficient. Learning to cast a spell wandlessly requires you to link one of these spells directly to your core with a psychic strand that represents the sum total of your experience with casting that particular spell."

He flicked his wand, and a thin trail of fire stretched from one of the dots in the "mind circle" over to the larger "core circle."

"Create a link like that, and you bypass the requirement of using a wand that the Merlinian system imposes on you by virtue of your being a British wizard and a Hogwarts student. Of course, there's not any literal strand, psychic or otherwise. That's just a metaphor to help you understand the concept." Moody paused. "Actually, to be honest, your '_magical core_' is also basically a metaphor. Lots of people talk about it, especially the Big Brains in the Unspeakables and your upper-end Healers. But the truth is, if somebody dissected you down to your individual cells and sifted through them for a year, they'd never find anything tangible that might be described as a magical core."

"Well, what _is_ a magical core, then?" Harry asked. He'd heard the term used several times but never gotten an explanation of it.

Moody shrugged. "Depends on who you ask. Some say it's something inside you that generates the power that fuels your magic, whether something immaterial that's part of your aura or some part of your body that's below the level of a cell and too small to detect. Others say its more like a imperceptible portal that lets you draw energy from, well, _somewhere else_. Some people say it's your soul, but I'm not about to wade into _that_ metaphysical thicket today. My point is, nobody knows for sure. What is known is that while the core cannot be directly perceived or measured, you can estimate someone's core strength by various magical tests. The Lubinsky-Chang test is the most accurate, but it was invented by foreigners, so here in Britain, we stubbornly cling to the Belby-Cadwallader test for measuring core size. Under that standard, your core would be rated _Theta-Green_, which is rather impressive for someone not yet thirteen. Naturally, core size, in this case, doesn't mean physically big or small but rather refers to magical output. Someone with a larger core can cast more spells before tiring; can cast more physically demanding spells like shields, Patronuses, and Unforgivables; and can master more wandless spells than someone with a weaker core. That last bit is most important to our current discussion because you only have a finite number of these hypothetical metaphorical psychic strands and that number is limited according to your core size. In other words, there's a strict limit on the total number of spells you can possibly learn to cast without a wand. Most wizards don't even bother to learn more than four or five. For the typical experienced auror, it's probably twenty or thirty. I personally know sixty-two wandless spells. For someone like Dumbledore or Voldie, it's probably a hundred or more."

Then, he grimaced in annoyance. "And as much as it pains me to say it, blood purity plays a role. _Usually_. Wizards and witches whose blood purity goes back for several generations _generally_ have larger cores than Muggleborns, which is part of the reason for historical discrimination against Muggleborns. _But _some Muggleborns have unusually large cores, bigger than the typical Pureblood even, for reasons no one understands. And you will be pleased to know that the offspring of Muggleborns and Purebloods like yourself almost always have strong cores and frequently develop _very _strong cores. I happen to know that Albus Dumbledore's mother was a Muggle-born, and while the Dumbledores are not an old family it is considered a Pureblood one."

"Wait a minute," Harry interrupted in disbelief. "You mean, there's actually something to Pureblood idealogy?!"

"What I mean, Potter, is that there are tangible ways in which most Muggleborns are at a disadvantage relative to Purebloods in terms of magical potential, although those disadvantages are offset by little things like being less likely to go nuts at some point because you're the product of six generations of intermarried cousins. That said, there are a lot of so-called reasons offered in favor of blood supremacy, most of which are bollocks but some of which have a grain of legitimacy. And if the Purebloods had any damned sense, they'd actively try to intermarry with the more powerful Muggleborns since, as I just said, the resulting Halfblood offspring usually have stronger cores than other Purebloods from their peer group."

"So why don't they? Marry Muggleborns, I mean."

By that point, Moody was growing annoyed at how his lesson plan was being diverted by politics. "Short answer? The old families don't want to marry Muggleborns because they don't provide the political and financial benefits of marrying into _other_ old families. And most everybody else dislikes Muggleborns because of propaganda spread _by_ the old families to discourage lesser Pureblood families from intermarrying with them and thereby producing stronger Halfblood offspring that might someday overturn the Wizengamot apple cart." He sighed grumpily. "Honestly, Potter, you _are_ a Slytherin, aren't you? Ask around! I'm sure you'll find no shortage of reasons, some plausible, some absurd, for why you should look down on Muggleborns."

"Were you a Slytherin?" Harry asked innocently.

Moody snorted. "Hufflepuff, if you must know. Class of 1951." Then, Moody noticed the surprised expression on Harry's face. "Does that surprise you, boy? That someone with my background could have been a Hufflepuff?"

"No sir," Harry said sincerely. "I have great respect for Hufflepuffs. It's just ... you're the first Hufflepuff I've ever met who, well, _never smiled._"

The man gave his rasping laugh again, and the left side of his mouth crept upwards once more. "Nerve damage! From the same curse that cost me my eye! The right side of my face is permanently incapable of smiling properly. In fact, Potter, I'll have you know that when I graduated top of my class from the Auror Academy, _Witch Weekly_ picked me for their _Most Charming Smile_ Award."

At that, Harry looked even more shocked.

"What, Potter?" the man said irritably. "Did you think Gilderoy Lockhart invented the damned thing?"

* * *

_**Five Hours Later ...**_

Carefully, Harry climbed up the ladder that led out of Moody's steamer trunk and hauled himself over the side. The trunk itself was in a room in the Three Broomsticks Inn in Hogsmeade where the ex-auror had rented a room for the summer even though he never slept in the bed he'd paid for. Harry knew about Expansion Charms and even had a trunk of his own containing a small room to sleep in, but he was amazed at the advanced Charm work that went into Moody's portable castle and fortress. He counted fifteen rooms, including a fully-stocked potions lab, a small greenhouse lit by an artificial sun, and "the Training Room," which was a full-sized perfect reproduction of a similar room at the Auror Academy.

"Your trunk is beyond impressive, Mr. Moody," Harry said. "But what will you do if somebody simply _steals_ it while you're inside of it."

Moody snorted contemptuously. "If anyone manages to even touch this trunk without my permission, Potter, they _deserve_ to catch me."

Harry smiled at that, shook the man's hand, and made his way downstairs to the Floo. Along the way, he noticed a couple sitting in a dim corner snogging rather madly. The man was an off-duty auror who Harry recognized as Michael Proudfoot. The woman, a rather busty Scandinavian-looking blonde, had been introduced to him once before as "Maria Gambrelli." Harry shook his head, passed over to the Floo, and made his way back to Longbottom Manor.

That night, he spent almost thirty minutes gesturing furiously at the wand on his nightstand while thinking "_**ACCIO WAND**_" as loudly as he could. But the wand never moved.

* * *

_**20 July 1993  
Excerpts from three letters**_

_Harry, I know that your friendship with Theo __No-Name has always been important to you. But the Potter-Longbottom-Greengrass alliance is still relatively young. And while my family is extremely grateful for the role you played in our elevation to Ancient and Noble status, we simply cannot threaten our status and integrity by continuing to associate with the outcast. My father has been very clear on this, and while I sympathize with the outcast's condition, I must stand with my family. I hope you will allow Slytherin wisdom to guide you in these matters instead of Hufflepuffian sentimentality or, worse, Gryffindorish defiance of cultural standards. _

_Your friend and house-mate,_

_Daphne Greengrass_

_Heiress Presumptive of the Ancient and Noble House of Greengrass_

* * *

_To be honest, Harry, I'm kind of between a rock and a hard place. You know what that means, right? I mean, you're Muggle-raised. I said that to Daphne the other day, and she'd honestly never heard the expression before. Anyway, I don't have any negative feelings about Theo, and I certainly don't want to do anything to hurt him anymore than he already has been by his awful excuse for a father. But ... I'm sorry, Harry, but the simple fact is that I owe way too much to the Greengrass family for everything they've done for me and for my mother. I don't think I can ever truly pay them back, but at a minimum I just can't publicly go against them on something as important in high society as this Ultimate Sanction rubbish appears to be. Of course, you being you, I'm sure you'll find a way around it, and if I can help with that without it getting back to Daphne or her family, I'll do my best. _

_Hope you enjoy the rest of your summer,_

_Tracey Davis_

* * *

_All I know, Harry, is that Missy says that "we owe Harry Potter big time," and Bulstrodes pay their debts. If you want me to cut Theo Whatever-His-Name-Is-Now out completely, I'm fine with that. And if you want me to knock the block off of anyone who messes with him, I'm fine with that too. Daddy always said he wants his little girls to know how to throw a punch as well as any boy can. _

_Millicent Bulstrode_

_P.S. – Any news on whether there might be an opening for Beater?_

* * *

_**21 July 1993  
1:00 p.m.  
Longbottom Manor**_

As Marcus Flint stepped out of the fireplace in the Longbottom parlor, he looked around nervously and took in the opulent scene. He was wearing his best robes, along with his lucky tie, the one made of acromantula silk that he'd use to save Rufus Scrimgeour's life the previous summer. Nevertheless, once at Longbottom Manor, he suddenly felt like a peasant summoned to meet with a prince of the realm. Harry was on hand to welcome him and help brush the floo powder off his robes, and behind him was the lady of the house, the notorious and terrifying Augusta Longbottom.

"Welcome to Longbottom Manor, young man," she said imperiously. "Harry has told me much about you."

"All good, I hope," Marcus replied, but her expression said nothing about whether Harry's report had been good or not. He smiled nervously at the formidable woman and then stopped after he realized how ridiculous fake smiles felt on his face. For her part, Lady Augusta ignored his small joke completely.

"As I'm sure Harry has told you, I and some associates wish to hire your services for the summer, for which you will be reimbursed with enough galleons to pay for your Eighth Year Hogwarts tuition and living expenses. However, these matters are quite sensitive, and you will be required to swear an Unbreakable Vow never to discuss what you hear today regardless of whether you accept our job offer or not."

Marcus swallowed with some difficulty at the thought of an Unbreakable Vow. Then, he looked over at Harry who responded with an encouraging nod. Marcus took a deep breath. This was the path to the future, and an Unbreakable Vow would be a small price to pay if it led to the Auror Academy. "What sort of vow, Lady Augusta?"

Augusta handed Marcus a small card upon which the proposed vow was written. Marcus found nothing _immediately_ objectionable in it, and so, at the witch's direction, he clasped arms with Harry and repeated the vow as she directed.

_"I, Marcus Flint, do swear on my life and magic that I will never reveal any confidential matters that I learn today as part of the offer of employment I am here to receive, nor will I reveal any information about the tasks I am to perform should I choose to accept the offer."_

Satisfied, Augusta turned and led the two boys down a corridor while Marcus chatted amiably but still nervously about what sort of job might be in the offing for this level of secrecy. For his part, Harry was politely evasive in answering his concerns. Then, Marcus froze in shock as Augusta threw open the doors to a conference room and strode in to take a seat next to her other two guests already seated around a circular oaken conference table. One was an Asian man who Marcus didn't recognize. The other was a man he knew all too well. For a few seconds, Marcus looked over at Harry in shock and something close to betrayal before turning back to the others in the room.

"I think I need to know what the job is now," he said quietly as he walked slowly forward. Harry moved past him to take a seat alongside Augusta and the other two men as the doors to the chamber slowly closed on their own.

"A fair question, Mr. Flint," said Lucius Malfoy in a languid tone. "To greatly oversimplify things, we require your assistance in an act of High Treason."

* * *

_**Meanwhile, in Diagon Alley (a brief interlude) ...**_

The two witches made their way casually down Diagon Alley peering in windows and occasionally ducking into dress shops to see what new fashions were on display. One was chattering animatedly in her excitement to be outside shopping on a beautiful summer day. The other had a long-suffering air, as if shopping were a necessary evil. The pair stopped in front Twilfitt and Tattings as the first witch became excited over a three piece witch's ensemble in a vivid pink. Her companion was less than enthused.

"Oooh, Dolores! Look at this one! Isn't it just _adorable_!" Violetta Edgecombe practically squealed with delight. Next to her, Dolores Umbridge sighed patiently.

"Vi, dear," Umbridge replied, "you've persuaded me against my better judgment that since I'm getting a promotion to work directly for the Minister, I need to improve my wardrobe. I had assumed the goal was to look more professional, not ... _adorable_. And yet everything you've had me look at today has been gaudy things that look less like what a professional witch should be wearing and more like ... like something one might wear _to catch a beau!_"

"Oh pish-posh, Dolores! That's absurd!" Violetta said diffidently. Dolores simply stared her until she finally broke. "Oh alright! Yes, I thought it might be a good idea for you to wear things that might catch Cornelius Fudge's eye. I mean, you're a single woman and he's a single man ..."

"Vi, he's single because _his wife passed away _only three years ago! Yes, he's a handsome, unattached man in a powerful position. But I'm not going to just ... _fling_ myself at him like some scarlet woman. It's unbecoming. Honestly, I'm still embarrassed over how I giggled in his office like a school girl when he offered me the job! And anyway, if he were that sort of man, he'd have just hired some pretty young thing who's fresh out of Hogwarts and was working in the secretarial pool instead of a dowdy old frump like me."

"You're not old, Dolores, not by today's standards. And if you're a dowdy frump, it's because you've chosen to be." Violetta sighed in exasperation. "Dolores, we've been best friends since our school days. I only say this because I care about you. It's been fifteen years since Jack died..." Umbridge stiffened slightly. "... and just a few weeks before what should have been your wedding day! Now, I know he was a wonderful man and you loved him dearly. And I also know his death was a horrible tragic affair that has affected you deeply. But fifteen years is too long to wear widow's weeds for a man you never actually married!"

Dolores Umbridge started to respond but couldn't. Instead, she looked away for a moment to compose herself. Then, she turned back to her closest friend. "I ... understand what you're saying, Violetta. And perhaps you're right. Honestly, I think I just didn't want to be hurt again. Nor did I want the distraction of dating while I was struggling to build a career despite the mistakes I made when I was young."

At that, perhaps a tiny hint of bitterness crept into Umbridge's voice. Once, she'd had dreams of being a teacher, and she'd been one of the rare few to pursue a Mastery in Magical History in the hopes that if her credentials were good enough, she might be able to present herself as an alternative candidate to the ghostly Cuthbert Binns despite the institutional bias against Halfbloods like her. Then, when she was barely halfway through her Mastery, she finally learned how Binns got the Professor of Magical History job in the first place, why he was still in the job despite the handicap of being dead, and why he would most likely continue to hold the job until long after she was dead herself. At that point, she abandoned her Mastery uncompleted and settled for a job as an archivist for the Department of Magical Education, a dead end position that provided a decent living for her and her small assortment of cats but little in the way of personal satisfaction.

"I suppose now that I've won a decent promotion, perhaps I should consider dating again. But I'm _not_ going to throw myself at the Minister of Magic! It's just ... improper!"

Dolores turned back to the dummy in the window and shuddered. "And I'm definitely not wearing anything _pink!_"

* * *

_**22 July 1993  
2:00 p.m.  
The Three Broomsticks Inn  
Hogsmeade **_

Marcus Flint appeared in front of the Three Broomsticks in a flash of apparation, his battered trunk in one hand and his broomstick in the other. Tired and sore from the morning he'd had and the decisions he'd made, he entered the inn and shuffled up to the bar. Behind it stood the owner, Madame Rosmerta, who regarded the young Slytherin with some small amount of suspicion. Unlike the Hogs Head Inn where drunken brawls seemed a nightly occurrence, Rosmerta ran the Three Broomsticks as a reputable place, and the Slytherin in front of her looked like he'd just been in a fight himself, as his rapidly swelling black eye could attest.

Undaunted, Flint slapped ten galleons onto the bar. "I'd like a room please. Here's a down payment for the rest of the summer." He paused. "And I'd also like a bottle of firewhiskey sent up to my room as well."

Rosmerta sniffed. "Are you old enough to handle firewhiskey, boy?"

Flint snorted and then winced from the pain in his eye. "I'm of age. There's no Trace on me. And I just told my da' to go to Hell and left his house forever. If that doesn't make me old enough for firewhiskey, what does?"

Rosmerta studied Marcus carefully before sweeping the galleons off the counter into her hand. "Jamie!" she called out to the barman, "show this man up to Room 4. And get him a bottle of firewhiskey and an ice pack."

* * *

_**22 July 1993  
10 p.m.  
Harry's room at Longbottom Manor**_

"It's not that I don't want to tell my Dad about you lot," Harry lied through his teeth. "But this is my one chance to find out what he and his friends were like back when they were my age. No offense, Prongs, but now that he's Chief Auror, Dad's a bit of a stick in the mud. I'm sure if I actually told him I had the Map, he'd confiscate it for fear I'd use it for pranks or anything else that might reflect badly on him."

_**Mr. Prongs is aghast at the suggestion that he would ever become so stodgy!**_

_**Mr. Moony reminds Mr. Prongs that everyone grows up eventually, even Marauders.**_

_**Mr. Padfoot reluctantly suggests that this may well be the influence of the  
Hell-Flower and reminds Mr. Prongs that he warned Mr Prongs repeatedly of  
the dangers of getting "whipped."**_

_**Mr. Moony and Mr. Wormtail gasp in shock and step slowly away.**_

_**Mr. Prongs snarls angrily and recommends that Mr. Padfoot  
shut his gob before we all find out whether it's actually possible  
to get into a fistfight in here!**_

"Whoa, guys!" Harry said, as he also had no desire to see if the Marauders' Map was capable of tearing itself apart. "Calm down! And Padfoot? I think you should apologize to Prongs for calling his future wife and my mother '_the Hell-Flower_.'"

"_**Hmph! Very well, Mr. Padfoot apologizes for his intemperate remarks.  
****Although**__** he would remind all present that it was Mr. Prongs who  
came up with the nickname **__**Hell-Flower**__** after the witch in question used  
a Switching Spell during Fourth Year Transfiguration to sympathetically  
link his underpants with a bottle of deep-heating ointment!"  
**_

"_**Mr. Prongs blushes with embarrassment but accepts the apology gracefully."**_

"_**Mr. Moony and Mr. Wormtail snicker softly."**_

Despite himself, Harry chuckled at the anecdote as well and wondered once again how on earth his parents ever got together.

"_**Mr. Prongs sighs discontentedly and tries to get the conversation back on track,  
though it should seem apparent to all, including Mr. Son-of-Prongs, that this Map,  
as ingenious as it is, is a poor medium for learning about what teen-aged James Potter  
was like. Mr. Prongs is, after all, at best an imperfect copy of the original dashing lad."**_

"Well, actually," Harry said aloud. "I've been thinking about that. I had a conversation with my ... well, with a friend who told me he had an encounter with a diary once that was based on enchantments very similar to those used to make the Marauders' Map. And this diary could actually draw readers inside of itself to show them actual memories. Do you think it might be possible for you guys to do that?"

The Map did not respond immediately, and for a moment, Harry feared he'd broken it somehow. He honestly wasn't sure why he was so interested in finding out more about young James Potter. Maybe he hoped to find out why the older version had held such disdain towards him for so long. Or maybe he was just looking for blackmail material. Finally, more words appeared on the Map.

"_**Harry, it's Mr. Moony here. What you propose is ... interesting, and also, I think,  
within the design parameters of the Map. I, er, I mean Mr. Moony, was the actual  
designer of the spells used, so I think I'm the most qualified to know. **_

_**I mean Mr. Moony was. **_

_**Dammit.**_

_**Mr. Moony utterly hates this third-person speech gag that Mr. Padfoot  
insisted on for some silly reason.**_

_**Anyway, let us think about this for a few days and check back, okay?"**_

"Will do," Harry replied, intrigued at these new developments. "Mischief managed."

* * *

_**23 July 1993  
An undisclosed location**_

"Michael Proudfoot" stood as still as he could and gasped for air as the bitterly cold liquid poured over him. After a good thirty seconds, the deluge stopped, and Lucius Malfoy pulled out a gold pocket watch and began timing.

"How long to I have to stand here and shiver," the drenched man said through chattering teeth.

"Until our little experiment is completed. That's what your being paid for, my good man. And frankly, your fees are far less than what I've spent this week on all the gallons of Thief's Downfall that are now splattering at your feet."

"Proudfoot" shook his head irritably and rubbed his hands over his soaking and chilled arms while the seconds ticked on into minutes.

* * *

_**24 July 1993  
Room 13 of the Leaky Cauldron **_

"Mr. X?" Harry asked tentatively. "I know it's not on our schedule for this week. But could I ask you a few questions about using Occlumency for parallel thought processing?"

* * *

_**25 July 1993  
Excerpt from an invitation**_

_I didn't know whether you'd gotten an invitation to Ron's Homecoming Party or not, nor whether you were interested in coming or not. Honestly, your relationship with Jim is so back-and-forth that I didn't want to assume. And also, you've made little secret of your feelings about Ron. __However__, I did want to inform you of some details you might not be aware of. It turns out that the Office of Misuse of Muggle Artifacts falls under the jurisdiction of the DMLE. There was a memo that went around the other day clarifying that Daddy is not affected by that Ultimate Sanction nonsense. Which __also__ means that none of the rest of us Weasleys are affected either! _

_With that in mind, I asked if we could invite Theo to the party, and Mum and Dad said okay, so if you come, you can actually spend time with Theo before school starts without it causing some big kerfluffle. Luna and Hermione will also be coming too! I hope you join us. It would be nice to see you and Jim hang out together since your __actual__ birthday party is going to be a boring social affair. Well, unless someone goes on a killing spree again. Mum almost said we couldn't go to Jim's official party on the 31__st__ after last year, but Percy, of all people, persuaded her that the security would surely be better this year, and besides, what are the odds of some hideous disaster happening two years in a row? But I'd still like to see you at a party for just friends instead of Ministry bootlickers._

_Hope to see you on the 30__th__._

_Ginny_

_P.S. – What's all this hippogriff dung I hear about how Slytherin girls aren't allowed to try out for Quidditch?! You know perfectly well that I can fly rings around Cassius Warrington! _

* * *

_**26 July 1993  
1:17 p.m.  
**_"_**The Training Room"**_

Harry dodged and parried as best he could, but he felt his time running short. If he was going to pull off the stunt he'd been planning since his previous training session, it was now or never. He threw himself to one side, summoning a nearby chair as he did. As soon as it was in range, he tapped it with his wand and transfigured it into a small stationary iron barricade that would give him a few seconds of relief before the transfiguration collapsed. He took a deep breath, centered himself, and cast the Doppleganger Defense Charm.

Moody had been mildly impressed when the Potter boy had actually summoned a chair and transfigured it so quickly. He could have destroyed the barrier at once, but he was curious as to what the boy would do next. Then, to his surprise and delight, _two_ Harry Potters rolled out from behind the shield in opposite directions, each of which appeared to fire a Disarming Charm at one of his shoulders. If he guessed wrong as to which was the illusion, he would step right into the true spell. So he did neither. Instead, the grizzled auror took two quick steps forward to put himself into position before the twin spells got too close. Then, he simply turned to one side and exhaled as much as possible. Both beams passed on either side of him with just a few inches to spare.

And then, before Harry could reorient and fire again, Moody swept his arm in a wide arc and cried out: "_**VENTUS MAXIMUS!**_" A powerful blast of air sprayed out from his wand. The Harry on the right was unaffected, but the one on the left (the _real_ Harry) was picked up off the ground by the gale-force wind and slammed against the rear wall. Instantly, the fake Harry winked out of existence. Moody ambled over to the stunned boy and cast a Renervate before summoning a healing potion.

"Congratulation, Potter. I'm actually very slightly impressed." Moody snickered softly as he handed off the potion.

Harry sat up slowly and took the potion gratefully. He had actually hit the wall very hard and felt rather sore. "I don't know why. It didn't work any better than anything else I've tried so far."

"Nonsense!" Moody exclaimed. "Combat transfiguration!? Followed by a clever use of the Doppelganger Defense?! Also, I've been politely ignoring the fact that you're an Occlumens so that I can plead ignorance if it ever comes up in a court case or something, but for you to cast an Expelliarmus yourself while directing your doppelganger to mimic your motions? Parallel thought tracks at your age? Not too shabby!"

"Thanks," Harry said sincerely, as he had not won much in the way of praise from the older man. "That thing you did – stepping in between two spells to give yourself more room to dodge. Is that a common tactic or something you thought of on the fly?"

"Bit of both," Moody replied as he offered a hand to help the boy up. It was the first time he had ever bothered to do so, a fact Harry noticed and appreciated. "It's a common dueling tactic to favor spell sequences that force your opponent into moving in the direction you want as a prelude to some attack. Usually, if your opponent is offering you the choice of two options, like _move where I tell you to or get hit with a spell_, your best bet is to look for a third alternative. Remember that, lad. There's almost always a third way if you look hard enough."

Harry was silent for a moment, and Moody noticed. "Something on your mind, Potter?"

"I'm improving. I know it. But ... at this rate, how long do you think it will be before I stand a chance against you?"

Moody's remaining eyebrow rose in surprise. "And why, Potter, do you think you might need to actually fight me for real? Or for that matter, anyone close to my level?"

Harry looked away thoughtfully before turning back to meet his tutor's gaze. "In the last two years, I've faced Voldemort twice."

Moody was silent for a moment. Then, he gave a look that was strangely satisfied. "So he _does_ still live. I _knew_ it." Then, he considered the boy more seriously. "Congratulations, Potter. You're in rarified company to have faced Voldie even once and survived, let alone twice."

"He's only at a fraction of his power. Basically a jumped-up ghost. And to be honest, the first time he wasn't interested in killing me and the second time he wasn't in a position to. But ... I'm the brother of the Boy-Who-Lived, and I _don't_ have his weird magical Voldemort killing powers. If this is going to keep happening ... I need to be better."

By now, the chair Harry transfigured earlier had returned to its true shape. Moody sat down in it while summoning another chair for the boy.

"_Better _probably won't be good enough, kid. I know of exactly ten people who went wand-to-wand with Voldemort during the last war and who managed to last more than three seconds. Of those, four managed to escape within eight seconds, and three continued fighting for more than ten seconds before dying horribly. The eighth was Albus Dumbledore, the only man to ever force Voldemort to withdraw. The ninth was your dad who lasted twelve whole seconds but was _about_ to die horribly when Albus showed up to save him in the proverbial nick. And the last one was me, and I ... well, I was a special case."

For a brief instant, Moody's face looked visibly haunted, so much so that Harry didn't ask for any details. Then, the man shook off his melancholy.

"I know those exact figures because I have memories of all those encounters, most of which I played for auror recruits so they knew what they'd be getting into. And before you ask, no, I'm not playing them for you!"

"But _Moody..._"

"Don't _whine_, Potter! It's unbecoming of a Slytherin!" That remark actually shocked Harry into silence. Then, he thought about the matter for a few seconds before Moody interrupted him. "And stop trying to figure out how to manipulate me with Legilimency!"

Harry's mouth opened, but only a brief choking sound came out. Moody rolled his one good eye, causing the fake one to whirl madly.

"Surely you didn't think I'd accept James Potter's mysterious Muggle-raised Slytherin son as a student without a thorough background check! Anyway, don't worry about it. It's another of your secrets that I'm happy to keep."

The boy looked frustrated and overwhelmed, and Moody's face softened. "Harry, I won't teach you to _duel_ Voldemort because I've taught too many good wizards and witches how to die in the attempt. But I _will_ teach you how to _fight _him which is _not_ the same thing. _Fighting_ Voldemort means lasting long enough to escape or, failing that, to sacrifice yourself in exchange for something you value more than your own life."

Moody held out his hand as if he expected something to come flying into it. And sure enough, something did: a small well-worn paperback book that flew through one of the doors in response to his wandless summoning. He caught it easily and handed it off to Harry.

It was _The Art of War_ by Sun Tzu.

"This is a Muggle book!" Harry exclaimed in surprise.

"No, this is _THE _Muggle book. The single best thing that Muggle civilization has ever produced ... with the possible exception of Raquel Welch, but maybe that's just me. Anyway, take that home. Read it. Commit it to memory. But if you absorb nothing else, remember this: "_The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting._"

Harry nodded at the cryptic yet seemingly profound quotation and put the book away with his things. Moody watched him thoughtfully.

"I'll tell you what, though," he said with a touch of smugness. "Here's a little motivation for your continued studies. If you can disarm me _at any point in the next year_, I _will_ let you see all those memories of Voldie. All except for my own personal ones."

"At any point?" Harry said suspiciously.

"Yep," Moody replied with his crinkled leering half-smile. "Now then, enough dueling for today. Time for Potions." He turned his back on Harry and headed towards the door to the potions lab, stashing his wand as he went. Harry hesitated for a second and then aimed his wand at the man's back in a flurry of motion.

"_**EXPELLIARMUS!**_"

A bolt of red shot towards Moody's back, but before he could strike, the man casually raised his right hand up into the air and wiggled his fingers without even bothering to turn around. The Disarming Charm struck an invisible shield and dissipated without effect.

"OH COME ON!" Harry shouted in frustration. "Are you just _immune_ to Disarming Charms?! And what's with all this ..." he waved his hand in the air in imitation of what Moody had done "... finger-wavy bullshit."

"Language, Potter!" Moody chastised as he looked back over his shoulder to his pupil. "And I simply made use of the Anti-Disarming Counter-Jinx."

"The ... What?!"

"The Anti-Disarming Counter-Jinx," he repeated slowly as if talking to a child.

Harry took a deep breath to calm himself. "And why have I never before heard of such a spell?"

"Because practically _no one_ has heard of such a spell. The incantation takes longer to say than _Expelliarmus_, and the wand movement is more complicated than that of the Disarming Spell. Consequently, it's nearly impossible to actually use it for its intended purpose, so most wizards never even bother with it."

"Then how do _you_ use it to block Disarming Charms?"

"Easy. I learned it, practiced it for the better part of a year with a friend who would cast _really slow_ Disarming Charms at me until I could use it reliably, and then spent another two years mastering it as a wordless, wandless spell. And then, _voila_, I can counter an Expelliarmus with just a wave of my hand."

"In other words, it's _impossible_ for me to disarm you!" Harry said indignantly.

"Nundu Pucky! I've never used it in a duel with you so far, and I never will. It's only for when you try to get sneaky outside of duels like just now." Moody thought for a second. "Or possibly if you get sneaky _during _a duel. Or if the mood just strikes me."

Harry narrowed his eyes at the ex-auror. "How is it _possible_ you weren't a Slytherin?!"

* * *

_**29 July 1993  
The Longbottom Kitchen  
6:00 a.m.**_

The boy stared with disapproval at the plate of confectionaries he and his sous-elf had produced. The petit fours looked okay, but there was a distinct lack of shine to the macarons. He turned to Hoskins.

"Thoughts?" he asked.

"Master Harry should do something about the Dobby elf," Hoskins replied easily.

"No, I mean about the macarons ... wait, what? What's wrong with Dobby?"

"The Dobby elf remains traumatized and damaged by his recent experiences. He serves Master Harry ... adequately. But as Master Harry is but a guest here – though an _honored_ one to be sure – the Dobby elf lacks sufficient work to fully satisfy him. Also, Hoskins suspects that one or more of the Dobby elf's prior owners made sport of his suffering, and so he has trained himself to suffer in order to please those with power over him. This explains the Dobby elf's tendency to constantly bang his head on things when he thinks others are unhappy with him and also his habit of bursting into tears at little to no provocation. _Histrionic_, Hoskins would describe it as."

Harry actually frowned at that. "Why do you call him 'the Dobby elf' instead of just 'Dobby?'"

"Because respectfully, Master Harry, he is _not_ Dobby. He is just an elf who answers to the name of Dobby. At present, he does not understand your needs nor does he understand the nature of the master-servant relationship you desire. Accordingly, he has no sense of self. No sense of ... Dobby-ness."

The boy nodded slowly at that. Privately, he thought he would never understand house elves if he lived to be 100. "And what would you recommend I do to help him?"

Hoskins shrugged. "Hoskins is a Longbottom elf, sir, and Hoskins suspects that Master Harry would not wish for the Dobby elf to serve you as Hoskins and Lumpen serve the Longbottoms. The traditions of the Longbottom family elves are ... particular."

"Uh-huh. Are there other ... traditions that you think might suit me better?"

The diminutive creature stopped to think for a few seconds. "Hoskins knows that the wizards in some lands treat their elves like true family members – respected and doting second parents. _Little Father _or _Little Mother_ they are called in whatever local language is spoken. Hoskins would be profoundly embarrassed to be addressed in such a fashion, but perhaps the Dobby elf would respond better. Hoskins also knows that some house elves hide themselves completely, performing their tasks with the utmost discretion and manifesting bodily only when called to account by their masters for some misstep or summoned for some specific and unusual instruction. The Hogwarts house elves act as such and outside of the kitchens are seldom seen by others unless summoned by a teacher."

"How do you know so much about the Hogwarts elves, Hoskins?" Harry asked in surprise.

"All house elves know what they need to know about other house elves, though we cannot speak of secret things. As you would not wish the Dobby elf to reveal your secrets, so are we all forbidden to speak too freely of what we learn from our brethren." Hoskins stopped to think for a moment, and then his face brightened. "If Master Harry wishes to know more of the Hogwarts elves, he should consult with Tweak!"

"... Tweak? Who is ... Tweak?"

"Tweak is being the Hogwarts house elf who oversees the needs of the Slytherin dungeons, Master Harry. While Tweak seldom appears before students, Hoskins is sure he would speak to a Slytherin of sufficient stature and cunning such as your esteemed self!"

Harry absorbed that. "Okay, I guess. I'll look into that. Any other suggestions?"

Hoskins rubbed his chin. "Perhaps Master Harry might speak to his friends who are Pureblooded and who have house elves of their own. Perhaps there are some whose house elves serve their masters in ways you might find pleasing?"

Harry frowned again. Honestly, he couldn't think of any way that house elf service could be _pleasing_ to him. Privately, he thought his own upbringing had been far too close to that of an "abused house elf" for him to ever be fully comfortable with having servants of his own. But he had bought Dobby fair and square, and when he'd told the story to Blaise Zabini, the boy had responded with an old Chinese proverb: "_When you save someone's life, you are responsible for them forever._"

"_Hey, maybe I should write to Blaise,_" Harry thought to himself. "_I'm sure he'll have some ideas about 'proper house elf training.' Granted, they might be horrible ideas, but they'll give me a starting place, I bet._" Then, he turned his attention back to the elf standing before him.

"Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Hoskins. I will definitely attend to ... the Dobby elf as soon as I can."

"Hoskins is being most gratified, Master Harry."

Harry turned his attention back to the plate. "And the macarons?"

"Hoskins thinks we should be sifting the almond flour more finely and perhaps leave them to set longer before baking."

The boy nodded at that sage advice. "Okay, let's start again."

* * *

_**30 July 1993  
The Weasley Burrow  
11:00 a.m.**_

On the morning of Ron and Jim's welcoming party, Harry stepped through the Weasley Floo to find the party was still a work in progress. The other guests were supposed to arrive around noon, and yet Mrs. Weasley was still setting things up and was currently busy levitating a "WELCOME HOME, RON &amp; JIM" banner into position. As soon as she noticed Harry, however, she left the banner partially attached and came over to give him a hug.

Harry forced himself to relax. He would probably never be a "hugger" or even someone who enjoyed any form of close physical contact, but he and Molly Weasley did seem to have a mutual affection. Besides, as far as Harry had been able to discern in the last two years, it was generally considered somewhat ... unnatural to stiffen when someone hugged you, to physically recoil from the simplest forms of human affection and kindness. To most people, it suggested that there might be something _wrong_ about one's upbringing. And so Harry had taken that part of himself – the part that flinched at someone's touch because hugs were for Dudley and all Harry got were slaps – and filed it away in a book that sat on a dusty shelf in the Prince's Lair that only existed in the deepest recesses of his mind.

"It's good to see you too, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said with a warm smile so convincing that it fooled even Harry himself. "And I have something for you!"

From the bag he'd brought, Harry produced a small box containing a dozen multi-colored (and shiny!) macarons. After considerable negotiations, Harry had persuaded Hoskins that it was no slight to the Longbottom house elves for Harry to personally cook foodstuffs that would be given as gifts to others so long as the recipients did not live at Longbottom manor. Preparing food in such a way made it a "_gift from the heart_" which was an idea that for some reason appealed to the house elves.

"Oh you shouldn't have!" Molly said, though her expression indicated no reluctance about accepting the gift. According to Ginny, Molly Weasley had a weakness for macarons.

Moments later, the rest of the Weasley family came to welcome Harry as well. He made a point of congratulating George on becoming a Fifth Year prefect which made Molly and Arthur beam with pride, Percy smirk (with what Harry intuited was a rather odd sense of satisfaction), and Fred actually glare for several seconds before he got hold of himself.

"_Oh joy,_" Harry thought sourly. "_More Weasley family drama this year, I'll bet. Oh well, just so long as Fred avoids any cursed diaries, it's not my problem._"

Harry also got to meet the two older brothers he'd heard so much about. Bill Weasley practically looked like a film star, with rugged but dashing good looks, long hair in a ponytail that actually made Harry jealous despite its vivid ginger color, and an earring fashioned from some creature's fang. Charlie Weasley was short, stocky, and easily the most well-muscled of his whole family. And apparently, he was also jealous of Bill's long hair – he'd overheard the boy complaining that he'd agreed to let Molly give him "a light trim" that somehow turned into a near buzz cut. Privately, Harry agreed with Molly, as he thought Charlie's facial structure was totally wrong for long hair. He needed something short and spiky, perhaps with a neat goatee. Besides, the man spent most of his time around fire-breathing dragons, and surely long hair would be a safety hazard. Harry resolved to look into hair-care products that were non-flammable as possible future gift ideas.

Over the course of the next half-hour, the rest of the guests arrived: Seamus, Dean, the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Luna Lovegood. Hermione. Theo. A few others that Harry didn't know.

And James Potter.

As everyone else made small talk while waiting for Jim and Ron's arrival back from the Far East, Harry's (still somewhat estranged) father moved towards him with what the man probably thought was "casualness." Harry had known that an encounter with James was very likely, and while it wasn't something he was looking forward to, it was a necessary evil. And so Harry steeled himself and then donned his "Great to see you!" smile. He'd been practicing it lately and had gotten quite good with it. It helped that they were on neutral territory and so Harry could talk to James amiably without any risk of undermining his legal position.

Or revealing anything of his plans.

"Hello, Harry. How has your summer been?"

"Oh, pretty good. Nearly have all my homework done." "_Actually, I'm still on target to take some of my OWLS next spring,"_ he thought to himself. "_How have you been?_"

"Good, good," James said with a nod. "Listen, I've had a lot of time to think about how things ended between us last month. When you came to speak with me about your friend, Theo."

"Oh?" Harry said without a hint of coldness.

James looked down at the floor. "I'm sorry. I should have been more sensitive to your concerns and to your friend's plight. Since then, I have looked into matters and, well, I don't see any _legal_ way to overturn the Ultimate Sanction or to interfere with ... that business between Tiberius Nott and the Wilkes girl. But I promise I'll keep trying on both fronts. I _have_ been able to use my position to expand the number of law enforcement positions that are immune to the Sanction. That's why Arthur and his family aren't affected. And ... if you and Jim want to maintain a friendship with Theo, I'm fine with it. It may cause some problems at work, but I can handle it. Just promise me you'll be careful."

"I will ... Dad. I promise."

The conversation lasted for several more minutes, during which Harry intimated that he'd spent most of the summer lounging around the Longbottom pool rather than pursuing Occlumency, Legilimency, and dueling lessons with Mad-Eye Moody. "_After all,_" thought Harry. "_It's not like it's any of your business._"

Then, Harry checked himself internally and was surprised at how much anger and bitterness towards James was still bubbling away in his subconscious. If he weren't an Occlumens, he'd probably be throwing sarcastic insults by now. After a few seconds analyzing how his emotional reactions to his father were affecting his reasoning abilities, Harry sighed loudly (again, internally). Sometime soon, he needed to sit down and sort out his internal feelings about his father. Did he really want revenge for James's abandonment of him? Or would he be satisfied if he attained a position of personal security sufficient to ensure that James (and Lily and everyone else who'd played a role in the Privet Drive disaster) would never be able to hurt him again? After all, another of Blaise's Chinese proverbs was: "_If you seek revenge, dig two graves. One for yourself._" Then again, if he didn't really want revenge against James Potter, why did he go along with Regulus's current scheme?

All of those thoughts twisted and turned in the secondary layers of Harry's thought processes, but none of them showed on the surface level as Harry and James moved on to a perfectly civil conversation about Slytherin House's prospects in the coming Quidditch season. Harry conceded that it was a rebuilding year for Slytherin. They had lost Drake and Marcus (James actually did a double-take at the name "Drake"), and there was speculation that Derrick and Bole might not return to the team. After their near expulsion the previous term followed by poor end-of-term grades and even worse OWLS, their respective parents had been furious and were considering forcing them to drop all extracurricular activities. It was entirely possible that Harry, Pucey, and Bletchley would be the only returning members, whereas the Gryffindors and the Hufflepuffs both would have their entire teams returning intact.

"Oh," James said suddenly. "That reminds me. Since we're doing family gifts today instead of at Jim's official party tomorrow, this is for you." He produced a small untitled book and handed it over to Harry. The boy opened it up and was surprised to see that it was an entire book of hand-drawn Quidditch Chaser plays. It also came with a sizeable gift certificate to Quality Quidditch Supplies.

"The gift certificate is for whatever you need, but I also wanted to give you something more personal. That's my old playbook from when I was a Gryffindor Chaser. I thought you might find some use for it."

Harry studied the book for a few seconds. "This isn't a magical copy. It's the original." He looked up at James. "Your not giving Jim a copy of this?"

James shrugged. "He's a Seeker. It wouldn't be of much value to him. And the Gryffindor Chasers use a Holyhead-style zone offense. I was always more a fan of the lateral transfer offense that Puddlemere and Portreeve use. Which, ironically, is what you and the other Slytherin Chasers used last year."

The man seemed almost embarrassed to admit that the Slytherin Chasers under Marcus and Harry's influence had become closer to his ideal of what Chasing should be than his own House. This was news to Harry since he hadn't known anything about James's feelings on the matter and, for that matter, didn't actually know enough about formal Quidditch play-making to realize that he was basically reinventing a well-established approach. At the time, he'd just assumed he was applying Slytherin cunning to the rules of the game.

Harry found himself genuinely surprised and slightly touched by the gift. The previous year, James and Lily had given Harry and Jim identical gifts – absurdly overpriced Firebolts that showed the Potters had money to burn but no sense of personal connection to their sons. This, however, was actually thoughtful. Instinctively, Harry plastered a smile of genuine gratitude onto his face while brutally suppressing his actual feelings down into the lower levels of his mind until he could meditate and decide how he _really_ felt. To his surprise, he now suspected a touch of guilt might be a part of the mixture.

Happily, before Harry had to contemplate that possibility any further, there was a whoosh of flame from the fireplace, and the guests of honor stepped through – Jim, Ron, and Lily had arrived, and both boys were suitably delighted by the surprise party. James excused himself and made his way over to the Floo, where he gave a hug to Jim and tussled the boy's hair before giving his embarrassed wife a kiss. That is, she seemed embarrassed to be kissed like that in front of a crowd, but she obviously didn't mind getting kissed by her husband at all, and Harry remembered that they had been apart for a full month. The boy idly wondered whether they were still sleeping in separate rooms at Potter Manor.

* * *

Jim gave Harry a big affectionate hug, oblivious to the psychic hoops his older brother had to go through in order accept it.

"How was the trip home?" Harry inquired. "You said the trip over made you sick for two days."

"I'm fine. They taught Ron and me a meditation kata that we could practice before taking the portkey from Shamballa to London that would help with portkey sickness."

Harry laughed. "You and your meditation."

"You should try it," Jim said with a smile. "You might learn a thing or two. Anyway, here, I got you something." He produced a wrapped package from the bag he brought through the Floo. "Though you probably will want to open it at home."

"Likewise," Harry replied with a smile as he handed his twin a slightly larger and more skillfully-wrapped package. "Though probably for different reasons."

* * *

"Wait a minute!" exclaimed Ron. "_George_ is a _prefect?!_ How did that happen?!"

"No idea," Fred said coolly. "But I guess me and Lee might have an opening for the position of _partner in crime_ if you're interested."

"Um," Ron replied somewhat nervously.

* * *

"Luna?" Hermione said with some concern. "Are you feeling alright? You look like you haven't been sleeping well."

Luna looked up at her friend and house-mate in surprise. "Really? Funny you should say that. Because ... I have been having some odd dreams lately."

"Oh? Tell me more."

* * *

"As near as I can tell," Harry said to Ginny, "there's no formal or even informal rule in Slytherin against female Quidditch players. Girls just don't try out. It's not even a sexist exclusionary thing on the part of the guys. Marcus told me once he'd encouraged some of the girls who were good fliers to try out, but they wouldn't. I think it actually has more to do with the more influential Pureblooded girls thinking that it's ... _unSlytherin_ or something for girls to try to intrude on what is perceived as a guy-thing."

"Whatever, Harry. You know I don't care about impressing the Purebloods. So can I try out for Seeker this year?"

"I don't see why not. Just be ready for more than the usual sniping from the upper-years about you being unladylike or what-have-you."

Ginny snorted. "Please. I'm the Slytherin Weasley! How much worse could _that_ get!"

* * *

"Theo, right?" said Jim Potter as if he and Theo had not been Sorted the same year and had spoken on several occasions. Then again, Theo thought this might possibly be the very first time that he and Jim had spoken one-on-one without Harry as intermediary.

"Yep, that's me. And you're Jim, right?" Theo replied smoothly, as if he weren't talking to the most famous thirteen-year-old in the wizarding world.

"Um, yeah." Jim paused as if uncertain how to proceed. "So how are you holding up? I know you had ... some bad stuff happen to you."

Theo almost laughed out loud at Jim's gift for understatement, but he suppressed the impulse. The Boy-Who-Lived was, for some baffling reason, trying to be nice. Theo thought it would be churlish to mock the other boy's efforts.

"You could say that. I'm Theo No-Name now. Which is better in some ways than being called Theo Nott, but I know it will cause problems when we get back to school. Whatever comes, I'll handle it as best I can."

Jim looked around conspiratorially and then moved closer. "Are you worried about getting bullied in Slytherin House?" he asked.

"Why do you ask?" Theo said suspiciously.

Jim pursed his lips for a second. "I've been thinking of starting a student-run self-defense group, mainly for Muggleborns and Muggle-raised students who get picked on by older Purebloods. I'd like for you to join us. It's all people who won't be affected by the curse you're under, so you'd be safe with us."

Theo crooked an eyebrow. "Does this have something to do with Hermione's SPAM thing?"

Jim blinked twice. "Her what?!"

* * *

"I know you pride yourself on _Slytherin subtlety_, Harry," said Hermione firmly, "but Theo is my friend too, and I insist on supporting him. What's more, I think it's appalling in general that our entire society can be so casually influenced by a single dark wizard's malicious curse, and I want to start a group to raise public awareness against it."

"This is that SPAM thing that Blaise wrote me about, isn't it?" Harry asked with some amusement.

"We are _not_ calling it SPAM!" she hissed before looking around in embarrassment to see if anyone heard her outburst. Then, she continued more quietly. "I _was_ thinking about calling it the Society for the Prevention of Abusive Magic, but I realized at once what a silly acronym that would make. I haven't decided on a new name yet. I suppose we'll just wait until the first meeting and ask for suggestions."

"If Blaise is involved, don't be surprised if SPAM is one of them."

She sighed almost dejectedly. "Don't worry. I won't be."

* * *

"I'm glad your back, Lily-flower" James said affectionately. "I've missed you a lot."

"I sent you an owl-post every other day," Lily said with a smile.

"It's not the same," he said with a sulk before taking a sip of Molly's lemonade.

"No, I suppose it's not. For starters, there are some things we should probably to talk about that you wouldn't want to see written down..." she leaned in to whisper "... _Prongs_."

It took several seconds for James to clear his throat after almost choking on his lemonade.

* * *

"Wait a minute!" Bill exclaimed in excitement. "You figured out how to convert explosive runes into a ward breaker?!"

"Well, I _think_ so," George replied. "It's not like I could test it out, but I'm pretty sure it would work."

Then, George actually got a bit nervous at the look his eldest brother was giving him. He was used to either the Amused Twinkling Eyes or the Grimace of Disappointment. Bill's current look was something new, something ... calculating.

"Tell me, George. Have you ever considered a career in curse-breaking?"

* * *

_**Longbottom Manor  
5:30 p.m.**_

An hour after the party had broken up, Harry was back in his room where he opened Jim's gift. It was an autographed copy of Gupta Baskar's book _**The Serpent's Tongue**_ about the known history, theorized origins, and suspected advanced properties of Parseltongue. There was a note inside.

"_Harry – You told me repeatedly that you're not a Parselmouth, and I accept that. But if nothing else, I think the information in this book would be good for an enterprising Slytherin like you to know. Who knows. Maybe you'll try to learn Parseltongue the hard way. And it is a very hard way, apparently, but if anyone I know could do it, it would be you. Happy Birthday!_

_PS – I promise I'll do whatever I can to help your friend Theo."_

Harry found himself strangely touched by his brother's sincerity, and he now wished he'd put more thought into the gifts he'd gotten Jim. He hoped his brother appreciated them and the spirit in which they'd been given.

* * *

_**Meanwhile at Potter Manor...**_

Once back at Potter Manor and in his own room at last, Jim Potter opened Harry's gift box. There were three items within – an expensive leather wand holster, a book, and what appeared to be a Muggle T-shirt – along with a note.

"_Jim – I have no idea why you've resisted using a wand holster up until now. I have recently been advised that it's actually dangerous to carry your wand around in a back pocket as I've seen you do on occasion. Apparently, it's a good way to blow one of your buttocks off! The book is __**Seeker Tips and Tricks**_ _by Benjy Williams. I know you're a fan of Puddlemere and said once he was your favorite Seeker, so I thought it might give you some inspiration. Finally, the shirt's just something to keep you humble. Merlin knows we Potters need as much of that as we can get. Happy Birthday, Little Brother!"_

Intrigued, Jim set the wand holster and book aside before pulling out the T-shirt. He held it up so that he could get a good look at it. Six months earlier he'd have probably ripped it to shreds in a fury, but now he just laughed in delight. The shirt was in Gryffindor crimson with letters of Gryffindor gold that proudly identified the wearer as ...

**SUPREME GIT OF THE UNIVERSE **

Jim laid back on his bed still smiling. He suspected that this might become his new favorite shirt.

* * *

_**11:00 p.m.  
Thurso, Scotland**_

The township of Thurso had the distinction of being the northernmost town in the British Isles. And among wizards, it also held the distinction as the only Muggle town so far north that it was slightly outside the network of ley lines, wards, and detection spells used by the Ministry of Magic to guard the nation against magical invasion. A small town, its population was listed at 7,598 as of this morning. By noon, the population had risen by eight. By that evening, it had dropped by more than twenty. And now, with a pop of apparation, it had risen by one more.

"And what's all this then?" Peter Pettigrew said irritably as he took in the carnage. He was expected at Jim's party early the next morning and was quite put out at the prospect of being up all night cleaning up after a pack of werewolves. "What part of _discreet insertion_ did I fail to make clear?"

Seven of the eight blood-soaked werewolves standing before him growled menacingly in response to Pettigrew's sarcasm, but the eighth was more familiar with the wizard's humor. Not to mention how dangerous he could be if crossed.

"It was a long trip, Pettigrew. My pack was hungry, so we fed. It matters not. I'm a wizard as well as a werewolf, as are two of my pack. I can conceal our ... indiscretions."

"Conceal? Almost two-dozen violently mutilated and partially-eaten Muggle corpses are _indiscretions_ for you to _conceal_?"

"Houses burn, Pettigrew, whether from gasoline or an Incendio. What Muggle would know the difference? What wizard would care?"

Peter shook his head. "Walk with me, Greyback." And the animagus turned and stalked out into the nearby woods with the pack alpha following behind.

A moment later, Peter finally spoke. "There's been a change of plans."

"A change? Bit late to introduce changes, isn't it?"

"You and I are both agents of change, Bob. You'll adapt."

"Don't call me Bob," the werewolf snapped. "I am Fenrir Greyback."

"You're Bob Greyson, the Muggleborn son of a reputable though now-deceased Muggle bank officer from Leeds. And a Ravenclaw to boot!"

"That was before," Fenrir replied. "Bob Greyson was my _human_ name."

Peter sniffed almost disdainfully at the werewolf's pretensions. "Whatever. Anyway, we're putting the Potter operation on hold. Something else has taken priority."

"What?"

"Rescuing a damsel in distress."

Fenrir stopped suddenly and then Peter turned to face him.

"You're joking," Fenrir said dubiously. "Who?"

"The Toymaker's Daughter. And perhaps the future mother of the Toymaker's Heir. As a female, she cannot inherit the Wilkes lordship, but it _will_ pass to any wizarding offspring she births, along with everything else that the Toymaker hid away for a rainy day. Which is why that wretched old bore Tiberius Nott has wiggled his way into a marriage contract with a witch fifty years his junior."

"Uh-huh. And we're rescuing her from that dastardly fate?"

"Of course. We have plans in place for the Dark Lord's resurrection. I'll be damned if I let Tiberius Nott just show up at the last minute with a fortune in galleons and dark artifacts and weasel himself back into our master's good graces."

"Right. And you want to, what, marry the child yourself?"

"Certainly not!" Pettigrew said as if genuinely offended. "I plan to extract her still beating heart with an enchanted dagger and incorporate it into a potion that, once consumed, will cause the Wilkes biomagical wards to recognize me as the new Lord Wilkes for a period of 48 hours. More than enough time to transfer the contents of the Wilkes vaults to my own."

Fenrir stared at Pettigrew for several seconds before shrugging. "Still better than what Nott has planned, I suppose."

"Indeed. Now here's what we're going to do."

* * *

_**31 July 1993  
Potter Manor  
The Boy-Who-Lived's Birthday Gala**_

Peter covered his mouth with his hand to conceal a deep yawn and then shook his head. Next to him, James Potter noticed.

"Late night?" James said with some concern.

Peter nodded. "I had some unexpected work travel on behalf of one of my other clients. Didn't get back to the apartment until after two."

"The night before Jim's birthday?" James exclaimed.

"Like I said ... unexpected."

James smiled and shook his head. "Well, was it at least profitable?"

Peter grinned at his oldest friend. "That's yet to be seen, but I'm quite bullish on my prospects."

James laughed and clapped his closest friend on the shoulder as the two surveyed the Potter grounds together. There was a noticeable increase in the number of aurors present at the gala this year, as well as improvements to the wards and security measures, and James seemed confident that there would be no repeat of last year's carnage. Peter agreed and said he expected the gala to be as boring as it normally was.

Nevertheless, both James and Peter kept a careful eye on the Potter Twins, though for different reasons. For James, it was purely out of parental interest tinged with regret for past mistakes. For Peter, it was with a godfather's pride in Jim combined with a barely concealed disdain for Harry. Disdain and suspicion.

"_Ten years in a boot cupboard_," Peter thought. _"By rights, the little brat should be an emotional cripple if not a borderline psychotic. And yet there he is hobnobbing with Dumbledore and Fudge like he was a born politician. What __is__ your secret, Harry Potter?"_

And indeed, the object of the two Marauders' attentions was at that moment speaking conversationally to several prominent politicians with the poise and charm of someone many years his senior.

"Ah, Harry, m'boy," Fudge said. "I want you to meet someone. Allow me to introduce Pius Thicknesse. He's a highly-decorated auror who works with your father. It hasn't been made official yet, but I'll be appointing him to Senior status to fill the hole left by James' promotion in just a few days."

Harry smiled at Thicknesse and made a note to look into his background later. "Congratulations, Auror Thicknesse."

The man gave a polite nod but otherwise revealed nothing of his response to the Minister's announcement. "Thank you, Mr. Potter. I look forward to continuing my work alongside your father. He's a fine man."

Harry gave a nod of acknowledgment himself while mentally docking Thicknesse several points for having a positive opinion of James. Then, he turned his attention to Dumbledore.

"Gentlemen, I hope you will excuse me, but if you don't mind, I would like to borrow the Headmaster for a few minutes. Some minor school-related matters."

Fudge and Thicknesse both chuckled jovially and headed back towards the refreshments table, leaving Harry and Dumbledore alone.

"And what might I do for you, Harry?"

"I was hoping to talk about Theo No-Name, sir."

"Ah, yes. Most regrettable circumstances that."

"I've been told that the Hogwarts professors are not affected by the Sanction. Is that true?"

"It is indeed, Harry. The faculty are not directly affected, and I have already sent out memos to all of the faculty to be especially vigilant for abuse targeted towards the young man. Alas, those students most likely to be particularly affected by the Sanction are also most likely to be in your house. Your Seventh Year prefects will not be directly affected, but the Sixth and Fifth Year prefects will be to some extent due to their family connections. And even those Slytherins not directly affected will be subject to significant peer pressure, I fear."

Harry nodded. "Any advice?"

"Well, my usual recommendation for any situation is '_do what is right, not what is easy_,' but I have noticed that most Slytherins find that an unhelpful suggestion. Though I was a Gryffindor myself, I am well aware of what a social minefield your House has always been and that it is even moreso since the end of the last war. You have made remarkable strides in bending Slytherin House away from its traditional associations with blood purism and support for Voldemort in particular. I can only encourage you to persevere in your endeavors even though I fear I can offer little practical assistance."

The boy absorbed that. It was less than he was hoping for, but then perhaps it had been naive of him to think that Dumbledore could solve a problem as intractable as this. Then again ...

"What about your position as Chief Warlock, sir? Surely there is some way to legislatively undo the Ultimate Sanction."

"Alas, Harry, the wheels of government turn slowly and with imprecision. The Inheritance Act was passed by the Wizengamot with an 80% affirmative vote. Only a 75% affirmative vote is needed to pass laws which can magically affect Wizengamot members and those bound to them by oath or blood, and it would require an equal percentage or greater to repeal any part of that law. Since Lord Nott's faction presently commands at least 30% of the outstanding votes, I cannot see how a three-quarters voting bloc can be obtained. Indeed, as bad as things are for young Theo, they could have been far worse."

"How so?"

"Well, as I said, the Inheritance Act was passed by a margin of 80% to 20%. Had it been _unanimous_, the law's provisions, including the Ultimate Sanction, would have held force over every wizard or witch in Britain automatically upon selecting a wand."

Harry's eyes widened in shock. "Has that ever happened?"

"Not since the founding of the Wizengamot itself since, naturally, the passage of the Wizengamot Charter in any form would have required unanimity. The requirement of wand usage rather than other foci as a mark of citizenship has been part of Magical Britain since its foundation. As for the Inheritance Act, it was the product of a time of extreme panic, since the nation had only just narrowly evaded conquest by a hostile foreign power that would likely have initiated a bloody purge against any British wizards or witches judged a threat to the conquering regime. It is, sadly, not uncommon for governments to pass foolish laws in response to crises. Much more recently, we saw similar shortsighted legislation during the last Wizarding War with the passage of the Death Eater Laws. Of course, those laws did not command anything close to a 75% majority, and so they were not backed by force of magic. But they did significantly infringe upon the rights guaranteed to all wizards and witches under the ICW Charter. Had the Death Eater Laws not been designed to sunset automatically thirty days after the confirmed destruction of Voldemort, Magical Britain's ICW status would have been jeopardized with potentially disastrous results for the nation and the world."

Harry looked around to make certain they were not being overheard. "Is that why the government's position has always been that You-Know-Who is really dead even we know better?" he asked quietly.

Dumbledore nodded and then spoke just as quietly. "There was enough physical evidence left at Godric's Hollow to confirm that Voldemort's physical form was destroyed. Had the government attempted to keep the Death Eater Laws in place merely upon unconfirmed suspicion that Voldemort lingered as a spirit, the ICW would have almost certainly declared Magical Britain as being in violation of Charter provisions, which would have led to international sanctions or worse at a time when we were desperate to rebuild."

Harry considered that. "_A thirty-day window to handle every Death Eater-related legal matter. Suddenly it's less surprising that animals like Nott slipped through the cracks._"

"Augusta might be someone to talk to about that," Dumbledore continued. "She took a rather strong interest in the Death Eater Laws after what happened to her son and daughter-in-law at the hands of the Lestranges." He looked around. "Are she and Neville here today? I had wanted to say hello to them both."

"Unfortunately," Harry replied smoothly. "Neville is abroad. Lady Augusta was going to come, but she was feeling a bit under the weather and decided to stay home."

"Nothing serious, I hope."

"No, just a summer cold." And as casually as possible, Harry avoided eye contact with his Headmaster.

* * *

_**Longbottom Manor  
6:45 p.m.**_

Hours later, an exhausted Harry stepped through the Floo into the Longbottom parlor. He dusted off his clothes as much as possible and then handed his jacket off to Dobby for cleaning. Then, the boy made his way through the house to the meeting room on the far side of the manor. Lady Augusta, who did not look the least bit sick, was sitting at the table playing solitaire.

"Any news?" Harry asked.

"No," she replied without looking up. "But it's quite early yet."

Harry glanced over at the clock on the wall. It didn't feel "_early_" after the day he'd had.

"By the way, Dumbledore sends his regards."

"Mmm," she replied, still without looking up.

The two waited together in silence.

* * *

_**Potter Manor  
11:55 p.m.**_

James Potter had just changed for bed after an exhausting day when one of the Potter house elves came for him saying that there was an urgent Floo call from the Auror's Office. Grumbling, he threw on his robe and jammed his wand into his pocket before heading swiftly to the main fireplace. On the other end was Kingsley Shacklebolt, looking as grim as James had ever seen him.

"Shack, what's going on?" he asked.

"Permission to come through the Floo, sir?" the auror replied while ignoring his boss's question.

"Granted," James said. Then, he stepped back in surprise when Shacklebolt came through accompanied by three other aurors. All of them had their wands out.

"What is this?" James asked again and with a hint of anger.

"Chief Auror Potter," Shacklebolt began, his face a mask of professionalism, "I must respectfully ask that you turn over your wand at once for examination."

"You ... what?" James said in shock.

"Sir ... James ... please. Hand over your wand."

James pulled his anger back under control. Kingsley was one of his best aurors and also one of the few he considered a friend rather than a coworker. He pulled his wand out of his robe pocket and handed it over butt first. "There better be a _damned_ good explanation for this, Auror Shacklebolt."

The other man did not respond. Instead, he took the wand and handed it over to another auror who performed the Priori Incantatem Charm on it. Other than a few minor Transfigurations and Scourgify Charms, James had not used his wand all day.

"Well," he asked impatiently.

Shacklebolt ignored him. "We'll need to check the wands of Lily and Jim, just to be certain. And also perform a magical search of the manor house to confirm that there are no other wands on the premises."

"The _hell_ you will!" James roared. "You will not intrude upon my wife, my son, my home, or my person one tiny bit more until somebody tells me _what the hell is going on!"_

Kingsley took a deep breath. "Approximately six hours ago, Chief Auror, three individuals penetrated the security at Azkaban Prison and staged a successful jailbreak that liberated Sirius Black, all three of the Lestranges, and Augustus Rookwood."

James stared at his subordinate nearly slack-jawed. "That's ... that's impossible," he said weakly.

"Six hours ago, I would have said the same. And yet, it has happened."

"Do we have any idea who's responsible?" James asked in a shaky voice, as he struggled to come to grips with the magnitude of the night's disaster.

Kingsley hesitated and then took a second deep breath. "According to all available evidence, the three intruders were Michael Proudfoot, Cornelius Fudge ... and _you._"

And for only the second time in his entire life, James Potter was rendered completely speechless.

* * *

Next: Azkaban! Questions are answered! Plans are laid! Dementors are annoyed! Plus, we finally get our first glimpse of Sirius and Bellatrix after twelve years of prison!

AN1: Happy second anniversary!

AN2: As noted last time, this chapter was supposed to be called "Harry Potter and the Marauder's Map,' but as I got into it, I decided to spread Harry's Map interactions out across the year rather than dumping them into one chapter. After briefly flirting with "Harry Potter and the Perfect Macarons," I came across that Sun Tzu quote, immediately realized that Moody would have liked "Art of War," and voila, new chapter title.

AN3: What The Sinister Man is reading now: "The many Deaths of Harry Potter" by ShayneT. Check it out.

AN4: Updated 5/2/17 to correct a dating issue with Marcus Flint.


	90. HP&DEM 7: Azkaban

**HARRY POTTER  
AND THE DEATH EATER MENACE**

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

* * *

**CHAPTER 7: Azkaban **

The island of Azkaban first came to the attention of Wizarding Britain in 1443 when non-magical (for Muggle was not yet a word) traders reported sighting a previously uncharted isle halfway between the Orkney and Shetland Islands. Even more surprisingly, those traders claimed that there was a mighty fortress already built there with a foreboding tower far taller than even the greatest castles of the British Isles. While the non-magical authorities dismissed the reports as the result of too much liquor, word soon passed to wizarding ears. Curious and concerned, the Wizengamot sent an expedition to the island.

What they found there was the stuff of nightmares.

The island had apparently been raised from the seabed by the dreaded Emeric the Evil sometime during the previous century, and he constructed a great tower there for some fell purpose. After Emeric's fall and execution, his disciple, the dark wizard Ekrisdis, claimed the island and tower for his own ends and hid both behind impenetrable wards and invisibility charms. Ekrisdis dwelt in the tower of Azkaban for nearly a century while continuing his vile experiments into the darkest arts (usually on captured non-magical sailors) until death from old age finally claimed him. Azkaban's protective charms endured for nearly twenty years after Ekrisdis's death before failing and leaving the island visible to the world.

Most of the horrors contained within Azkaban were scoured away by the Wizengamot's expeditionary forces, though many wizards lost their lives in the attempt and many others later _took_ their own lives rather than live with the knowledge of what they had seen. Yet the greatest horror of Azkaban could not be purged. For in the caverns and tunnels beneath the tower lay something that was _beyond_ a nightmare – a nest of Dementors numbering in the hundreds. Though Dementors were known to the wizards of Britain and Europe, their numbers had been thought small. Previously, most Dementors had been encountered individually or, at worst, in packs of three to five. Before Azkaban was revealed, most wizards would not have believed there to be more than a few hundred Dementors in the world, let alone in a single place. But the great pit that lay beneath the foundation of Azkaban _teemed _with the creatures. Frightened and unable to cleanse the island of its Dementors, the Wizengamot withdrew, sealing the island away with its most powerful wards and Notice-Me-Not Charms in the hopes that the folly of Emeric and Ekrisis could be safely forgotten.

And so it _was _forgotten for nearly three centuries until the International Statute of Secrecy was passed into magical law and the wizarding world was changed forever. Among the unforeseen difficulties imposed by the Statute were certain problems inherent in wizarding criminal justice. Despite the best efforts of the aurors, jailbreaks had always been surprisingly common among the wizarding criminal classes, for few local jails could be built to withstand the power and versatility of magical rescue attempts perpetrated by outsiders even when the inmates had been stripped of their wands. Before the imposition of the Statute, such escapes would result in local authorities, both magical and mundane, joining forces to track down escapees under what British common law would later call _posse commitatus_. But after the Statutes' passage, the magic used during such jailbreaks risked drawing the attention of Muggles (so named now because it was deemed essential that such non-magicals be fooled, or "mugged" in the vernacular of the day, into thinking that magic did not exist), and wizarding law enforcement was forbidden to seek the assistance of their Muggle counterparts except in the most extreme circumstances. To address these concerns, the Wizengamot directed the newly established Ministry of Magic to devise plans for a new prison in some remote location from whence escape would be impossible.

During this same time, the British Isles were increasingly plagued by wild Dementors who were eventually traced back to lost and fabled Azkaban. Frightened both by the danger of these Dementors and by their challenge to the nascent Statute of Secrecy, the Wizengamot charged Damocles Rowle, then the Minister of Magic, with addressing both the Dementor threat and the need for a new prison. His solution to both problems pleased virtually no one.

In 1718, Minister Rowle journeyed to Azkaban and somehow initiated a dialogue with a representative of its Dementor population. Together, they brokered the Treaty of Azkaban. The exact text of the Treaty was classified at the highest level by Ministry security, but the general terms are fairly well-known among modern British wizards and witches. The Tower of Azkaban would become the new prison for Wizarding Britain. The Dementors would act as guards under the direction of a skeleton crew of aurors and other DMLE personnel. The Dementors would only give the Kiss to inmates under very specific circumstances but were otherwise free to feed upon the misery of the inmates. And those inmates would consist of every wizard or witch convicted of treason, murder, rape, assault on the person of a member of the Wizengamot or their families ... or nearly any lesser crime upon a second offense. Life imprisonment in Azkaban was also the penalty for escape attempts, successful or not, from any of the Ministry holding facilities where persons convicted of lesser crimes were detained, while escape attempts from Azkaban itself were punished with the Dementor's Kiss.

While all of those terms are well-known across Wizarding Britain, there were three additional treaty terms that were deemed highly classified information and kept from the public. First, should any prisoner actually escape from Azkaban, the Dementors would have the absolute right to pursue them wherever they might run in order to administer the Kiss, even onto the British mainland itself. Second, the Ministry was _obligated_ to ensure a minimum number of magical inmates for the Dementors to feed upon, and from time to time, the Ministry was compelled by its treaty obligations to imprison wizards and witches in Azkaban who would not normally be eligible for such extreme punishment. Over the 175 years since the Treaty was brokered, shortfalls in the necessary prison population were usually satisfied through imprisoning lower class wizards and witches with criminal records and no family connections who could be charged with recidivism no matter how minor their subsequent crimes were. Failing that, the Ministry typically relied on political prisoners or, more rarely, people cursed with enemies rich and powerful enough to bribe the right people. The final secret term held that if the shortfall of prisoners persisted for long enough – defined by the treaty as one year and one day – the treaty itself would become void, and the Dementors would no longer be bound to Azkaban. Those last three terms were deemed of the highest security by the Rowle Administration, and knowledge of them was passed down to a relatively small number of people over the intervening 175 years.

The three people who came to visit Azkaban Prison on the night of July 31st in the year 1993, alas, were not among those privy to those secret terms.

* * *

_**31 July 1993  
6:00 p.m.**_

Seabase Acheron was a raised sea platform which had been installed at the command of Minister Rowle at the start of Azkaban's service as magical prison. So-named because those who first worked the base considered it the entryway to Hell itself, Acheron was situated just outside the anti-Apparation and anti-Portkey wards which covered Azkaban Island. And like Azkaban itself, Seabase Acheron almost never had any visitors other than a semi-annual surprise inspection by the Minister of Magic and the Chief Auror. That the Chief Auror chose to hold the surprise inspection on this day of all days was a very big surprise indeed.

After Chief Auror Potter, Minister Fudge, and their bodyguard, Auror Michael Proudfoot, arrived with a pop on Seabase Acheron's apparation platform, they waited for several minutes in the cold North Sea drizzle before the aurors stationed there arrived to "greet" them. Several of the guards who came running up were still adjusting their clothes, and one poor sod was still trying to put on a boot while hopping pitifully in their direction. Those in the lead initially had wands pointed in the direction of the intruders, but while none of the Azkaban staff had actually met James Potter yet, they'd all seen his picture by now, and they immediately stowed their wands. One particularly startled auror actually tried to give a salute with his wand still in his hand, with the end result that he nearly stabbed himself in the eye with it. While Fudge tried to hide a smile, Potter was far less amused as he glanced down at a pocket watch.

"Three minutes, twelve seconds before a single auror showed up after an unannounced and unauthorized apparation," Potter said contemptuously. "I'm not impressed so far."

"We'll work harder to live up to your expectations as we move forward, Chief Auror," came a voice from the doorway to the building nearby. Then, a stocky older wizard with a fierce expression stepped out, and the aurors parted to make way for him. "I am Warden Stark, chief of this facility. I don't believe I've ever had the pleasure of meeting any of you distinguished gentlemen in person, though of course, Minister Fudge and Chief Auror Potter need no introduction. Nevertheless, identity papers, please."

Fudge reached into his pocket – causing the assembled aurors to stiffen and prepare cutting hexes – and removed a scroll which he handed over. "We're here for the annual inspection."

"How interesting, considering our last annual inspection was five years ago. I despaired of living long enough to see another one." The Warden carefully reviewed the paperwork which all seemed in order. Then, in a startlingly smooth move, he flicked his wand out of its holster and pointed it directly in the face of James Potter. "Your wands, gentlemen. There are protocols to be observed, after all. And I'll have the briefcase too, Minister Fudge."

Potter narrowed his eyes somewhat angrily. Then, he drew his wand and handed it over butt first. Fudge and Proudfoot did likewise, the latter with obvious nervousness and discomfort.

Fudge, on the other hand, seemed almost amused by the proceedings. "I'd appreciate it if you wait until we're out of the rain before you search the briefcase, my good man. I have files in there I'd rather not see waterlogged." The guard who took the case nodded.

"I'm just happy to see that there _are _protocols to follow based on what I've observed so far," Potter said with a degree of contempt.

The Warden smirked. "Yes, I've no doubt you're pleased to think you've caught us with our trousers around our ankles, Chief Auror. However, the situation was perfectly under control."

"It hardly looked like it," the other man replied.

"That is because you mistake us for the guardians of Azkaban instead of its overseers. Our entire conversation has been observed by personnel in the top of the tower by the duty officers with whom I am in constant communication. Standard protocol, naturally. Had I but given the word or had you done anything the tiniest bit threatening to me or my men, you lot would have about twelve seconds before a score of Dementors showed up to give you a good look at what they keep under their hoods. As for my men down here whom you've caught in a something of a disarray, it is only because you arrived right in the middle of the annual birthday fete we hold to commemorate the victory of your son, the Boy-Who-Lived, over You-Know-Who. However, if that much ... frivolity offends you, I suppose we can abolish it going forward and just let the Christmas feast be our only celebration here." He paused and then gave Potter a sneering smile. "Unless, Chief Auror, you want us to cancel Christmas too."

Without waiting for an answer, Stark turned and headed on into the bunkhouse. The others followed, with the Azkaban aurors holding Potter, Fudge, and Proudfoot at wandpoint. Inside, the trio found themselves in a circular room with a metal grate for a floor. The other aurors surrounded the trio and stood with their backs against the wall. Then, Stark gave out a command, and a deluge of bitterly cold Thief's Downfall poured in through another grate in the ceiling. All three visitors cried out in surprise and shock. After five seconds of this, the downpour stopped, but the aurors kept their wands trained on the now-drenched trio. Casually, Stark removed his own pocketwatch and began timing.

"Kindly remain still, gentlemen, for another twenty seconds. I wouldn't want one of my men to become alarmed at some furtive movement and slice your head off. We don't use Stunners at Azkaban."

The three men stood perfectly still save for bitter shivering before Stark finally put his watch away. "All clear. No Imperiuses or illusions. No immediate signs of Polyjuice." He nodded with mock respect towards Fudge and Potter. "Mind you, we _will_ be waiting for a solid hour before proceeding to the prison itself, just to be on the safe side. _Protocol_, you know."

He turned and headed towards a heavy door. "Get them dried off and then send them to my office." At his command, the aurors stepped forward and administered Drying Charms followed by Pepper-Up Potions. Proudfoot swallowed his with a faint but detectable nervousness at the Warden's words, but if they troubled either Potter or Fudge, neither man showed it. Moments later, all three were in Warden Stark's office partaking of lukewarm tea and stale biscuits.

"My apologies for the quality of our libations, gentlemen. One of the many side effects of proximity to Azkaban is that most foodstuffs tend to lose their taste quite quickly. Indeed, I suspect that our little supper we were holding in Jim Potter's honor will be nearly inedible by the time I can return to it."

Potter frowned at that, but it was Fudge who finally spoke. "With all due respect, Warden Stark, your conduct towards us since our arrival, well, frankly flirts with insubordination."

Stark snorted. "I don't flirt with insubordination, Minister. I grab it round the waist and kiss it so deep I can massage its tonsils." Then, he leaned forward in his chair. "I have been the Warden of Azkaban for _fifteen years_, Fudge. Three times longer than the longest serving of my predecessors, seven of whom died by their own hand over the centuries since this hellhole was refashioned into a prison. In fact, my _very first_ official action as Warden was to scourgify my predecessor's bloodstains off the walls of my new living quarters. If you find me insubordinate when I register my displeasure with you pompous lot staging a surprise inspection right in the middle of our Jim Potter Day festivities, by all means, replace me ... if you can find someone to take the job."

Potter studied the man carefully and recalled what he knew about him. Matthias Stark had been an exemplary auror back in the late 1970's, but Death Eaters had wiped out his entire family – a wife, three children (and their spouses), and seven grand-children in the space of just a few months. The Healers at St. Mungo's refused to clear him to return to active duty, but after the last Warden's suicide, no one else would accept the position that Stark himself had sought out and claimed with apparent gusto. Potter met the man's gaze steadily, but for the life of him, he couldn't tell whether Stark had stayed on at Azkaban for fifteen years because of his devotion to the cause of the Ministry and of Justice ... or because of the personal satisfaction he took from overseeing the torment of the Death Eaters condemned to the prison. And even if it was the latter, was such sadism the result of losing his family to Death Eaters? Or losing his happy memories to Azkaban?

"Warden," Potter said, "obviously we got off on a poor footing for which I apologize. As you know, _last year's _Jim Potter Day saw a terrorist attack on my son and others by means of a Death Eater weapon. It was the same attack that maimed my predecessor for life and forced him from his position. And today is the anniversary of that attack."

"I am well aware of these events, Chief Auror," Stark said coldly. "Rufus and I have had opportunity to discuss them at length."

"_Ah,_" thought the other man_, "Stark is friends with Rufus Scrimgeour. That would certainly explain his attitude towards me. Pity it's too late to be someone else._"

"We're here tonight, Warden," James said aloud, "because in the year since, we have no further information on who staged that attack and why. It was my hope that, under cover of a '_surprise inspection_,' we can interview the members of You-Know-Who's inner circle with Veritaserum and perhaps get some useful intelligence without causing any sort of panic or press overreaction."

Stark sat back in surprise. "And you don't think that the media will notice you leaving your son's official birthday fete to visit Azkaban and ask questions?"

"Let them," Fudge replied. "If anyone does notice, our story is that James wanted to do a snap inspection on his son's birthday to prove that he would not let his role as Jim's father and protector distract him from his official duties. Besides, as you've noted, today _is_ one of the nation's busiest holidays. It would make sense to do a surprise inspection at a time when your security might be under unusual stresses or otherwise distracted. But our hope is that the _Prophet_ will simply focus on all the other human interest stories arising from today's festivities and not even notice we're here."

Stark nodded. "I suppose that does make sense."

"So with that in mind," Potter said, "we'd like to start our '_security review_' with the Maximum Security Wing."

"That shouldn't be a problem," the Warden said, "once we've finished clearing you for admittance to the facility. We have another forty minutes left to confirm that none of you is a Polyjuiced intruder, followed by transport to the top of the tower and then _another_ quick dunk in some Thief's Downfall." He smirked at their dismayed looks. "Security protocols. I'm sure you understand."

The men did, for they had been studying the Azkaban security protocols thoroughly for most of the summer. Their plans demanded it.

* * *

_**23 June 1993  
Longbottom Manor  
(29 days ago)**_

_After some amiable chit-chat over brunch (Jim noticed that Augusta and Harry both resolutely avoided asking how his parents were doing), the three boys headed upstairs to get their broomsticks. Harry tarried in the rear, and before he left the sunroom, he turned back to Augusta._

"_How long should I keep him occupied?" he asked quietly. _

_She glanced up at the wall clock which read 11:15. "Until sunset if possible. I'll have a house elf send you a picnic lunch around two o'clock."_

_Harry nodded and followed his friend and his brother upstairs._

By 11:30, all three boys were out of the house and would be for some time. From the parlor window, Augusta watched them as they flew happily over the topiary garden. Then, she drew the curtains and moved to the fireplace where she tossed in some floo powder.

"Malfoy Manor," she said. Barely a moment later, Lucius Malfoy poked his head through the fire. "They're gone. You may come through now, though I remind you of the oaths you sworn while in Longbottom Manor and the price you will pay if you are foresworn."

Lucius nodded gravely. "I fully understand." With that, he stepped through the fire into the parlor with a leather satchel at his side. Augusta sat down in a nearby chair, and Lucius sat opposite her across a coffee table.

"I must say, Lord Malfoy, that I was ... impressed by the urgency with which you requested to meet with me. Not to mention the stringency of the oaths you were willing to swear before I would allow you to enter. If I may be blunt, what business could the Houses of Longbottom and Malfoy possibly have in common that could be so important to you?"

"In all honestly, Lady Augusta, that rather depends on whether or not you are familiar with this item." He reached into the satchel and withdrew a book which he placed on the coffee table facing her.

_**The Anathema Codex**_.

"Ah," she said quietly, "I see."

"You are familiar with this work?" he asked, only mildly surprised at her calm and poise. Lucius had always thought Augusta Crouch Longbottom had been Sorted incorrectly.

"Archie and I had no secrets from each other, and there were ... trust issues between him and his brother Algernon. Also, I was the second oldest child of House Crouch in my generation, and it had been our family's policy to make certain at least two family members knew of the book, if not its contents. Now, what relevance does that accursed tome have to our discussions, Lord Malfoy?"

He took a deep breath. "Perchance, m'lady, did you ever have opportunity to read the passages about ... _horcruxes_?"

* * *

_**Azkaban  
31 July 1993  
7:15 p.m.**_

Fudge, Potter, and Warden Stark spent the next forty minutes making idle chit-chat about the state of Wizarding politics and the likelihood of Death Eater resurgence, while Auror Proudfoot sat quietly off to the side and occasionally made furtive glances towards the clock on the wall. Halfway through, an auror entered with Fudge's briefcase and informed the Warden that the case had contained several files, a few quills and an inkpot, and a number of vials containing Veritaserum and Pepper-Up Potions.

Fudge smiled. The most dangerous moment, as he saw it, had passed.

"The Pepper-Up is for me," he said genially. "The North Sea air disagrees with me. I'd rather not catch a cold if I can avoid it." Fudge's reasons for bringing Veritaserum were not expanded upon in front of the auror, who Stark dismissed without further comment.

Once the hour had passed, the Warden led the trio out to the dock on the side of Seabase Acheron that faced Azkaban Island. There was a small sailboat waiting for them, one that hardly seemed up to the challenge of crossing the choppy waters. To the visitors' surprise, however, the self-propelled boat made it about twenty feet away from the dock before suddenly becoming airborne. Within a few minutes, the flying vessel had made its way to the top level of the grim tower and "docked" next to a small balcony.

Once disembarked, the trio as promised was led through another thoroughly frigid dousing of Thief's Downfall and then forced to stand in front of a large oval mirror in which their reflections appeared nude but with any metal or wooden objects on their person still visible. Finally, they passed through to the command center where their wands and Fudge's case were returned.

"Alright, you lot," Warden Stark addressed the aurors in the command center. "Our guests are here on business, so let's hop to it." Then, he moved over to the center of the room where there was a circular hole in the floor roughly fifteen feet across. Stark activated the Sonorous Charm and then called down the hole, his voice reverberating through the entire prison.

"THIS IS WARDEN STARK. TWO SECURITY PERSONNEL AND THREE APPROVED GUESTS WILL ACCOMPANY ME TO LEVEL TEN. NO DEMENTORS ARE TO RISE ABOVE LEVEL THREE UNTIL ORDERED OTHERWISE OR UNLESS THERE IS A LEVEL 3 OR HIGHER DEVIATION FROM PROTOCOL. SECURITY CODE ALPHA-HIPPOGRIFF-NINER-TWO-FARAMIR. CONFIRM!"

Curious, Auror Proudfoot moved over to the hole and looked down. Then, he staggered back as if struck by vertigo. The hole appeared to cut all the way down the center of the fifteen-story tower, and staring down into the depths made his head spin. Nevertheless, he leaned over for another look just in time for a terrible rasping voice to rise up from the depths below.

"_[I/WE] ReCogNIZe sECuRiTyyyyyyyy C__oDe [**HATE YOU!**].  
[I/WE] CoMPreHenD InStrUc-StrUc-StrUc-TioNs [**HUNGER FEAST CONSUME!**].  
[I/WE] ShaLL OooooobeY [**ALL SOULS MUST MUST BE DEVOURED!**]"_

The voice and its sick mixture of obedience and vicious bile was disturbing enough. What made it worse was that Proudfoot suddenly realized that he had not heard the Dementor speak with his ears but in his head. And what made it worse still was that the Dementor spoke with the voice of his long-dead (and much hated) grandmother.

"Have you faced a Dementor before, lad?" Stark asked quietly and with much more kindness than he had shown so far that day.

"No," Proudfoot replied. "But I can do the Patronus Charm."

"You don't know if you can do a proper Patronus in front of a Dementor until you're actually in front of one. No amount of theory can prepare you for such an experience. But don't worry. As long as I and my men are on hand, you will be safe. And besides, the Dementors will obey their orders. You have nothing to fear so long as you do nothing to break protocol."

Proudfoot nodded very slowly at that. The Warden turned to his men. "Abernathy. Brown. With me. Wands out." Then, Stark led the assembled group to a nearby lift door which he unlocked by touching it with a brass rod attached to his belt by a chain. Seconds later, the six men were descending down into the bowels of Azkaban Prison.

"Well, Chief Auror," Fudge said softly and with some amusement. "Are you satisfied with the prison's security protocols so far?"

Potter nodded. "Very much so. Everything so far is exactly as it should be."

Behind them, Proudfoot swallowed nervously once more as he thought about what protocols he and his co-conspirators were about to break.

* * *

_**Longbottom Manor  
21 July 1993  
1:10 p.m.  
(10 days ago)**_

"This?! This was the job offer you wrote me about?!" Marcus spluttered in a fury. "A bloody _JAILBREAK FROM AZKABAN?!"_

Harry pursed his lips. In retrospect, he'd hoped to ease Marcus into joining their little conspiracy. Lucius, however, decided instead to rip the band-aid off by leading with the fact that what they planned constituted an act of treason for which they themselves could be sent to Azkaban for life if they got caught. And the likelihood of that rose considerably if they didn't have at least one more participant who was proficient with the Patronus Charm.

Marcus took a deep breath to calm himself. Then, he shook his head. "I swore an oath of secrecy and I'll stay bound by it. But I want no part of whatever madness you've got cooked up." Then, he met Harry's eyes. "And I hope you'll reconsider your own involvement, Harry. You're ... you're better than this."

With that, he turned back towards the doors, while behind him the conspirators looked back and forth at one another, with "Mr. Cato" in particular looking intently at Harry. Just as Marcus reached for the door handle, the other boy finally spoke.

"Voldemort is still alive."

Marcus froze instantly. For a second, he felt dizzy, like his hand was at once inches from the door handle and also miles away.

"You're lying," he whispered just loud enough for the others to hear.

"In 1981," Harry continued, "his physical body was destroyed. But he survived in a kind of spirit form through the use of cursed objects called horcruxes into which he'd put pieces of his soul. Two years ago, he possessed Quirinus Quirrell and used him in a failed plot to steal an artifact from Hogwarts that would restore his body. Jim stopped him with my help. Last year, one of his horcruxes fell into the hands of a Hogwarts student. and Voldemort possessed _him_ as well. It was really Voldemort who was responsible for everything that happened including all the petrifications. He was also the one who was really that prank on the Slytherin Quidditch team that almost saw us get frozen to death and Jim Potter blamed for it. Again, Jim and I put a stop to it, but if we'd been thirty minutes later, Voldemort would have returned and probably killed everyone at the school."

"Well," Lucius interrupted, "probably not _everyone_. I'm sure he'd have stopped to speak with the children of his former servants to see if any would swear loyalty to his cause."

Marcus whirled around angrily. "I would _NEVER ...!_" But the words caught in his throat. "_Wouldn't I? The way I was raised, if the Dark Lord had shown up in the flesh?!"_

"We will never be rid of him," Harry said calmly, "until someone tracks down his horcruxes and destroys them all. And right now, other than Voldemort himself, the only people alive who might know _anything_ about them are in the Maximum Security Level of Azkaban Prison."

"But why is that _your_ job?!" Marcus spat out. By now, he was physically shaking. "Just tell the DMLE what you know and they can legally get whatever information you need!"

"We can't take the risk," said the Asian man. "Death Eaters who escaped punishment during the War have infiltrated the Ministry at its highest levels." He glanced towards Malfoy. "No offense."

"None taken," Lucius said dryly.

"As a consequence," the other man continued, "if any of those hidden Death Eaters found out about the existence of horcruxes and located one belonging to the Dark Lord before we finished destroying them ..."

"Who _are_ you, anyway?"

"I won't be revealing that until you've taken a few more secrecy oaths, my boy, but when I was wearing another face, I used to be your DADA instructor."

Marcus looked at the man as if he were insane. "Whatever. This is still crazy. It's ... it's something a Gryffindor would do!"

"Marcus," Harry said calmly. "Gryffindors do what's right. Slytherins do what is _necessary._ We need you for this. Please, help us."

Flint shook his head and then rubbed his face for a few seconds. "_The Dark Lord! Alive!_" he thought. "_What would Old Ironside do?_"

"What's your plan?" he said in a nearly broken voice.

* * *

_**Azkaban  
7:40 p.m.**_

The lift's descent was slow, and the grinding of ancient rusty machinery, punctuated by the occasional scream or plea for mercy from beyond the lift doors, only made it seem longer. Finally, the doors opened up to a large circular room with holes in the middle of the floor and ceiling. About twenty cells ringed the room along the exterior wall, twelve of them occupied. Instantly, the newcomers were nearly overcome by the smell of waste and the pitiful moaning of the inmates. Well, mostly moaning. Potter detected one female voice among the din that was ... _singing_? And then, with a sick feeling, he realized that he recognized the voice.

"Who do you want to start with, Chief Auror?" Stark said.

"Sirius Black," Potter replied, his voice tight.

Stark barked out a harsh laugh. "Of course. Silly of me to ask." He led the group over to a particular cell. Within, a painfully thin man with long stringy black hair, a scraggly beard, and a dingy prisoner's uniform was seated on the floor. The walls of his cell were covered with markings. The most prominent were crude depictions of a stag and what looked like two dogs that had been carefully etched into the back wall. Around them were hundreds and hundreds of tiny hash marks, presumably meant to denote how long he'd spent in the cell. Finally, interspersed among the hash marks were three words repeated over and over again.

"_I'm Sorry Harry._"

In response to the group's approach, Sirius Black looked up and his eyes widened. "I -_cough- _I know you," he said with his eyes fixed blearily on James Potter. "You're my _brother_."

Potter's breath caught in his throat, while Stark shook his head. "This is Chief Auror Potter, Black. You will show him respect."

But Sirius ignored the Warden completely. "Yes -_cough_\- my brother ... in all but blood. My brother ... who was more ... of a brother ... than my _real_ brother." Then, with a sudden flurry of movement, Sirius scurried over to the edge of his cell and grasped the bars.

"_James_! Please! Fight it! Remember the truth! Remember that it was _Wormtail_ who betrayed you! Not me! _WORMTAIL!"_

James turned to the Warden with an inquisitive look on his face.

"Yes," said Stark, "he's been ranting off and on about '_Wormtail_' pretty much since he got here. By any chance do you know who he's talking about?"

The other man shook his head. "Not a clue."

At that, Sirius let out a low moan and started beating his head with his fists. Then, he suddenly looked up at Potter with a suspicious expression. "You're not James! Who _are_ you?!"

Stark sighed. "Quite mad, I fear. I don't see how you'll get much useful information out of him. Or any of them really."

"It's a long shot," Fudge agreed, "but right now, it's all we have. Now, what's the _protocol_ for opening the cell doors so we can administer the Veritaserum? I don't seem to see any locks on the doors."

"YES!" Sirius screamed. "FINALLY! GIVE ME VERITASERUM! ASK ME ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED THAT NIGHT!"

Stark flicked his wand angrily, and Sirius was flung back against the far wall. "Not another word out of you unless you're spoken to, _Black_! Or else I'll have a Dementor up here to spend the night right outside your cell door. You don't want to go through that again, do you?"

The prisoner said nothing but just slumped back down to the floor. Potter narrowed his eyes angrily at the Warden before wiping his face clean of emotions. The Warden didn't notice as he'd already turned back to Fudge while producing the plain brass rod he'd use to activate the lift.

"We open the cells with this, Minister. A single touch with this will open any cell in the prison."

"One key for every cell?" the Minister said in surprise. "That seems a bit lax."

Stark smiled. "The key is linked to my biomagical signature. If anyone else even touches it, the alarms are triggered and the prison goes into lockdown." He took a step towards the cell with the key raised. "Now, shall we begin? We don't have all night."

"Truly spoken, Warden Stark," Fudge replied as he glanced towards Potter and Proudfoot. Then, in a blur of motion, he produced his own wand and aimed it at the Warden's back. "_**STUPIFY!**_"

The Warden dropped like a stone, as did the other two guards who were taken completely by surprise. In his cell, Sirius sat up in sudden shock, and immediately, James Potter turned his wand on the prisoner.

"Sorry, old man," he said almost sadly as he fired off a Stunner. "It really will be better this way."

"Proudfoot, guard the pit," he ordered. Then, he and Fudge nodded to one another before heading around the circular chamber, stopping in front of each inhabited cell to stun the prisoner inside. Some begged for mercy or freedom, some screamed obscenities or just gibberish, some seemed utterly oblivious, but all went down the same. When Potter came to the lift doors, he cast the strongest Colloportus Trimendium he could before continuing on his route. Meanwhile, Proudfoot stood guard nervously over the hole in the floor. Suddenly, a hideous rasping sound echoed up from the Pit some ten stories below. Proudfoot shifted his wand grip nervously.

"I ... I think they're coming," his said as his voice cracked.

"They must have sensed our use of magic," Potter replied without taking his attention from the Death Eaters he was busy stunning into submission so that none would have any memories of events. "Breach of protocol and what-not. Still no alarms, yet, so we shouldn't have anyone coming from above. When you can _see _them, cast your Patronus."

Finally, Potter and Fudge met up at the opposite side of the room, where the maximum security level's sole female prisoner waited. Within, Bellatrix Black-Lestrange was rocking back and forth, giggling inanely while singing what sounded like a children's song in a disturbing "little girl" voice.

"_Dead Muggle, dead Muggle, swinging in a tree  
How many dead Muggles do you see?  
Tongues turned blue and faces gone grey  
Watch them all as they twist and sway!  
AHAHAHAHAHA!"_

Potter stared aghast at the madwoman. "Well, this is just ... _disturbing_," he finally said.

Fudge snorted as he stunned the woman. "You have a gift for the understatement," he said drily.

"Uh, they're definitely coming now!" Proudfoot exclaimed, his voice rising in terror. From somewhere below came the sound of furious chittering. "I ... I'm sorry ... I don't ... I don't think I can..."

Potter quickly moved to stand beside the younger man, and he placed his hand reassuringly on Proudfoot's shoulder. Then, he leaned in and whispered. "It's alright, _Marcus_. Just remember. Everything you've ever wanted will be yours if you can just make it another hour."

The young man bit his lip and nodded. Then, both of them pointed their wands down into the hole and cast together. "_**EXPECTO PATRONUM!**_" In response, two blasts of silvery fog shot from their wands down towards the approaching Dementors who screamed in terror and fury.

* * *

_**22 July 1993  
The Flint Home  
Noon  
(9 days ago)**_

Marcus had waited until lunch to tell his mother and father that he had accepted a new job and would be moving to Hogsmeade. To be honest, he'd stayed up must of the night unable to sleep. And while he'd planned to say something at breakfast, Aries Flint had slept in, as was usual for the mornings when his hangovers were particularly bad.

Marcus's mother, Alisandre, took the news well and was as congratulatory as she could be without provoking Aries's anger, which was a practice she'd been familiar with for most of their marriage. Not that it mattered. Aries himself was already furious.

"This is about that nonsense of you getting into the Auror Academy, isn't it, boy!?" Aries snarled.

"If I get in, I get in," Marcus replied. "If not, I'll do something else. Either way, I've got prospects now, and at least I won't be mooching off your coin, which you've been complaining about since I was a child."

Aries' eyes widened in anger. "Are you disrespecting me, boy?"

"Not at all, Da'. I'm just telling you my plans and letting you know that I'm no longer your concern. I'd thought you'd be pleased to see the back of me."

Aries snorted. "I will be, you useless lump. You with your fancy book learning and your prefect's badge. Thinking you're so much better than us."

"I don't think anything of the kind, Da'." And if Marcus put a little too much emphasis the word "think," it went right over his father's head.

A few insults later and Marcus had had enough. He rose from the table and flicked his wand, and a few seconds later, his already-packed trunk and his broom floated down the stairs.

"I'm going now," he said.

"An _auror!_ As if the Academy would ever take a _Flint_! And even if you got in, do you really think being an auror would save you _when the Dark Lord returns?!_"

Marcus turned back to his ranting father, a flash of anger in his own eyes. "The Dark Lord will _never _return! And if somehow he does, I will be _honored _to raise my wand against him!"

He turned back to leave ... only to be caught by surprise when his father grabbed him roughly by the shoulder, spun him around, and sucker-punched him in the face. Marcus fell to the floor, stunned for a moment, at which point Aries kicked him a few times.

"Aries! No!" Alisandre screamed.

Aries yelled at his wife to shut up and then turned back to continue his assault, only to freeze when he saw his son looking up at him in a murderous rage. And with his wand pointed at his face. Without breaking eye contact, Marcus rose to his feet. Then, he put his wand away before walking right up to his father to look him in the eye.

For a second, Marcus felt a strange dislocation. He'd not been this physically close to Aries in a long time and not looked him in the eye for longer. "_When did I get taller than Da'?"_ Marcus wondered in surprise. "_Has he shrunk or something?_" Then, he shrugged off the feeling.

"Hit me again," he said aloud in a low dangerous voice. "Go on, Da'. Hit me. I. Dare. You."

But Aries didn't hit his son again. Because for the first time since his son's birth, Aries found himself afraid of Marcus. After a brief staring contest, Aries finally looked away, his face suddenly flushed. Then, Marcus went to his mother and kissed her on the cheek before moving to pick up his trunk.

"I won't be back here," Marcus said with finality as he walked out of the Flint home and into his future.

* * *

_**Azkaban  
7:52 p.m.**_

"Remember, no corporeal Patronus. Nothing to identify us." Proudfoot nodded again even as his brow furrowed in concentration. Then, Potter shouted over his shoulder. "Oh, _Minister_. We can't do this for very much longer. Plus, we're making a bit of a ruckus now. We don't want the aurors to simply fly down from the top level on broomsticks, now do we?"

"Noted," Fudge said tersely. By that point, he had returned to his briefcase and extracted the inkwell which he'd opened and turned over, letting the ink pour out onto his hand. After a second, something solid came out as well: a small spherical object coated in black ink. He dropped the inkwell and pulled out his wand to cleanse both the item and his hand with a Scourgify. Within seconds, the object was revealed to be a luminous black pearl, which Fudge promptly tossed towards the open hole while casting a spell upon it. "_**ENGORGIO MAXIMUM!**_" In a flash, the pearl expanded to enormous size so that it completely blocked both the hole in the floor and the one in the ceiling. Potter and Proudfoot stepped back.

"And that's going to hold both the aurors and the Dementors?" Proudfoot asked dubiously.

"It's an Antipodean Black Pearl. It can withstand dragonfire. Anything that could damage it before we're done would probably destroy the whole tower in the process. It would be easier to dig a hole through the floor or wall and they're both transfiguration-resistant."

"Still," said Potter. "No reason to dawdle. Potion?"

Fudge pulled a potion vial from his bag and tossed it over. It was one of those that the guards on Seabase Acheron had identified as Veritaserum but which was, in fact, Draught of Living Death. The potion's true nature had been concealed by several very expensive and highly illegal vials often used by magical smugglers and criminals to make contraband potions look innocuous.

"The key is going to be a problem," Fudge said. "Can metamorphmagery duplicate a biomagical signature?"

"Nope," Potter replied. "Which means we are now officially on a tight schedule."

As he spoke, he moved to the unconscious body of Warden Stark and retrieved the brass key. Instantly, a deafening klaxon went off. Potter ignored it and touched the key to Sirius Black's cell, causing the cell door to vanish. He tossed the key to Fudge and entered the cell. There, he fed a few drops Draught of Living Death to Sirius Black before checking his vitals with a diagnostic spell. Satisfied, Potter touched his wand to Sirius's forehead and began the transfiguration.

Normally, full-body transfiguration of living human beings was incredibly difficult and taxing even for masters of the art. Transfiguration of the dead, however, was no more difficult than transfiguring any other inanimate object. And luckily for all concerned, a living body put into stasis with Draught of Living Death was "dead enough" for transfiguration purposes. Ten seconds later, Potter exited the cell carrying a small red brick with the name "S. Black" stamped onto it which he deposited in the Minister's case. Across the room, Minister Fudge was transfiguring Rabastan Lestrange into a similar looking brick.

Four minutes later, bricks representing Sirius Black and all three Lestranges were stowed away in Fudge's brief case. However, it was clear that time was growing short. There were sounds of spellfire coming from outside the lift door and from above the giant pearl, while the room had grown bitterly cold from the presence of what was likely an army of angry Dementors on the floor below. Fudge took a moment to pass out the three "Pepper-Up Potions" which were actually disguised Calming Draughts that would aid in resisting the Dementors' effects. Then, Fudge and Potter converged outside the cell of the last prisoner they would have time for today.

"Are you absolutely sure we need him?" Fudge asked.

"I hate to say it, but other than Sirius, he's probably the one we need _most_."

Fudge frowned but then gestured for Potter to open the door. Then, he went inside and stunned the unconscious man two more times for good measure.

"Is that really necessary?" asked Proudfoot anxiously.

"Yes," Fudge replied tersely. He knelt and fed a few drops of the Draught of Living Death to the prisoner before casting a diagnostic spell. His eyes widened slightly, and then he poured more of the elixir down before casting the spell again. "Shit!"

"What?" Potter asked urgently.

"It's not working. He still has residual brain function _despite _being under Draught of Living Death."

"That's impossible!"

"That's _Rookwood_," Fudge hissed. Then, he sighed in frustration. "We won't be able to transfigure him. Can the portkey handle his additional weight?"

Potter hesitated. "It should, but there will be little room for error. It is an experimental portkey after all."

Fudge nodded and then waved his wand all over the unconscious Augustus Rookwood. Instantly, his prison garb was transfigured into a heavy straightjacket that bound his arms tightly. With another wand-wave, the prisoner's food tray wrapped itself around his head and transformed into a heavy iron mask that both blocked Rookwood's vision and prevented any sort of speech.

"Is he really this dangerous?" Proudfoot asked nervously.

"Other than the Dark Lord," Fudge hissed angrily, "there is only one man alive I fear. And against my better judgment, I am about to free him from prison!"

Meanwhile, Potter had retrieved Fudge's briefcase and removed a parchment from within. He placed it on the floor of Rookwood's cell and then cast an overpowered Finite at it. Instantly, it resumed its true form: a large area rug within which a number of runes had been woven, runes that George Weasley would have recognized at once. He then laid the briefcase in the center of it and transfigured it into a steamer trunk into which the unconscious and bound Rookwood was unceremoniously dumped.

"We'll leave from in here. It's farthest away from the lift and there's an empty cell on each side. Less chance of anyone getting hurt, whether auror or prisoner."

"Your concern for convicted murderers is touching," said Fudge. "But are we quite certain we don't want to eliminate the other Death Eaters now while we have the chance? Better that than face them in battle later."

"Oi!" exclaimed Proudfoot. "I didn't sign up for mass murder."

Potter hesitated for an uncomfortably long time. "Agreed," he finally said.

"Hmmph," snorted Fudge. "Life in Australia has made you soft, _Potter."_

"Yeah," the other man replied. "And life with my cousin has made you hard, _Fudge_. Now everyone aboard the carpet. Proudfoot, hold onto the trunk and keep it from sliding around. I'm ... not exactly sure what that will do to the carpet ... or us."

"Hang on," the Minister interrupted. "I need to get the pearl."

"Are you mental?!" Proudfoot exclaimed. "The aurors and Dementors will get in if you do that!"

"If this _experimental portkey_ upon whom we've staked our freedom, reputations, and lives can't get us out of here fast enough to evade Dementors, then we were always doomed anyway. Meanwhile, the pearl is not only a priceless art object for which I paid _200,000 galleons_, it's also _something that can be traced back to me if it falls into the DMLE's hands_!"

And with that, Fudge fired off a Finite and an Accio in quick succession. The pearl shrank back to its normal size and then flew into Fudge's hand. Instantly, the temperature plunged as a horde of furious Dementors poured into the room like a black storm cloud full of cruelty and hate. Despite himself, Proudfoot screamed in terror.

"NOW!" Fudge yelled.

"CUE DRAMATIC ESCAPE!"Potter shouted to activate the portkey. The nearest Dementor was less than a foot away when suddenly there was a sizzle of electricity, a strong smell of brimstone, and a blinding flash of light. And from the deck of Seabase Acheron, the aurors who were mustered on deck and preparing to send reinforcements looked up in astonishment as a massive explosion shook Azkaban Tower and blew a huge gaping hole in the exterior wall right where the Maximum Security Level should be.

* * *

_**From a letter dated 24 July 1993  
(8 days earlier)**_

_RAB – _

_As you claimed, the modified Polyjuice Potion you provided lasts for roughly three times the normal length and is completely resistant to Thief's Downfall. However, the total duration of the transformation effect is inconsistent, and I would not rely on it for more than 150 minutes. More importantly, when the effect ends, the drinker will be overcome by violent nausea that lasts for nearly a day. In the immediate aftermath (roughly the first fifteen minutes after termination of effect), the sickness is so severe that spellcasting is impaired. I absolutely would not risk Apparation while under the side effects. Luckily, I know a portkey artificer who would be willing to provide us with conventional portkeys and even submit to Obliviation if the price is right._

– _LM_

* * *

_**Longbottom Manor  
9:30 p.m.  
**_

"My Lady," the house elf Hoskins said with appropriate pomp and circumstance, "your guests have arrived."

Momentarily, three exhausted figures, two of whom seemed quite sick, entered the study where Augusta and Harry waited. The trip had been arduous due to the understandable paranoia of the travelers – they had taken a total of three portkeys (in addition to the experimental one that had enabled their escape from Azkaban .. and that had later started a small fire in the Galloway Forest upon its arrival there) on a circuitous path around the British Isles, pausing at each new portkey site to carefully erase any magical evidence of their passage. They had also paused for fifteen long minutes to transfigure their clothing into something less conspicuous and, in the case of "Fudge" and "Proudfoot," to allow the effects of their modified Polyjuice Potions to wear off. There had been much vomiting involved.

"Success, gentlemen?" Augusta asked without looking up from her solitaire. Harry was less relaxed and actually shot up out of his chair when Regulus, Lucius Malfoy, and a green-looking Marcus Flint burst into the room, with a large steamer trunk floating close behind. Flint, in particular, looked like respect for the expense of the Longbottom carpets was all that kept him from getting sick once again.

"Qualified success, m'lady," Lucius said in a shaky but dignified voice. "Rookwood is ... contained, but not as completely as the others. I believe you indicated that you had a suitable storage place if that became an issue?"

She nodded. "Hoskins, show our guests and their ... luggage to the dungeon."

"There's ... a dungeon here, Lady Augusta?" Harry asked in surprise. Actually imprisoning the retrieved Death Eaters had not been part of the plan.

"The foundations of the manor date back to the original Longbottom Keep which was built in the 7th century. The first Lord Longbottom was, well, a bit of a blood-thirsty warlord by modern standards, but probably no more so than the rest of the old Wizards Council. I suppose the dungeons have been kept intact all this time because his heirs wanted a reminder of how civilized they've become. Or perhaps they were just concerned that civility might not always last and it was best to be prepared for future barbarism."

From a nearby padded chair, Marcus downed a Stomach Soother Potion and then sipped gently from a snifter of brandy that Harry had handed him.

"I still can't believe you talked me into this," he said to Harry almost reproachfully.

"Was it that bad?" Harry asked.

"Bloody Dementors were almost close enough to touch me because Lord Malfoy had to reclaim his _special magic pearl_!" Marcus shook his head. "No offense, Lady Longbottom, but I surely wish Neville could have come with us. We could have used his Patronus."

"I had two ironclad conditions before I agreed to participate in this mad scheme," Augusta said, returning to her solitaire as if nothing had changed. "One was that Neville would have nothing to do with this and would never even know about our role in it."

Marcus nodded. "And the other one?" he asked out of curiosity.

"That none of the Lestranges leave here alive," she said as if discussing the weather. Marcus gulped and then returned to his brandy.

Moments later, Regulus and Lucius returned from the dungeon.

"Rookwood is stored safely away," Reg said. "He's bound in chains and a straight jacket, gagged, blindfolded, and under Living Death. Plus, just in case he has any awareness of his situation, his mask is Charmed to sing a song called '_Tip Toe Through the Tulips_' on a continuous loop. If that's not enough to keep him from being a problem, then we might as well give up now."

"And on that note," Lucius said. "I must depart for home. Draco returns tomorrow from his visit with his little Muggleborn friend." He paused and then let out a soft laugh. "Which is something I could not have possibly ever saying imagined a year ago."

"So what's next?" Marcus asked blearily.

"We take a few days off to recuperate," Regulus answered. "Make sure there's no fallout from the jailbreak that might change our plans. Then, we'll meet up with the Legilimens Harry has recommended. If he's up to snuff and will agree to the necessary oaths, we can hopefully start interrogating the Death Eaters by the end of the week."

"There will be no fallout," Lucius said confidently. "The hard part is over. I expect everything to go smoothly from here on out."

* * *

_**1 August 1993  
From the front page of the Daily Prophet**_

_**!**__**DEATH EATERS ESCAPE FROM AZKABAN**__**!  
SIRIUS BLACK! BELLATRIX LESTRANGE!  
THE LESTRANGE BROTHERS! AUGUSTUS ROOKWOOD!  
YOU-KNOW-WHO'S ENTIRE INNER CIRCLE!  
WHO WILL SAVE US FROM THE DEATH EATER MENACE?**_

* * *

_**3 August 1993  
From the front page of the Daily Prophet**_

_**WIZENGAMOT TO ENTER EMERGENCY SESSION!  
MINISTER FUDGE TO DEMAND REINSTATEMENT OF DEATH EATER LAWS!  
CALLS FOR NEW AUTHORITY TO DEAL WITH DEATH EATER MENACE!**_

* * *

_**5 August 1993  
From the front page of the Daily Prophet**_

_**DEMENTORS UNLEASHED!  
FUDGE UNVEILS CONTROVERSIAL NEW PLAN!  
WILL USE DEMENTORS TO GUARD HOGWARTS AGAINST  
DEATH EATER MENACE!**_

* * *

_**5 August 1993  
Malfoy Manor**_

Lucius Malfoy sighed as he reviewed the days headlines. "Well, for some definitions of '_smoothly_,' I suppose.

* * *

**Next chapter (title TBA) sometime around May 15.**

**AN 1: I'm going to experiment with shorter chapters for a while to see if I can get back on a regular routine.**** I'm thinking one more chapter before the Hogwarts Express.  
**

**AN 2:The part of Warden Stark will be played by Brian Cox (Col. Stryker from X-Men 2).**

**AN 3: Updated 5/2/17. Just an FYI, I've fixed all the references to Nemesis the Owl I could find. I also corrected a few mistakes in "Three Princes" and also retconned a minot point - Voldemort gave the Diary to Abraxas Malfoy instead of Narcissa, which explains why Narcissa never attempted to use it to resurrect Voldie. I also finally corrected that stupid mistake about Lockhart's pensieve in "Investigations into Dark Matters." **

**AN 4: In response to comments from Nick 450, I have tweaked the Dementor "dialogue" to make it more ... Dementorish.**


	91. HP&DEM 8: Reactions & Overreactions p1

**HARRY POTTER  
AND THE DEATH EATER MENACE  
**

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.  
**

* * *

**CHAPTER 8: Reactions and Overreactions (pt 1)**

_**The Ministry of Magic  
4 August 1993  
8:30 a.m.**_

With a tremendous _whoosh_, Harry Potter passed through the green flames of the floo at Longbottom Manor and stepped into the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic. Lady Augusta followed behind, while Artemus Podmore was waiting on the other side for them both. Once through, Harry paused to look around in wonder. He had never been to the Ministry before, but so far, it lived up to his expectations. The Atrium was a massive cavernous area decorated in an art deco style. Around its perimeter were scores of brightly lit floos from whence scores upon scores of Ministry personnel came and went. Until he saw for himself just how packed the Atrium was even this early in the morning, Harry had never truly appreciated just how many witches and wizards were Ministry employees.

Then, he relaxed his Occlumency and looked again, using senses both more nuanced and more obscure than mere vision.

Suddenly, all around him, Harry could feel an undercurrent of tension and fear. Of the people moving around the Atrium, perhaps one in four had their wands out and gripped tightly in their hands as if expecting an attack at any moment. High on the walls of the four corners of the Atrium, balconies had been hastily constructed for use by auror sniper detachments armed not with wands but with magical battle staves that had previously been mothballed since the end of the Wizarding War. At the far side of the Atrium, just past the garish bit of statuary known as the _Fountain of Magical Brethren_ was the entryway to the Ministry proper which was now guarded by two ten-foot-tall security trolls. The behemoths growled softly at the nervous wizards and witches standing in line for magical identification, as if they were waiting for a chance to smash a Death Eater with the clubs they carried. For just a second, Harry was overcome by a miasma of barely restrained panic before he reasserted his Occlumency shields and dialed down his developing Legilimency senses. Luckily, Mr. X had warned him about the danger of large crowds at this point in his training, and Harry was able to shake off the brief but stifling emotional resonance as his solicitor stepped forward.

"Good morning, Harry. Lady Augusta," Artie said genially.

"That remains to be seen, Solicitor Podmore," Augusta said grimly. "An '_Emergency Session_' of the Wizengamot? Those have never ended well in the past, and I fear today's will go no better."

The magical solicitor nodded. "True. However, this does represent an unusual opportunity for Harry here to see the Wizengamot in full session. Usually, that only happens while he's away at Hogwarts. I do wish you'd consented to allow young Neville to come today for the same reason."

"Neville is abroad," Augusta said with a touch of coldness, as if to remind Podmore that he was not _her _solicitor and had no say in Neville's upbringing. "Given the history between the Longbottoms and Lestranges, that is where he will stay until this situation is resolved or he returns to Hogwarts, whichever comes first."

In fact, immediately after news of the Azkaban jailbreak had made the papers, Augusta owled a letter to Neville in Africa forbidding him to return to Longbottom Manor until further notice, supposedly out of concerns that the Lestranges might still have the means to bypass the Longbottom wards. She also instructed Reginald Longbottom to secure their African farms and keep a low profile until she contacted them again, either when the Lestranges had been recaptured or when it was time for Neville to return to Hogwarts, whichever came first. Of course, if things went according to plan, the Lestranges would _never_ be recaptured by the Ministry or indeed be heard from again. Still, it was the exact same thing she'd have said and done had she _not_ been a part of Regulus's conspiracy, and so it was fully in character for her.

As the trio left the floo, Harry and Artie stopped off at Ministry Munchies for a quick danish and pumpkin juice while Augusta left straight away for the Wizengamot level to change into her official robes.

"So how are you holding up with all this pandemonium?" Artie asked before biting into his breakfast.

Harry shrugged noncommittally. "To be honest," he lied easily, "it hasn't affected me at all. Certainly not like it has Neville or Lady Augusta."

"Hmm, well it's certainly affected your father. My understanding is they kept him in an interrogation room in his pajamas and bathrobe for several hours on Sunday morning after the jailbreak. Him _and _the Minister too."

"Really?" Harry replied with a trace of a smile. "How ... awful that must have been. But surely no one seriously thought that the Minister and the Chief Auror were really behind it all."

"No, but it took that long to rule out either a Confundus or the Imperius. Your father will be delivering his report today. Then, we'll see what the Ministry has to say for itself. My concern is that Fudge will be rattled enough and angry enough to propose something truly unwise."

"You don't like Fudge, do you?"

Artie frowned. "_Like _has nothing to do with it. If the Death Eaters are back, then he's probably the wrong man for the job, but there's not much that can be done about that now. And in his defense, Fudge himself knows perfectly well that he shouldn't have the job and fell into it by accident."

Harry gave him a questioning look, so Artie took another sip of pumpkin juice before relating Fudge's political background.

"In 1990, Millicent Bagnold declined to run for a third term as Minister due to health issues. Albus Dumbledore was asked to stand for the office, but he refused in favor of staying at Hogwarts. That left the way open for Bartemius Crouch Sr. to run virtually unopposed. Fudge at that point was an up-and-coming junior minister with the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. He threw his hat into the ring for Minister of Magic, but everyone understood that he was just trying to build name-recognition for some future office, most likely to get appointed head of the DMAC under a Crouch administration."

"So what happened?" Harry asked.

"The Quibbler, of all things! It had always been an offbeat, satirical publication, but back then it wasn't as, well, _patently silly_ as it is today, and it still regularly published serious pieces along with its customary strangeness. Five weeks before the election, the Quibbler ran an expose about Crouch's son, Barty Jr., a Death Eater who died in Azkaban after receiving a life sentence from a judicial panel headed by his own father. The story painted Junior as a well-liked and genial Ravenclaw who fell in with the wrong crowd because his father neglected his family in favor of his politic ambitions. It also suggested somewhat luridly that Crouch's wife had died of a broken heart after her husband callously ensured the death of her only child. Most of the facts of Junior's case were well-known already, and the whole thing would have blown over had Crouch not completely overreacted. He gave an interview to the Prophet in which he said that when he was Minister, he'd look into having Xeno Lovegood thrown into Azkaban for sedition! That, in turn, led to more stories that cast some of his more ruthless decisions as head of the DMLE during the War in a fairly negative light."

"Such as?" Harry asked.

"Oh, where to begin. You are aware, I suppose, that during the latter days of the War, aurors were authorized under the Death Eater Laws to use Unforgivables?" Harry nodded. "Well, prior to 1990, very few people outside of the DMLE and the Wizengamot understood just how freely those aurors had been permitted to use those forbidden spells. Most common wizards assumed that the law only allowed them to use the Killing Curse in self-defense and had no idea that aurors were also permitted to use the Cruciatus in interrogations and even to use the Imperius on captured suspects for things like leading aurors past the defenses of Death Eater safe havens or even betraying and attacking other Death Eaters. It wasn't exactly classified, but the number of Unforgivables cast by aurors and the situations in which they were cast had mostly gotten swept under the rug. And Barty Sr. personally authored the legislation that allowed aurors to use Unforgivables and then wrote the DMLE guidelines governing how they could be used in the field. It shouldn't surprise you to hear me describe them as _lax_ guidelines."

"But then, the Quibbler pulled that rug away and showed what was hidden underneath."

"Just so. Crouch may have been fervently opposed to the Death Eaters, but he was also ruthless and reactionary. A Muggleborn might have even described him as _fascistic_. And unfortunately for Crouch, he had made it a point to remind everyone of what sort of Minister he might make at the worst possible moment."

"And so everyone voted for Fudge, instead," Harry said.

"Oh, not everyone. The election of 1990 – a contest between a ruthless and unlikable authoritarian and an amiable dunce – was one of the closest in the history of Wizarding Britain, with unsupported accusations of vote-buying and other improprieties on both sides. I voted for Fudge, but it was a protest vote. I'd honestly expected him to lose. Crouch only conceded when Fudge agreed to appoint him Senior Minister for the Department of International Magical Cooperation and also Britain's chief delegate to the ICW, two titles that gave Crouch international authority that trumped that of the Minister of Magic when dealing with international wizarding affairs."

"Wait, so Fudge just _bought off_ his chief rival? And everyone knows about it?"

Artie shrugged. "That particular form of influence peddling isn't actually illegal under wizarding law. In fact, it's basically a tradition for an incoming Minister to reward whoever finished second with a prominent position of some sort. Usually, it's just a ceremonial one, but Crouch was certainly qualified to be Minister for the DIMC, and it's a position where he couldn't do much harm to Fudge's domestic agenda or personal popularity. But I digress. The end result was that Fudge, basically an okay but inexperienced fellow, unexpectedly landed in the Minister's chair and has been winging it ever since. And worse, though Fudge has never been a blood purist – or if he is, he's hidden it well – his base of support consisted heavily of suspected Death Eaters who were hellbent on keeping Crouch out of the Minster's position. Now to his credit, Fudge has made a point of relying on a diverse group of advisors but especially Albus Dumbledore, and as far as anyone knows, he's never taken any personal bribes."

"_Personal_ bribes?" Harry interrupted. "What other kind is there?"

Artie chuckled. "Usually '_donations_' to Fudge's pet causes. Which again is not technically illegal so long as he doesn't personally benefit from those causes. Other than sales taxes levied on wizarding goods and services offered by privately-held companies, nearly all of the government's income is derived from fees that wealthy families pay to maintain their Wizengamot privileges. Since the rich elites are basically paying for the government anyway, it's generally considered acceptable for this or that family to donate large sums of galleons for particular government projects. This family pays for a new wing for St. Mungo's. That family pays for new dragon-hide armor for the auror corps. Etcetera etcetera. And it's only proper, in most people's eyes, for them to get certain _special considerations_ in exchange for their largesse."

"This is probably just because I'm Muggle-raised, but wizarding culture sounds incredibly corrupt."

The older man shrugged. "It's a matter of perspective. The Muggle government taxes everyone and so, in theory at least, has to pay attention to everyone's wants, although it's not a surprise that it pays more attention to wealthier people than the poor. Among wizards, you need galleons to fund government projects, but the wealthy wizards are the only ones who have that much in liquid assets and so bear the brunt of taxation. Most common wizards don't have a lot of currency because they don't need it. With limited exceptions for food and shelter, magic can give you whatever you need to survive. If you know how to apparate, you can transport yourself almost anywhere. If you're good with Transfiguration, you can make most everyday items you need. If you know the Reparo Charm, nearly anything tangible you buy will last a lifetime or longer. In all of Diagon Alley, there are only four stores that sell clothing because only rich wizard-folk – or wizard-folk who want to be _perceived_ as rich – bother to pay for clothing produced by other wizards instead of simply transfigured out of used garments. I believe the comparable Muggle term is _post-scarcity society_. Most wizard-folk only need galleons in large quantities if they decide to operate a business of some kind, and they usually get the money from investors among the old rich families."

Harry wasn't entirely sure what _post-scarcity_ meant, so he made a mental note to ask Hermione about it later. "So basically, most wizards and witches can take care of their own personal needs without any aid from the government, but for big ... _society stuff_, I guess, the Ministry provides it and pays for it with taxes mainly paid by the wealthiest families in exchange for 'special favors'?"

"A crude but accurate summation," Artie said. "And if you think Fudge is bad, you'd have hated Millicent Bagnold. She was the one who signed off on dismissing all charges against dozens of marked Death Eaters who claimed with little supporting evidence to have been under the Imperius. She concluded that Sirius Black's confession made convicting most of them an impossibility, so she agreed to dismiss most of the remaining prosecutions if those accused paid out enough galleons to essentially rebuild our whole society after a decade of constant destructive warfare."

Artie glanced at his watch. "But we can continue the history lesson later. We'd best head towards the gallery. There's still a long line at the security check point."

"Will we get there in time?" Harry asked.

"No fears, Harry," Artie said with a slight grimace. "_Roll call_ will probably take a full hour."

* * *

_**9:00 a.m.  
An opulent London high-rise apartment overlooking the Thames**_

Blaise Zabini had only just risen from his bed when he heard the soft pop that marked the arrival of his temporary "house guest." He frowned at the clock. The thought of being up this early during his summer vacation was appalling, but Harry had asked for his help, help that Blaise had reassured the other boy that only he was capable of giving. Indeed, Blaise was quite certain he knew exactly what Harry Potter needed in this instance even if the other boy did not. And so the boy pulled on his robe over his pajamas and sauntered into the living room where the Countess's "British" house elf, Domo, was standing guard over the new arrival. From Harry's description, the twitchy terrified elf who Domo regarded so suspiciously could only be ...

"Dobby, I presume," Blaise inquired.

The poor creature practically jumped at being addressed by a wizard. "Y-y-yess, I's is being D-D-D-D-Dobby, sir," he said in a cringing tone before handing a letter of introduction over to Domo who snatched it up, checked it for baleful magic, and then handed it to Blaise. The boy reviewed the note which, as expected, was a letter from Harry confirming that this was his elf Dobby and that he was placing Dobby into his care for a few days for "_training_." Oh, and that Harry would be very, very cross if any harm came to Dobby or if he were mistreated any more than he already had been at Malfoy Manor back before Draco stopped being a git. Blaise snorted softly and pocketed the letter.

"Do you understand why you are here, Dobby?" he asked.

Dobby nodded violently. "Because ... because ... DOBBY IS A WORTHLESS STUPID HORRIBLE EXCUSE FOR AN ELF!" And with that, Dobby began to wail and weep piteously. Next to him, Domo said nothing but rolled his eyes to register his disdain for the display.

"Zip it!" Blaise said forcefully, and instantly, Dobby gained a measure of control over himself, though he did make a point of blowing his nose on the hem of his dingy tea towel tunic.

"You are here," the boy continued, "to learn how to be a proper servant for Harry Potter. Do you _want _to be a house elf worthy of Harry Potter?"

"Oh yes!" Dobby said excitedly. "Master Harry Potter is the greatest most wonderful wizard in all the world! Dobby would do anything ...!"

"Zip! It!" Blaise snapped again. "Harry Potter has sent you to me because he trusts my judgment about what is needed to make you a proper servant for him. And believe me when I tell you that only the best, most perfect servant is what Harry Potter needs right now. Nothing less will do. Are you willing to trust me as your master does and follow my instructions regarding how to serve him better?"

Dobby swallowed deeply. "Dobby will follow Master Harry's friend's wisdom."

"Good." Blaise turned to the other elf. "Domo, you may return to your duties. I will take breakfast at 9:30 out on the balcony. Fruit Loops with whole milk and a carafe of fresh orange juice, if you please."

"At once, Master Blaise," Domo said with approval for Blaise's menu choice. Then, he glanced over to Dobby and lifted his chin haughtily before disappearing with a pop.

"Right. Come over here, Dobby." Blaise led the elf over to the other side of the room, where sat many strange and arcane objects the likes of which Dobby had never seen before.

"This ... is _technology_, Dobby. Specifically, a big screen TV and a VCR. Think of it as Muggle magic. It is not compatible with your magic, so you must not touch any of this yourself, or you might damage it. But on this screen will be projected moving pictures that will tell stories to show you how best to serve Harry Potter. When one story is finished, come and find me, and I will swap out the videotape for another. Do you understand?"

Dobby nodded affirmatively. Although he knew nothing of TVs or VCRs, the basic instructions so far were within his grasp. Blaise then removed a videotape from a plastic case and inserted it into the VCR before holding the tape case so that Dobby could see its front cover.

"Do you see these two Muggles, Dobby? Good. Now, as you watch the show, I want you to pay particular attention to these two people. And I want you to imagine that this thin man is Harry Potter, and that this larger man who is his servant is _you_. Try to imagine responding to your master as this servant does to his. Do you understand?"

The house elf furrowed his brow. "Dobby thinks so. Dobby will do his best."

"Good. Now, sit comfortably and watch the whole program." With that, Blaise pressed the play button and then returned to his room to shower and get dressed, while Dobby sat on the floor and watched the television screen in wonderment as a jaunty fiddle and bass tune began to play and words appeared as if by magic.

STEPHEN FRY &amp; HUGH LAURIE

as

JEEVES &amp; WOOSTER

* * *

_**The Wizengamot Chambers  
9:45 a.m.**_

After a long wait in the newly-installed security line, Harry and Artie were finally allowed in, and Artie led the boy down into the bowels of the Ministry of Magic to the lowest level where the Wizengamot had already begun its Emergency Session.

"How can the Ministry possibly maintain a ten-story structure underneath _Whitehall_ without Muggles having any idea?" Harry asked. "We're not that far from the Thames. Why doesn't this place flood? Or at least feel ... damp?"

"Magic?" Artie replied with a wink.

"You know, Artie, after a while it gets old hearing '_magic_' offered as an answer to every serious question."

"Fair enough, Harry. How about '_ancient powerful centuries-year-old magic using master-level spatial expansion and Notice-Me-Not Charms backed by the combined magical power of all the ancient oaths sworn by the original Wizengamot families._' Oh, and master-level water-proofing Charms as well, I suppose."

"See? Was that so hard?" Harry said with a smile.

"Excruciating," Artie replied drily.

Though innocuously labeled simply as "Courtroom 10," the Wizengamot Chamber was roughly the size of the Hogwarts great hall but circular in shape. The public viewing gallery where Harry and Artie entered consisted of a single large balcony blocked off by various charms, wards, and spells to prevent observers from interfering in any way with Wizengamot proceedings. Even sounds were blocked, so observers could talk freely without being heard by those below. The viewing gallery overlooked an open area called the Well, which presently housed several tables set up for use by Chief Auror Potter, DMLE Director Bones, and Minister Fudge, along with their various adjutants. Immediately, Harry noticed that while most of those officials seemed tense but otherwise comfortable in their surroundings, one of the Minister's assistants seemed a bit out of place, and she continually looked around the chamber as if she could not quite believe where she had found herself. The woman appeared middle-aged, short, and a bit stoutish, and Harry immediately decided that she bore an unfortunate resemblance to a giant toad. Then, he chastised himself. "_Appearance is no guarantee of character or competence_," as Salazar Slytherin himself had noted in his memoirs, and Harry decided that it was unSlytherin of himself to judge the toad-woman on that basis. For all he knew, she might be a very nice lady.

Chief Warlock Albus Dumbledore sat behind an enormous judge's bench situated on a high platform that loomed over the Well opposite the viewing gallery. Harry was strangely pleased to see that his Headmaster had eschewed the plum-colored robes worn by the rest of the Wizengamot in favor of the eccentric garb he wore everyday at school. Today's robes were particularly bold and featured an eclectic mixture of chartreuse and ultramarine. Directly beneath the Chief Warlock's desk but on the same general level were seats for a court reporter (who also acted as a sort of bailiff) and a records keeper. In front of _them_ but on a lower level was a row of desks allocated to half-dozen or so Ministry officials who held Wizengamot votes by virtue of office. Harry was startled to see Ludo Bagman sitting in that section looking simultaneously confused and bored, but then he remembered that the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports was, inexplicably, among the offices with an ex officio Wizengamot seat. There was a dour and serious man sitting next to him who seemed visibly annoyed at the seating arrangements to judge by the look of disdain he had for Bagman, and Artie soon identified the older man as the very same Bartemius Crouch Sr. that they'd been discussing earlier.

Behind Dumbledore stood a set of double doors from which the Wizengamot members had emerged. Surrounding the Well of the chamber on either side of the Chief Warlock and the Ministry seats were three levels of box seating arranged in concentric arcs. The bottom row was for Order of Merlin recipients. To his surprise, Harry noticed an unusually grim Arthur Weasley in that section, wearing official plum robes far nicer than anything he'd ever seen the man wearing before. The middle row was for the Noble Houses and the top row for Ancient and Noble Houses. Immediately, Harry noticed that there were quite a few empty boxes, especially on the middle tier, and he asked his solicitor about them.

"The Wizarding War hit the Noble Houses particularly hard," Artie said. "Of the fourteen Noble families that have gone extinct as of 1981, only two have been replaced in the years since. Plus, there's House Greengrass which has been elevated to Ancient and Noble status and has left an open spot on the Noble row as a result."

"So why haven't they filled those seats yet?" Harry asked.

"Because they can't come to a consensus on who should have them. Think about it. With all those seats empty, the families who are still represented have more power because they control a greater percentage of the votes that can actually be cast. Filing those empty seats would dilute their power, even more so if they are filed with new families allied with their enemies."

Harry nodded and looked around the visitor's gallery, the large balcony overlooking the well of the chamber across from the Chief Warlock's seat. During this particular session, the visitor's gallery was open only to members of the press, certain non-voting government officials, and family members and agents of seat holders. So Harry was not terribly surprised to see Draco Malfoy ("Or now Drake, maybe?" he wondered) sitting off to once side watching the proceedings. He _was_ rather surprised to see who Malfoy was sitting with – their Muggleborn classmate Justin Finch-Fletchley!

After a few seconds of consultation, Artie left to speak to some colleagues while Harry made his way to his fellow students, both of whom greeted him warmly.

"Before we go any further, are we using '_Draco_' or '_Drake_' now?" Harry asked.

"Well, we're observing Wizengamot proceedings, so I think Draco would be best in here. My father's still not completely adjusted to my proposed name change."

"Fair enough. Also, Justin, please don't take this the wrong way, but ... how did you get in the door?"

Justin smiled. "Draco's father did a thing."

Harry crooked an eyebrow and then turned to Draco. "You've been teaching him how to speak Slytherin."

"We had a busy summer. He taught me to play cricket. I taught him how to be evasive."

Harry chuckled as he sat down next to his two friends. "So what have I missed?"

"Not much," Justin said. "The roll call is taking forever. We're only up to the M's."

"Speaking of which ..." Draco said.

Below them, the elderly court reporter called out in a thin reedy voice. "The Wizengamot calls Malfoy. Who stands?"

From a box on the top row, Lucius Malfoy stood and answered. "Lucius Lord Malfoy speaks for the Malfoy Seat. Twenty-seven votes."

Justin whistled softly. "Twenty-seven votes. That's the most anyone's had so far by a long shot. No wonder everyone at school looks at you funny, Draco!"

"Hmm," said Harry. "Obviously, I slept through History of Magic on the day that Binns actually explained how our government works. Why does your father have twenty-seven votes, Draco?"

"Binns never covered this, Harry, because it falls under the heading of _useful_ information. Ancient and Noble Houses get ten votes. Noble Houses get five. Then there is a pool of _reserved_ votes that go to Order of Merlin holders and certain lucky Ministry officials. In addition to my family's ten votes, Father still holds fealty from the Crabbes, Goyles, and Parkinsons, so that's four from each of them out of the five to which each of those Noble families is entitled. By an amusing technicality, he also holds proxy for the Lestrange Noble seat – at least until all of those nutters finally die off – which is another five. Ten plus five plus three fours equals twenty-seven. QED."

Harry nodded. Naturally, he was aware in general of how Wizengamot votes were allocated. He simply had wondered where the extra five votes from the Lestranges had come from. In fact, his worn copy of **Hutchinson's Commentary** had explained the Wizengamot's history in depth. The original Ancient and Noble Houses were descended from the seventeen powerful Roman families who relocated to the British Isles shortly before Rome's fall, and those families spent the next few centuries either warring with one another, interbreeding with one another, or both, until they finally settled their differences and formed the Wizards Council, the de facto magical government of the British Isles from roughly the 7th century until the Norman Conquest. During that time, only the Hogwarts Founders presented any challenge to their informal rule, though it was indeed a powerful challenge that eventually led to a peace treaty between Hogwarts and the Wizards Council that had held thus far for nearly ten centuries. In fact, the heavy losses suffered by the Wizards Council in their futile attempts to conquer Hogwarts left them open to what came next.

In 1066 A.D., William the Conquerer came a-calling, and in the wake of his successful invasion of Britain, another twenty-nine Norman, Breton, and French wizarding families relocated to William's new kingdom and immediately challenged the power of the Wizards Council. The conflict between the powerful and entrenched Roman families and the younger and more numerous invader families continued for decades, long after the Normans themselves had subjugated Britain. Finally, one member of the Wizards Council whose original family name was now lost broke his family's alliance with the other Ancient families and ultimately engineered a peace treaty between the warring magical factions. The result was the Wizengamot, a new magical government in which all of the families held power jointly but with the member families of the old Wizards Council granted additional voting privileges due to seniority. The "betrayer" family was allowed to hold its Ancient and Noble status, but in a final show of petulance, the other Wizards Council members cursed that family's line so that its true name would be lost forever and it would only be known as "House Bad-Faith" – or "House Malfoy" in the language of the Norman conquerors.

As he mentally reviewed that ancient history, Harry was only peripherally aware of the pronouncements from Houses MacMillan and Marchbanks (five votes each) and the lack of one from House MacKinnon (the court reporter called the name three times as a formality, but everyone knew the MacKinnon line had been extinct and unreplaced since 1980). But his head jerked up instantly when House Nott was called upon. Tiberius Nott stood for his House. "Ten votes." Then, Lord Nott turned his head in the direction of Lucius Malfoy and sneered. Harry said nothing, though his eyes narrowed. He wondered if Draco knew that within a few months, the votes of Crabbe, Goyle, and Parkinson would likely shift from Lucius's control to that of Tiberius. Lord Parkinson himself stood next and claimed ownership of the one vote he had left (the other four still proxied out to Lucius). The names Peverell and Prince were both called out, again as a formality as they too were extinct, though Harry noticed that Justin stiffened slightly when House Prince was called. Finally, it was House Potter's turn.

"Peter Pettigrew, Esquire, Seneschal and Proxy for House Potter, speaks for the Potter Seat. Twenty-three votes." Justin looked at Harry in surprise, and he gave the other boys a summarized account.

"The Potters are Ancient and Noble and so start with ten votes. James, Lily, and Jim _each_ held an Order of Merlin, which is another three votes. And then, it gets weird because somehow James holds the proxy for House Black which gives him _another_ ten votes."

James had explained it all to his Heir the previous Christmas. Apparently, Sirius Black, the secret Death Eater who betrayed the Potters to Voldemort, had for some odd reason also provided James Potter with a power of attorney letter granting him complete control over Sirius's legal affairs in the event of the latter's '_incapacity_.' When Arcturus Black died in 1991, Sirius Black automagically became the new Head of House Black even though he was incarcerated in Azkaban at the time. The Ministry investigated Black's affairs, found the power of attorney, and appointed James Potter as Regent for House Black until Sirius Black's eventual death, at which point either the Black seat would go to his heir if a suitable one could be found or the Black line itself would be deemed extinguished. Harry still found it amazing that James could be so certain that Sirius had betrayed him despite apparently entrusting him with the heart and soul of his family's political power.

"Is there a Black Heir?" Draco asked. "Mother said that if I had gone with her instead of Father, there was a good chance I'd become the next Lord Black, but that's out of the picture so long as I remain a Malfoy."

Harry shrugged. "I think it depends on if Sirius Black prepared a will or not. If there's no will, House Black will probably go extinct because there are no males to carry the family name."

"_Unless, of course,_" Harry thought to himself, "_Regulus can get past the hurdle of being both a suspected Death Eater and also __legally dead__._"

"If he _did _leave a will," the boy continued, "well, he's still my Godfather, and I do have Black lineage from Dorea Black-Potter. It's possible that I could be the next Lord Black if he filled out the right paperwork and I was willing to give up my Potter Heir status."

Draco made a face. "It's a good thing I don't hate you nearly as much as I used to." Harry laughed.

"So I guess this makes the Malfoys and Potters far and away the most powerful families in the Wizengamot?" Justin asked.

Draco shook his head with a rueful expression. "Unfortunately no," he said as he pointed back to the court reporter.

"The Wizengamot calls Selwyn," said the elderly wizard. "Who stands?"

From a box on the top row two spots over from Lucius, an attractive and relatively young-looking witch stood to address the Chief Warlock. "Cassilda Selwyn, Seneschal for the Ancient and Noble House of Selwyn, speaks for the Selwyn Seat," she said in gentle dulcet tones. "Thirty-two votes."

"Ancient and Noble, plus _four _cadet lines," Draco said to the other two boys with a disdainful sniff. "The Carrows, Warringtons, Travers and Yaxleys are all families that started as offshoots of the Selwyn line before getting elevated to Noble status, but they've all still sworn fealty to the Selwyns, so that's sixteen votes controlled by the main family. On top of that, they have _five _Order of Merlin holders plus a Ministry-seat holder from among their five families."

Harry turned his attention to Cassilda Selwyn, who spoke for her family but did not claim the title of Lady Selwyn. Although he had only be peripherally aware of the Selwyns for the past two years, he had not realized just how much power over the Wizengamot the family possessed. He decided now that the Selwyn family deserved more of his attention. In particular, who _was_ the current Lord or Lady Selwyn, and why weren't they on hand to claim the family seat personally?

* * *

As the roll call proceeded, Wizengamot pages moved among the various seat holders carrying private messages back and forth. Among them was a single piece of folded stationary delivered to Antonius Warrington. The outside of the stationary bore the Selwyn crest: a white shield with Slytherin-green trim and charged with a red rose whose thorns dripped blood. Beneath the shield was the Selwyn family motto:

"_Oderint Dum Metuant._"

"_Let them hate so long as they fear."_

As casually as possible, Antonius looked around the Wizengamot chamber. Cassilda Selwyn was not looking in his direction. Instead, she seemed focused on reviewing paperwork while completely ignoring both his presence and the pomp and circumstance of the proceedings. With a grimace, he opened up the note carefully, almost as if he were afraid of getting bitten by the paper.

"_Beloved Cousin Antonius,_

_Grandfather has taken an interest in these proceedings as well as other recent family matters.  
He desires a meeting of the five families tomorrow evening.  
Dinner will begin promptly at eight o'clock followed by a gathering in the ballroom._

_Of particular interest to our paterfamilias is your son, young Cassius.  
Grandfather has some __**questions**__ for him regarding the events which  
led to the expulsion of our dear cousin, Miranda Bonnevie, from Hogwarts. _

_I so look forward to dining with you and your family. _

_Until then, I remain  
Your Devoted Cousin Cassilda." _

Antonius Warrington stared at the seemingly innocuous note for a long time. So long, in fact, that the court reporter had to call out the name _Warrington_ twice before he finally noticed and rose from his seat.

"_/cough/_ Antonius Lord Warrington speaks for the Warrington Seat. One vote."

Warrington sat back down stiffly. Then, he blushed slightly in embarrassment as he noticed Corban Yaxley smirking at his discomfort while holding up similar note he had just received himself. Seconds later, Yaxley rose and addressed the court reporter.

"Corban Lord Yaxley speaks for the Yaxley Seat. One vote."

The roll call having been completed, the court reporter turned towards Dumbledore.

"Chief Warlock, 255 votes have been cast to open this Emergency Session of the Wizengamot. The quorum of 220 votes has been met."

"So noted," Dumbledore said. Then, he pulled out his wand and touched it to a small globe on his desk which lit up in response. "As Chief Warlock, I hereby call this Emergency Session to order."

And so, with the preliminaries out of the way, the Wizengamot's business began in earnest.

* * *

"_**Reactions and Overreactions (pt 2)" will be posted sometime during the first week of June. As noted last time, I'll be doing some shorter chapters for a while in hopes I can get my schedule back on track. I'd have made my deadline of the 15th had I not completely forgotten when Mother's Day fell.  
**_

_**AN 1: I seriously considered calling this chapter "Harry Potter and the Dump of Information," so apologies to anyone put off by its oppressive talkiness. Then again, after "Azkaban," perhaps we all need a breather.**_

_**AN 2: The part of Cassilda Selwyn will be played by Jenna Coleman. Young, radiantly-beautiful, but kinda scary once you see behind the mask.**_

_**AN 3: "On a Pale Horse" by ****Hyliian has updated for the first time in about a year, I think. Probably not for everyone, but if you like a creepy take on God-Harry plus an evil Dumbledore getting his comeuppance, you might enjoy.  
**_


	92. HP&DEM 9: Reactions & Overreactions p2

**HARRY POTTER  
AND THE DEATH EATER MENACE**

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

* * *

**CHAPTER 9: Reactions and Overreactions pt 2.**

_Somewhere, Sometime..._

_The little boy had been lost in the woods for longer than he could remember, and as the night got colder, he'd ended up huddled under a tree sobbing quietly and shivering both from the cold and from fear. For he knew that there was a monster after him, a great and terrible monster that would devour him whole if it caught him. Then, the boy gasped in terror as a demonic howl erupted from farther into the woods. It was some distance away, but closer than the last time he'd heard it just a few minutes before. The boy began to weep piteously. He was alone and cold and the monster would be here soon. Then, as that thought rippled through his terrified mind, the boy heard another sound much closer. He turned and saw that the bushes just a few feet away were rustling as some thing pushed its way through them. And the distant howl that had so frightened the boy was now replaced by a different animal sound. A low, hungry growl._

_The bushes parted, and the boy screamed. _

* * *

_**A heavily warded and reinforced chamber deep beneath the Temple of Wisdom in Shamballa  
6:42 a.m. (local time)**_

Remus Lupin ("Brother Chandra" to most of his peers at the Temple) awoke with a loud and painful gasp of air before looking around wildly around to find himself nude and alone in a cold, darkened chamber. He gave a relaxed sigh. All was as it should be. Then, he arose and moved to the locked door, stepping gingerly over the stripped carcass of a yak which had been provided by the monks and upon which his other half had dined heartily in the night. At the door, he closed his eyes and spent several seconds waving his hands in a complicated mudra that would have been beyond either the dexterity or the wisdom of a werewolf. The door clicked open, and Remus stepped through to the lighted antechamber where his clothes and wand were waiting. Naturally, the Alohomora Charm would have been faster and easier, but the risk of leaving his wand where it might be smashed by an anger-crazed werewolf was too great.

The English monk calmly dressed himself and then stepped back into his holding cell to vanish the yak's remains and Scourgify the cell. He made a mental note to spend time meditating in gratitude to the spirit of the animal for its self-sacrifice on behalf of his own mental health. He also made a mental note to gargle as soon as possible to get the taste of yak meat out of his mouth. At this point on his spiritual journey, Remus only ate meat while in the throes of his lycanthropic transformation, and he had grown to otherwise dislike the taste of it, especially when it was still raw and bloody. However, years of study had shown that if the Beast was allowed to slake its hunger for flesh on a sufficient quantity of animal flesh, it was less likely to take out its anger at confinement on its own physical body, and the taste of yak breath was a small price to pay to not wake up half-dead and covered in scratches and claw-marks. Indeed, except for the intense recurring nightmare that came with every transformation just before he woke the next morning, Remus considered his transformations almost consequence free.

From his transformation chamber, Remus climbed the many stairs up to his own rooms, bowing respectfully to all the other monks who crossed his path, all of whom returned the bow with equal respect. Back in his private chambers, Remus took a quick cold shower and dressed in fresh clothes. When he returned to his sitting room, there was a small tray waiting on his table containing fresh fruit, rice, fish broth, and juice, along with a folded copy of the _Daily Prophet_. Remus smiled. In all his time in Shamballa, he had never actually seen a house elf here, but he knew the Temple had some. Unlike the elves back in Britain, however, the house elves of Shamballa were almost never seen in physical form, preferring to perform their duties silently and invisibly.

The wizard sat at his table, popped a peach slice into his mouth, and opened the paper ... only to spit the fruit out after nearly choking on it.

**DEATH EATERS ESCAPE FROM AZKABAN!  
SIRIUS BLACK! BELLATRIX LESTRANGE!  
THE LESTRANGE BROTHERS! AUGUSTUS ROOKWOOD!  
YOU-KNOW-WHO S ENTIRE INNER CIRCLE!  
WHO WILL SAVE US FROM THE DEATH EATER MENACE?**

Nearly in shock, Remus tore through the article.

"Sirius ... free," he whispered to himself in a flurry of mixed emotions. And if the Betrayer was free, it was a safe bet he might try to pick up where his master had left off. Remus shook his head. It seemed that Jim's training could no longer be left off until the following summer, just as it seemed that Remus's reunion with young Harry could no longer be delayed. He reached for his wand.

"_**EXPECTO PATRONUM**_," he intoned, and a beautiful silver wolf appeared at his side. "Go to Healer Baskar and the High Lama. Tell each of them that I humbly but urgently request an audience with them both as soon as their schedules allow." The wolf nodded and then disappeared. Remus swiftly moved to a writing desk from which he withdrew some parchment and a quill that hadn't been used in years.

"_To Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster,  
Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry"_

* * *

_**4 August 1993  
The Weasley Burrow  
Noon**_

After a busy morning of de-gnoming the garden, the five youngest Weasley children entered the Burrow for lunch. Percy stopped to turn on the Wizarding Wireless just in time for the noon news broadcast.

"Percy," Molly scolded gently. "We don't listen to the Wireless at the dinner table."

"I'm not listening for music, Mum," the boy replied. "There's supposed to be a news update about the Wizengamot hearing."

"Yeah," said Fred with a laugh. "Maybe Dad will get to give a speech."

"Oh, behave, Fred," Molly said with some irritation. "This is a very important meeting, and it's a great honor for your father to be there among the Order of Merlin holders." Before she could say any more, the music on the wireless faded away to be replaced by the dulcet tones of the lunchtime newsreader for the Wizarding Wireless.

"_Good afternoon, witches and wizards. This is Alcmene Doolittle with the twelve o'clock news. It has been four days since the daring jailbreak from Azkaban that has riveted the entire nation. Thus far, the DMLE has no leads on the fugitive Death Eaters, which include Sirius Black, Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange, Bellatrix Black-Lestrange, and Augustus Rookwood. Should any of our listeners have any information on the whereabouts of the escapees or the unknown individuals responsible for their escape, we urge you to contact the DMLE at once. For the moment, the DMLE advises that Magical Britain's threat level is rated as 'Red-Severe.'_

_The Wizengamot is currently in recess for lunch and will resume deliberations at two o'clock. This morning's session was brief but contentious. After the Calling of the Rolls and the ceremonial renewal of the Vows of Unity, the reports of the DMLE and the Auror Corps regarding the escape were presented, followed by a brief but spirited question-and-answer period. DMLE Director Amelia Bones began the report by officially clearing Minister Fudge, Chief Auror Potter, and Auror Michael Proudfoot of any involvement in the escape. Immediately thereafter, a point of order was raised by Lord Yaxley as to whether Polyjuice Potion was used and, if so, whether it spoke to a failure of security on the part of the DMLE that hair samples from such illustrious personages could be obtained so easily by enemies of the state._

* * *

_**Approximately one hour earlier...**_

James stiffened slightly at the implied rebuke from Yaxley, a man he was almost certain was an unmarked Death Eater.

"Our preliminary investigation indicates that the three intruders responsible for the breakout maintained their forms after at least two hours and two separate exposures to Thief's Downfall," James said, referring to the report on the table in front of him. "This would seem to exclude the use of Polyjuice Potion. Accordingly, we are proceeding under the assumption that the intruders were a trio of Metamorphmagi."

Up in the gallery, Harry's brow furrowed. While it was to the benefit of Regulus's conspiracy, he was surprised that the DMLE had dismissed the possibility of an improved Polyjuice so completely. Then, he realized that they probably hadn't dismissed it at all but were simply downplaying that possibility to prevent panic. Better the nation think that there were three rogue shapeshifters than a possible army of them that were immune to detection.

"Chief Warlock, I rise to a point of inquiry," said the venerable Griselda Marchbanks. The ancient witch rose stiffly to her feet, as she was recognized by the Chief Warlock. 'I was given to understand, Lord Potter, that there is only one known Metamorphmagus in all of Magical Britain, a young woman currently studying at the Auror Academy. Has she been investigated in connection with these monstrous acts?"

"She has, Lady Marchbanks. At the time of the prison break, she was at home with her parents in Hogsmeade." Then, James took a deep breath as Tiberius Nott rose as well. Up in the gallery, Harry's eyes flashed angrily before his mask of perfect calm slipped back into place.

"I also rise to a point of inquiry, Chief Warlock." There was a slight but noticeable hesitation before Dumbledore recognized the man who then turned his attention to the Chief Auror. "Lord Potter, am I correct in assuming that the young Metamorphmagus of whom you speak is one Nymphadora Tonks, the daughter of Andromeda Tonks ... _formerly of House Black! _Specifically, the sister of one of the escapees, the cousin of another, and the sister-in-law of two more?!"

There was a burst of excited whispers from the assembled peers at the invocation of the Ancient and Noble House of Black, whose seat was currently vacant. From the Chief Warlock's desk, Dumbledore banged his gavel for order.

"And furthermore," Nott continued, "am I not also correct in my understanding that this is the same Andromeda Tonks who currently provides sanctuary to the outcast known as Theodore No-Name!"

That announcement led to even louder commentary and even a few gasps until Dumbledore banged his gavel again and with perhaps more force than tradition allowed.

"The point of inquiry is ruled out of order, Lord Nott," he said firmly and with a hint of coldness. "Whatever else he may be, Theodore No-Name is a child of only thirteen years, and his current housing arrangements are not relevant to this discussion. Likewise, Andromeda Tonks has never been accused or even suspected of any criminal acts against the State or the people of Magical Britain, and she is, in fact, a well-regarded member of the Hogsmeade community with a sterling reputation. The Wizengamot does not adjudicate guilt or innocence on the basis of family history, Lord Nott, _as I'm sure you recall_."

Tiberius's eye twitched slightly. "... I withdraw the point of inquiry, Chief Warlock," he said tersely before sitting back down.

Then, it was Lord MacMillan's turn to be recognized. Harry knew little about the MacMillans. The MacMillan Heir was a Gryffindor who had graduated during Harry's First Year. He vaguely recalled that the younger son, Ernie, was in his year, but the boy was a Hufflepuff, and Harry was sure they'd never spoken for more than a few minutes.

"Chief Warlock, I rise to a point of order. Director Bones, setting aside the Tonks girl, that still leaves at least two other Metamorphmagi involved in the attack on Azkaban. If there are no other known Metamorphmagi in Wizarding Britain, what consideration is the DMLE giving to the possibility of foreign agents being responsible for the attack?"

Director Bones replied. "The DMLE is considering all avenues of investigation, Lord MacMillan. That said, at this time, we cannot exclude the possibility of involvement by foreign wizards and even foreign governments, though we as yet have no idea as to any possible motive for a foreign wizarding government to free Death Eaters from Azkaban prison."

From across the room, Lord Parkinson (Pansy's father) gave a loud snort of laughter. "With all due respect, Director Bones, I think that bespeaks of a lack of imagination on the part of the DMLE."

Director Bones did not rise to the insult, though her expression made her feelings about Parkinson clear. Dumbledore apparently felt the same, as he ruled the comment out of order and chastised Parkinson for speaking without being recognized. Then, to Harry's surprise, Peter Pettigrew stood up from the Potter seat to make his own point of order. Dumbledore glanced down at James for a fraction of a second before recognizing the Potter Seneschal.

"With respect to my learned colleagues," Pettigrew said. "I believe it is premature to speculate wildly on the nature of the threat we face when the investigation is only begun. Certainly, we discredit ourselves and this institution if we frighten the wizarding populace with groundless insinuations about foreign invaders working alongside Death Eaters. With that in mind, perhaps it would be best to move on to another matter. Lord Potter, a point of inquiry: Regardless of how the intruders gained access to Azkaban, whether metamorphmagic or other means, does your investigation have any leads on how they were able to _escape_from Azkaban?"

James rose to respond almost as soon as Peter started speaking. After a second, Harry nodded to himself in understanding. He felt quite sure that Peter had asked his question in response to some discreet signal from James in order to divert attention away from something James didn't want to discuss at the moment, most likely something to do with the international implications of the jail break. Idly, he wondered which of the two came up with the stratagem. "_Probably Pettigrew_," he thought, "_or maybe even Dumbledore_."

"We do have some leads," said the Chief Auror. "It appears that the intruders have access to some kind of advanced portkey method, one capable of penetrating the anti-portkey wards of Azkaban Prison. Accordingly, we have instituted a crack-down on the illegal manufacture and sale of portkeys by unlicensed distributors."

After that pronouncement – that the (possibly foreign) shapeshifting invaders had access to portkeys seemingly able to slice through some of the most powerful wards ever devised – it took quite a lot of gavel-banging before order was restored.

* * *

_**One hour later ...**_

"_Although much concern was expressed over the possibility of portkeys capable of circumventing anti-portkey wards, Director Bones and Chief Auror Potter were quick to address fears that such portkeys could be used to penetrate wards on public facilities or private homes. As Director Bones noted, the intrusion into Azkaban Prison required a daring use of shapeshifters to penetrate the prison's security and remain undiscovered for several hours. This, she said, strongly implied that it was not possible to simply portkey __into__ a warded area and that the advanced portkeys simply allowed one to, as Lord Potter phrased it, 'blast their way out.'_

_After the reports were submitted and approved, the Wizengamot adjourned for two hours. When the session resumes this afternoon, it will begin deliberations on how to respond to this terrorist event, including a review of Minister Fudge's controversial proposal to reinstitute the Death Eater Laws which had previously been repealed in 1981._

_For the Wizarding Wireless News, I'm Alcmene Doolittle."_

George Weasley stared wide-eyed at the Wizarding Wireless for a long moment before heading quickly to the stairs.

"George, where are you going?" Molly asked. "We're about to start lunch."

The boy looked back at her, and Molly was shocked at his gaunt expression.

"I'm ... not feeling very well, Mum. Think I'll go lie down for a bit if that's okay." Then, without waiting for an answer, he practically ran up the stairs. Concerned, Molly started to follow him when Arthur called her name from the floo. As she went to speak with her husband, Percy looked over to Fred and jerked his head in the direction of the stairs.

A moment later, Fred entered the room he shared with his twin, with Percy close behind.

"Right, George, what's going ... on...?" Fred's voice faded away as he took in George's ashen face. The boy was sitting on his bed and staring forlornly at the floor, and he looked like he was on the verge of either bursting into tears or vomiting. Percy moved past Fred to sit next to George. He put his arm on the frightened boy's shoulder.

"George," he said in a gentle voice. "whatever it is, it'll be okay. Just talk to me."

George finally looked up at his brothers. "It's my fault. The bad guys who staged the prison break – they used _my_ portkey design to break out. I'm ... I'm a part of all this."

Fred snorted softly. "Pull the other one, Georgie."

"I'm serious!" he exclaimed angrily. "Look, don't you two get it? One of the people who broke into Azkaban was disguised as Auror Proudfoot. The _same_ Auror Proudfoot who showed up here to collect my portkey notes and then warn all of us not to talk about it with anyone. _We had a Death Eater in our house! Hell, he was __alone with Mum__ for part of the time! _Who _knows_ what he might have done if I hadn't just handed over all my notes like an _idiot_!"

"So you think there's a connection between Professor Lockhart's research projects and the Azkaban breakout?" Percy asked in a soft voice.

"There's got to be," George replied. And then to his surprise, Percy let out a short, slightly hysterical bark of laughter. "What's so funny?"

Percy shook his head and turned to George. "Well, look on the bright side, George. At least you're not the _only_ Weasley to have been an unwitting accomplice."

"Eh?" Fred asked in confusion.

Percy looked back and forth between the two twins as he explained.

"The day before Lockhart took a runner from Hogwarts, I turned in my final project for Team Chameleon, the research team working on Polyjuice Potion. My paper was about a theoretical way to extend Polyjuice's duration. It wasn't a particularly safe modification, as it would probably make you quite sick once the transformation wore off. But if the research we all did for Lockhart was used by the people who staged the jailbreak, I reckon I'm as much of an accomplice as you."

He snorted softly. "I guess there goes that Ministry job for sure."

Fred just shook his head. "It's your own fault, both of you. You could have been lazy underachievers like me and just spent the whole year running laps around the castle, but _noooo!_"

* * *

_**Florian Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor  
1:00 p.m.**_

"I'm surprised you weren't there this morning," Harry Potter said somewhat mischievously to his twin. "I'd have figured that our parents would want to show you off at Wizengamot sessions whenever possible."

"And normally you would be right," Jim replied somewhat ruefully before taking another drag on his milkshake. "I haven't had to go since I started at Hogwarts since regular sessions happen while we're at school, but before then, I occasionally got dragged to them for special occasions. And if you think an hour or so of just taking roll was boring this morning, imagine having to listen to it when you're _seven _and our Mother has stuffed you into formal children's robes. Luckily, Mum and Dad's paranoia about Death Eater followup attacks against the Wizengamot meant I got to sleep in this morning."

The two boys had a table to themselves at Fortescue's while their parents sat at a separate nearby table along with Artie Podmore. As they talked and drank their milkshakes, the two tried to politely ignore the two aurors stationed nearby as their bodyguards.

"So do you actually enjoy all that political stuff?" Jim continued.

"Enjoyment has nothing to do with it," Harry said. "Politics is part of being a Potter. And if we _don't_ work at it, we'll just be ceding more power to the bad guys."

"Hey, I thought I was supposed to fight the bad guys while you did the _boring stuff_," Jim said, recalling their very first conversation on the day the Potters collected Harry from Privet Drive.

Harry laughed. That conversation seemed so long ago. He'd been so ready to hate Jim, and for a while, Jim seemed eager to earn his hatred. He was glad they seemed to have gotten past all their prior hostility. Of course, he still wasn't ready to forgive James and Lily by any means, and certainly not to the point of giving them the power to interfere with his life again. But if James and Artie could work out an arrangement to guarantee Harry's status, safety, and independence, maybe ...

"We're both Potters, Jim. I think we'll both end up fighting the bad guys in our own different ways." He lifted up his own milkshake. "To fighting the bad guys," he said as a toast. Jim chuckled and raised his own glass to clink against Harry's.

"And speaking of bad guys, what do you think about the jail break?" Jim asked.

Harry shrugged and then launched into the answer he'd prepared before the jail break had even happened. "Honestly, I'm trying not to think about it. I'm confident that the aurors will get the escapees caught and locked up. And if not, it's because the escapees are already out of Britain, which means they won't be any immediate threat to us anyway. I'm taking too many classes this year to spend any spare time worrying about former Death Eaters who are probably too emaciated and insane to be a threat to anyone."

"Yeah, but if Voldemort is summoning his followers..." Both boys took a second to smirk at the horrified gasps from their bodyguards who were apparently still to afraid to say the Dark Lord's name.

"Then we'll deal with it when the time comes. But you and I are students. It's not our job to obsess over what Voldemort" /gasp!/ "might be doing. If it comes to that, you'll take him down and I'll be right there with you. But for the time being, I'm more worried about Ancient Runes and Arithmancy."

Jim shuddered. "Brrrr. I think I'd rather fight Death Eaters."

"What are you taking for electives?"

"Divination and Care of Magical Creatures. Easy Outstandings."

Harry snorted. "Well, I'll see you in CoMC, but Divination? Just for an easy O?"

"Not _just_ for an easy O," Jim replied. "I _am_ the subject of a True Prophecy, if you'll recall. I figure maybe it would be a good idea for me to learn a bit about how those things work."

"And also, it's an easy O."

"Yes, and also it's an easy O."

The twins both laughed.

* * *

"So you think there's a chance of finally getting all of this resolved?" James asked hopefully.

Artie hesitated. His client had authorized him to discuss possibly resolving the conflict between Harry and his family, but the solicitor was conflicted. On one hand, he thought it would be good for Harry to develop a positive relationship with his parents if it be feasible. On the other, he was not yet persuaded that James and Lily Potter would do right by their son and Heir. He had finally figured out Lily's position. She did care for Harry, but she felt certain that his life would be in continual danger if he stayed close to Jim. That much was clear from how she continually looked over at the table where the boys sat together chatting and eating ice cream, as if she feared that Death Eaters would burst in at any second to claim both boys despite the presence of two plain-clothes aurors just one table away. Her desire for reconciliation was tempered by her barely concealed wish to relocate Harry to the Antipodes to be instructed by trusted tutors in a bunker protected by the Fidelius Charm, even if that meant he never saw the rest of his family again.

James was harder to figure out. At first, back during Harry's first year, Artie had assumed that Lord Potter was simply biased in favor of the Boy-Who-Lived and also hopelessly prejudiced against Slytherins. Now, though, he was certain that James's motivations were more complicated, but Artie still couldn't begin to fathom why he would be so upset at having an Heir as formidable as Harry no matter what House he was in.

"I certainly hope so, Lord Potter," he finally said. "But at a minimum, it would be contingent on Harry feeling assured that his Heir status won't be compromised at any point."

"Why is he so afraid of that?" James asked.

Artie grimaced. "Lord Porter ... Harry is aware of the fact that you tried to disinherit him back in 1982."

Lily's head jerked around, and she glared at James in reproachful surprise. "James!"

"It's not like that, Lily. This was years and years ago, right after we sent Harry away." He turned to Artie. "At the time, everyone assured us that Harry was a squib, but he would still be the legal Heir until he was officially identified as such, and that wouldn't have happened until he was eleven. At the time, the war was still just winding down, and I was a young patrol auror, a very hazardous job. If I had died, House Potter would have needed a regent until Harry either showed magic or failed to get a Hogwarts letter. And I'm sorry, Lily, but I don't think the Wizengamot would have approved a Muggleborn regent for an Ancient and Noble House, and Merlin only knows who they'd have a appointed in your place. In fact, at the time, I think my closest Pureblood relative was _Narcissa Black-Malfoy_! But because Jim had already shown powerful magic, if he were the Heir when I died, Peter could have gotten him Lord Conditional status, and then you _could_ have held his regency no matter what any of the Purebloods thought about it."

He sighed heavily. "And anyway, I never even got past the initial stages before Peter and I concluded that we couldn't take away Harry's Heir status without revealing his existence and where he was staying to the general public, thereby endangering his life. At that point, I dropped the idea completely."

"I am sympathetic to the situation you were in at the time, Lord Potter," Artie said. "But you must understand how all this looks to the boy. He has every reason to be distrustful to your intentions towards him. And if you truly want a reconciliation, you're going to have to give him assurances. Assurances that, according to my prior conversations with Mr. Pettigrew, you have not been inclined to make."

"Peter has a tendency to be ... overprotective where Jim is concerned," Lily said diplomatically. "This is one of those areas where maybe there's a conflict between his role as Seneschal and his roll as Jim's godfather. That's why I ... _we_ wanted to talk to you for once without his input."

Artie absorbed that information while idly stirring his now melted ice cream. "_Interesting. So Mrs. Potter is concerned that Pettigrew's fondness for Jim is clouding his judgment where Harry is concerned." _Then, he frowned at his ice cream.

"You know, I can honestly say that I've never held a negotiation at an ice cream parlor before. It's oddly discomfiting. I've had a few in the private dining rooms at Summerisle's but never at Fortescue's."

James laughed. "Lily hates Summerisles for some reason. I've tried to get her to try it, but she refuses to set foot inside."

Lily stiffened. "I've tried it, James. It's just, well, I had an unpleasant dining experience there once, and I don't care to be reminded of it."

But then, despite herself, Lily looked across Diagon Alley towards the famous wizarding restaurant and frowned. It had _indeed_ been a very unpleasant dining experience.

* * *

_**Summerisles  
25 July 1976**_

_The young Muggleborn girl sat nervously at her table waiting for her "luncheon companion." Although she was in her best dress, she was acutely aware of how her Muggle attire made her stick out against the wealthy magicals in the restaurant in their fine robes and elaborate pointy hats. None of them appeared to pay her any mind, but she assumed at least some of them were whispering "Mudblood" under their breath. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, a figure moved past her and slid into the chair opposite._

"_I do apologize for my tardiness, my dear," the other woman said. "But thank you so much for coming. I've been looking forward to meeting with you."_

_Lily tried to smile but it faltered on her lips. "Your invitation was most ... insistent, your Ladyship. Not to be rude, but __why__ exactly have you been looking forward to meeting me?" As if the girl didn't already have a general idea. Something to do with the Toe-Rag._

"_Please, Lily," said Lady Potter almost earnestly. "Call me Dorea. After all, I'm hopeful that you and I will become great friends." _

* * *

_**The Present ...**_

"But enough about all this boring '_escaped Death Eater_' stuff," Harry said, diverting the topic. "Have you seen the new Firebolt yet?"

"Not yet. I tried to get Mum to take me by Quality Quidditch Supplies on the way here, but she wouldn't go for it. There was a big crowd around the window gawking at it, and she was worried about safety." Jim frowned. "I think there's going to be a lot of that going on this year. _No, Jim, you can't do that. __Safety!_ I mean, they haven't even decided if I can leave Hogwarts for Hogsmeade weekends this year. Will you be able to?"

Harry grimaced. "Don't know yet. It depends on Lily and James. The injunction against them forbids them from '_interfering with my education and living arrangements_," but it's a Hogwarts policy that you have to have a permission slip signed by a parent or guardian to visit Hogsmeade. Then again, other than Zonko's and the Quidditch supply store, there's not really that much to Hogsmeade, or so I'm told. Blaise Zabini describes it as '_a magical hick-town_' and '_Branson, Missouri for wizards_.'"

Jim furrowed his brow. "I don't know what that means."

Harry coughed. "Well, to be honest, neither do I, but it sure sounds depressing."

* * *

"Well, I do think we've made some progress today," Artie said. "I don't think we're quite ready for Harry to move back to Potter Manor for good nor even ready to dissolve the injunction. But I believe that I see the beginnings of a possible resolution of the issues between you two and your son. Perhaps we could meet up again for another such informal meeting this fall. At the Three Broomsticks during a Hogsmeade weekend, perhaps?"

"Well, in light of everything that's happened," Lily replied, "we haven't actually decided whether to sign either of the boy's permission slips yet..."

"Actually, Lily-Flower, I've been giving it some thought," James interrupted. Something in his voice caught Lily's attention, and she stared at him as he continued. "There will be a heightened security presence in Hogsmeade this year. And we can both make it a point to be at all the Hogsmeade weekends to act as chaperones. I really don't see why we shouldn't allow the boys to enjoy the Hogsmeade experience, do you?"

Lily crooked an eyebrow. They had discussed the matter just the night before, and it had been James who'd voiced the loudest objections, objections he now seemed to have abandoned. James tried unsuccessfully to stand up to his wife's gaze before turning away and coughing softly with an oddly embarrassed look on his face. Lily said nothing but simply studied her husband's face while looking for his usual tells, most of which now seemed to say "_there's something stupid I've done that I'm ashamed to tell you about_."

* * *

_**One hour earlier, just as the morning's Wizengamot session ended...**_

_"Ah, James," said Cornelius Fudge in a surprisingly upbeat voice. "Well done so far, I think. The morning session went as well as it possibly could have."_

_Potter agreed. "Yes, a lot of the peers are frightened, but they're not panicking yet."_

_"Hopefully, that attitude will continue this afternoon once we're discussing solutions instead of just defining the problem." He turned and looked up towards the Gallery. "I say, is that Jim sitting with Draco Malfoy. I hadn't thought them likely to form a friendship."_

_James followed the Minister's gaze and frowned. "That's my other son, Harry. He's in Slyltherin."_

_"Ah, of course. So where is young Jim? I'd hoped to speak with him and reassure him that we were doing all we could for his defense."_

_"He's at home, right now. Lily and I wanted to see how the new security arrangements were working out before we let him come to the Ministry."_

_"A sensible precaution, I suppose. Here in the heart of downtown London, the Ministry's security is still ... questionable. Still, perhaps I'll get to see him at Hogsmeade this year?"_

_James hesitated as he wondered why the Minister of Magic was so eager to see Jim. Then, he realized – Fudge was more interested in being seen with Jim than in just seeing him._

_"To be honest, Cornelius, Lily and I haven't decided yet about that."_

_Cornelius leaned in closer to Potter. "James," he said in a softer but more urgent voice. "It is very important that we do everything we can to prevent public panic at this moment. Most of the nation looks up to Jim as an icon. I promise that we'll provide whatever security is needed, but if Jim is afraid to go to Hogsmeade, his peers will be too afraid as well, and that fear will only spread." He took a step closer. "These times call for a firm and resolute response, don't you agree, Chief Auror?"_

_James couldn't help but notice the subtle emphasis Fudge placed on the title of "Chief Auror," a position to which he'd risen at an impossibly young age thanks to Fudge's patronage. And also a position in which he served at the pleasure of the Minister._

_"You raise valid points, Minister Fudge. I will certainly take them under consideration." James said diplomatically._

_"See that you do, Chief Auror. I'm sure you'll come to the right decision." With that, Fudge warmly squeezed James's shoulder before turning away to talk to some other officials._

_James exhaled slowly as he considered his boss's words. And for the first time since accepting his position, he noticed the sensation of chains constricting all around him._

* * *

_**A supply closet on the Third Floor of the Ministry of Magic  
1:30 p.m.**_

Rita Skeeter was one of the most famous and notorious gossip columnists of her time, with an unique image known to every wizard and witch in Britain who had ever set foot in a bookstore or perused the gossip pages of the _Daily Prophet_. With her platinum blonde hair, stylish (if somewhat overapplied) makeup, ultra-chic clothes from the best shops, and, of course, her famous jewel-encrusted spectacles, practically everyone knew what Rita Skeeter looked like.

What few people knew, however, was that "Rita Skeeter" was just a pen name.

Every good reporter knows that there are times to make an impression and times that call for discretion. And when Rita wanted to be discreet (well, a discreet _human_, anyway), she simply changed her clothes, scrubbed off her make-up, ditched the spectacles (which were purely for show anyway), and cancelled the spell that turned her normal mousy-brown hair into platinum blonde curls. Rita Skeeter disappeared, and bland unassuming Margarite Scarabee (Ravenclaw, Class of 1978) took her place. It wasn't that often, because Margarite Scarabee _loved_ being Rita Skeeter, but unfortunately, some of her contacts – in fact, most of her _better_ contacts – preferred not to meet with her when she wore such an infamous mask. Indeed, her _very best _contact was quite adamant about the matter.

Which explained how the plainly-dressed and utterly forgettable Margarite Scarabee found herself in a storage closet on the third floor of the Ministry of Magic, eating scones and drinking warmish tea with Eleanor Burke, personal secretary to Chief Auror James Potter.

"So they really don't have any clue who's responsible?" Margarite asked. She did not take notes, as Eleanor was insistent that there be no easily verifiable record of their conversations, a sensible precaution in light of the quality of secrets the old witch regularly provided.

"Not a clue," Eleanor said. "The blackboard in Potter's conference room has twenty-seven names of suspects on it, all of them completely speculative." The old witch reached into a pocket and produced a parchment upon which the twenty-seven suspects were written in block printing that left neither a magical signature nor a recognizable handwriting that could be traced to her. "Of course, I've got my own theories, but Chief Potter hasn't asked me for anything more than to fetch the tea."

"Who do you think was behind it?"

Eleanor took a sip of tea. "I have no proof or anything, but I'm leaning towards Tiberius Nott."

Margaret was surprised. "Why him?"

"You recall last summer when someone sent the Boy-Who-Lived a cursed choo-choo train for his birthday that nearly killed him?" The reporter nodded. "That train was one of Erasmus Wilkes' little projects, which means that someone has taken an interest in the Toymaker's works. And by an interesting coincidence, Vera Tessmacher over in records told me that Lord Nott has quietly filed a sealed marriage contract with Wilkes' only surviving family, his daughter ... Amelia or Amanthia or something like that. There's got to be some connection there, and anyway, to take the extreme step of marrying someone so young, he must think that doing so will give him power over the Wilkes estate. I'll wager he knows where a fortune in galleons is hidden. Maybe even a mega-fortune in purified orichalcum, plus Merlin knows what sort of dark objects. Wilkes was known for that, and if Nott is after it, he may have believed that You-Know-Who's inner circle had useful information. Maybe it's because I'm Slytherin, but I can't imagine any reason to risk breaking into Azkaban unless there's a lot of money involved."

"How old is the Wilkes girl?"

"Oh, twelve or so, I should think."

Margarite nearly choked on her tea. "_Twelve_?! That's obscene! How is that remotely legal?!"

Eleanor shrugged diffidently. "He can officially marry her at that age and thereby gain legal authority over her affairs and whatever is left of the Wilkes estate, which is what I assume he's after." Then, she noticed Margarite's horrified expression. "Oh don't be so squeamish, dear. Arranged marriages, even with startling age differences, have a storied history in the wizarding world. We live for so long that age gaps of twenty or thirty years used to be perfectly normal before all the Mudbloods started whinging about civil rights for minors and other nonsense. So long as he waits until the girl is older to consummate the marriage, assuming he even wants to, I see nothing wrong with Tiberius Nott taking a young girl under his sheltering wing."

Margarita said nothing. Given what she knew of Tiberius "_I swear I was under the Imperius_" Nott, she thought there were all sorts of things wrong with him sheltering a young girl under his wing. She resolved to look into the proposed Nott-Wilkes nuptials to see if there might be a story to be made out of that sordid affair, one that was both profitable to pursue and not likely to result in her tragic and unlamented demise. Death Eaters got so touchy when one questioned their moral character, after all. For the same reason, she ignored Eleanor Burke's overt bigotry. To be honest, whether she was Rita Skeeter or Margarite Scarabee, she sometimes felt that she preferred to deal with blood purists and other bigots. There was much less chance of her actually developing feelings of friendship with her contacts that might complicate things.

"Dumbledore shut Nott down at one point, as I recall," she said. "Some comment about how we shouldn't judge someone by their relatives that really struck home."

Eleanor nodded sagely. "Nott's father was a Grindelwald supporter. He had enough money and influence to cover it up, but it was an open secret back in the 40's. If the elder Nott had been anything less than Lord of an Ancient and Noble House, he'd have died in Azkaban. But then, the Notts have always been notoriously vile going back generations. They were very into Muggle-hunting back when it was legal. If the little No-Name boy had any sense, he'd have left the country already and counted himself lucky to be free of that shabby lot."

Rita absorbed that. She'd also wondered if there was a story to be had in the tale of Theo No-Name. And if so, was the boy a hero, a victim, or a villain? "_Best hold off on that_," she thought to herself, "_until I find out exactly how that Ultimate Sanction nonsense affects the majority of my readers_."

"Okay, that's enough about the Notts," she said. "What can you tell me about Fudge's new Undersecretary?"

"Not much beyond her job description and portfolio. She's Fudge's new advisor on matters pertaining to the Ministry's magical treaty obligations in general and on Hogwarts in particular. Apparently, Cornelius's admiration for Dumbles has begun to cool lately. But I don't know much about the woman in particular, which I find personally vexing, but it appears to be because she's spent the last fifteen years floundering in obscurity rather than actual discretion on her part. If you want me to, I'll make inquiries. Naturally, gossip and innuendo cost extra."

"Of course," the reporter said as she pulled a small bag of galleons from her robe and handed it over to her informant. "I think I'm familiar with your rates by now."

* * *

**_The next chapter will most likely not be uploaded until after the Fourth of July due to problems with my laptop. Which is also why this chapter is both late and fairly short - I wanted to get something out now and this was the closest thing to a logical stopping point without this slipping into the 20k words range and taking another two weeks. On the bright side, the next chapter will definitely have Sirius and possibly Kreacher!_  
**


	93. HP&DEM 10: Reactions & Overreactions p3

**HARRY POTTER  
AND THE DEATH EATER MENACE**

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

* * *

**CHAPTER 10: Reactions and Overreactions pt 3.**

_**5 August 1993  
From the front page of the Daily Prophet**_

_**DEMENTORS UNLEASHED!  
FUDGE UNVEILS CONTROVERSIAL NEW PLAN!  
WILL USE DEMENTORS TO GUARD HOGWARTS AGAINST  
DEATH EATER MENACE!**_

_**by Rita Skeeter**_

_As astute readers of the Prophet assuredly know, yesterday saw the Wizengamot in Emergency Session for the first since the fall of You-Know-Who, and what an historic day it was. After the morning session's Roll Call and Unity Vows, followed by the Chief Auror's report, deliberations resumed in the afternoon with Minister Cornelius Fudge's controversial proposal to reinstitute the so-called Death Eater Laws, a proposal that was soundly defeated by the Wizengamot. Instead, the peerage, consistent with their prior rulings in times of civil unrest, invoked the Praetor Maximus Clause of the Wizengamot Charter, a rarely-used clause which grants the Minister of Magic unfettered authority to deal with this specific crisis so long as his actions and commands do not violate any rights enumerated under the ICW Charter of Wizarding Rights, do not contravene any rights guaranteed to the peerage under the Wizengamot Charter, and do not extend to any matters unrelated to the Azkaban Crisis. The motion for Praetor Maximus was made by Peter Pettigrew on behalf of House Potter and seconded by Elphias Doge on behalf of House Doge. The vote passed by a close margin of 125 to 123 with seven abstentions._

_Having effectively placed the burden of addressing the Azkaban Crisis solely on Minister Fudge's shoulders, the Emergency Session was brought to a close soon after. But it was not until the Minister stepped out into the Atrium to address reporters that the true fireworks started. For it was there that the Minister announced that his first act under Praetor Maximus was to __**summon a contingent of Dementors from Azkaban itself**__ to pursue, recapture, and Kiss the escapees! Even more shockingly, the Minister stated that the bulk of this cohort would be stationed at Hogwarts to help defend it against any Death Eater attacks. Minister Fudge's announcement sent a frisson of terror through those in attendance, but it soon became clear that such a course of action was completely within his extraordinary Praetor Maximus powers. This reporter hopes that our Minister knows what he's doing, for while he now holds unprecedented executive power, it is not an authority that Dementors are any more likely to respect than the Death Eaters they now pursue. _

* * *

_**4 August 1993  
Ten minutes after the conclusion of the Minister's press conference.**_

Cornelius Fudge entered his office and deposited his bowler hat and overcoat onto a hatstand before taking his seat. Then, he pulled open a drawer and removed a flask from which he took a quick shot of firewhiskey to fortify his nerves. There was a knock at the door.

"Enter," he said wearily as he put the flask away. Dolores Umbridge came in bearing a worried expression. She too had changed out of her plum Wizengamot robes and into one of the reserved and sensible tweed outfits he'd come to associate with her.

"Bones and Potter are on their way here. Neither of them look happy."

"I hardly expected them to, Dolores. James has two sons and a wife at Hogwarts while Amelia has her niece and ward there. And honestly, I imagine I rather blindsided James with my announcement. I told him nothing about Dementors when I asked him to have his man make the motion for Praetor Maximus."

The Undersecretary nodded and then hesitated before speaking. "Minister, you hired me as Undersecretary to advise you about the details of the Ministry's treaty obligations. Are you ... open to advice in other areas?"

He studied the woman for a moment. "Yes, if offered in good faith, I suppose."

She took a deep breath. "Then ... be honest with them. Swear them to secrecy if you must – and I understand why you feel you might need to – but you _need_ them to be publicly on your side in this matter. If they both have family at Hogwarts, they will never support you in this if they don't know the true reasons for your decision. And even your emergency powers can't protect you from a no confidence vote if led by the two most influential members of your own administration."

Fudge made a sour expression but then nodded in agreement. Seconds later, there was another knock on the door. Fudge's secretary came in to announce that Potter and Bones had arrived, but the two angry officials brushed past her into the office.

"Dementors?! At Hogwarts?!" James spluttered. "Have you gone mad, Cornelius?!"

"I'd like an explanation as well, Minister," said Amelia Bones just as angrily. "This seems incredibly reckless!"

The Minister dismissed his receptionist, activating the room's privacy charms as soon as she'd closed the door. "All of you have a seat. Dolores, please stay. I may need your input to answer any specific questions they may have."

With varying degrees of reluctance, the three sat down across the desk from Fudge, who took a deep breath before he began.

"None of this leaves this room. I have too much respect for you both to insist on a vow of secrecy, but if anything I'm about to say makes it into the Prophet, I promise I will do my very best to end your political careers. The official story is that we are making use of Dementors because their innate magical senses can allow them to detect the magical auras of the escapees at some distance, which makes them uniquely qualified to act as hunters. That story has the benefit of being true as far as it goes. We are also stationing Dementors around Hogwarts – not on the grounds, mind you, but at the periphery of the wards and over the Forbidden Forest – in order to demonstrate our commitment to protecting the next generation of wizards and witches from the Death Eater threat."

He paused and took an even deeper breath before continuing. "All of that is ... a diversion from the real truth: _We don't actually have any choice in the matter._ Under the Treaty of Azkaban, the Dementors _have the right_ to pursue the escapees. I was able to work out an agreement with, well, the one that seems to be their leader if they even have such a thing. I persuaded them that the escapees could be recovered more quickly and efficiently if they did as we asked by placing small groups of Dementors under the authority of aurors assigned to the national search but with the bulk of the Dementors confined to Hogwarts. I also managed to convince them that the escapees were likely to target Hogwarts because Jim Potter was there. Nonsense, I know, but they bought it and have agreed to station most of their number over the Forbidden Forest where they can't hurt anyone. Or at least agreed to do so until the end of the school year, so we're a bit pressed for time."

James started to interrupt, but Fudge held up his hand. "But make no mistake, James. If we sought to forbid the Dementors from pursuing the escapees, we would be in breach of the Treaty of Azkaban. And if that happens, _all_ of the Dementors will be free to leave Azkaban _en masse_ and hunt whoever and wherever they will. And I cannot risk that, no matter what the cost."

Dolores Umbridge stepped in. "By doing it this way, only a fraction of the Dementors will leave Azkaban for Britain, and most of those will remain stationary over the Forbidden Forest next to Hogwarts. The school has the largest concentration of wizards in Britain who know the Patronus Charm. Most of the faculty members and several of the students do."

"That was the real reason I wanted the Death Eater Laws reinstated – I would have had the authority to conscript every wizard and witch in Britain who can summon a Patronus in the event of a Dementor invasion. Anyway, I discussed stationing the Dementors at Hogwarts with Albus during the afternoon break," Fudge said. "He has agreed to make the Patronus Charm part of the curriculum for all seven years of DADA."

"Albus agrees with you on this?" Amelia asked in shock.

"Grudgingly, yes, but after we showed him the relevant treaty provisions, he did reluctantly agree that this might be the safest solution until the crisis is resolved."

"Still, the Patronus is a very difficult Charm," James said. "How many students do you think can possibly learn it fast enough for it to matter?"

"Apparently, a Second Year mastered it this past spring," said Umbridge, "and so the Headmaster is reevaluating his views on its teachability."

"Uh-huh," he replied sarcastically. "And have _you mastered_ it?"

"Yes, actually," she replied before pulling out her wand and summoning a silver cat patronus. "I learned it just in time for my DADA NEWT."

James actually did a double-take. "_You_ have a DADA NEWT?!" he said in surprise.

"As a matter of fact, I do, Chief Auror," Umbridge replied somewhat frostily. "It was only a low Acceptable, so not enough for the lofty heights of the Auror Corps, but I do have one."

"We're getting a bit off-topic," Amelia said. "You said that only a limited number of Dementors were coming, with most staying at Hogwarts. How many Dementors are we talking about?"

Fudge licked his lips nervously. "About a hundred or so."

There was dead silence in the room.

"A _hundred_?" James finally said incredulously. "And that's _a fraction_ of their total number? How many Dementors _are _there at Azkaban?"

Fudge simply nodded to Umbridge, who produced a clipboard containing her notes on that very subject. "After all these centuries, we still have no idea how Dementors reproduce or indeed if they truly do. It seems, in fact, that they simply ... _spring into existence_ somehow. We _do_ know that they cannot be killed by any means known to us, though there is speculation that a sufficiently powerful Patronus might be able to do so. Headmaster Dumbledore is likely the only one powerful enough, and he's never been put to that particular test. Anyway, the last attempt at a census was in 1972. It was inconclusive but indicated that the Azkaban population, which seems to include every known Dementor in the world, exceeds 1,000. It is likely quite a bit higher today."

"Merlin," Amelia whispered.

"Oh, the good news gets even better," Fudge said bitterly. "Dolores, kindly explain the Azkaban occupancy requirements."

Umbridge coughed delicately and flipped through her notes, pausing to adjust her glasses. "Pursuant to the treaty, the Ministry is obliged to maintain a prison population within certain agreed upon limits. Relevant to this discussion, we are required to maintain a minimum number of convicts on the Maximum Security level at all times. The rules are somewhat complicated, as a prisoner who is Kissed by a Dementor is deemed by them as remaining a prisoner so long as his or her body is still alive even if it has been removed from the prison. That is why it is against Ministry policy to euthanize former prisoners who have been Kissed and why they are instead placed in a special ward at St. Mungo's and kept alive as long as possible. The longer those soulless husks endure, the longer we have before we are required to find someone else to replace them in Maximum Security."

She paused as if to collect herself before proceeding. "As of July 31st, we are in violation of the Occupancy Clause. Previously, we maintained a cushion of two extra maximum security inmates in case any of them passed away unexpectedly, but with the escape, we are now three below the minimum occupancy. We have a year and a day to cure the violation, either by capturing at least three of the escapees and returning them to Azkaban, by arranging for at least escapees to be Kissed ... or by finding at least three other people who have been convicted of crimes worthy of being sentenced to maximum security. Or, I suppose, some combination of those three options. Otherwise, on 1 August 1994, the treaty will become null and void, and the entire Dementor population will be free to ravage Britain at will."

Potter and Bones stared at the woman with horrified expressions.

"So," said Fudge, "in light of the scope of the disaster facing us, do I have your support?"

* * *

_**Peter Pettigrew's Apartment  
6:40 p.m.**_

Peter stepped out of his floo and threw his coat over a chair angrily without even bothering to shake off the floo powder. Without slowing down, he went straight away to his secret chamber where he retrieved a small silver mirror (one of several grouped together on a shelf) and held it up to the light.

"Greyback! It's Peter! Where are you?" he barked into the mirror. A few seconds later, the notorious werewolf's face appeared in the mirror's image.

"What now, Peter?" Greyback said.

"Another change of plans."

"Another one?!" he scoffed. "I think you should stop calling these things _plans_, Pettigrew. At this point, they're barely aspirational goals."

"Very funny," Peter said sarcastically. "The Minister has just announced that a rather large contingent of _Dementors_ will be coming over from Azkaban to search for their missing prisoners, and some of them will be stationed around Hogsmeade and at Hogwarts itself. So Operation Damsel is a no-go for September 1st. We need to study the situation more and try again later."

Greyback shook his head. "Dementors at Hogwarts. What idiot came up with that plan?"

"The worst kind of idiot, unfortunately – one who now has near-dictatorial authority when it comes to hunting down Death Eaters."

"Right. And we're still completely sure that none of our side was behind the breakout?"

Peter snorted. "Well _I'm_ not involved, and neither Malfoy nor the Selwyns have a motive I can think of. Other than us, none of the remaining free Death Eaters are remotely competent enough to pull this off. More importantly, if Rookwood was able to do so, he'd have contacted me by now. If Bellatrix was able to, she'd have contacted Narcissa by now, and _she'd_ have contacted me. And if Sirius has been speaking to someone willing to listen, I'd already have aurors kicking down my door. So I honestly don't know _who_ is responsible. But I'll tell you one thing – if I can find out who does have our missing compatriots, that moves up immediately to the top of our priority list."

"Rescue?"

"Of Mr. Nemo and Miss Demeanor, certainly. Those two Lestrange idiots? Maybe, if it's not too much trouble. But our number one goal is snipping a loose end I have tolerated for nearly twelve years. We're going to find Sirius Black, and we're going to _end_ him whatever it takes!"

* * *

_**Longbottom Manor  
7:30 p.m.**_

Regulus stood at the foot of the four-poster bed in a Longbottom guest room and gazed down at his brother's still body. Sirius Black looked dead to the world, and from some technical perspectives, he was. The house elves had cleaned him up and changed him from filthy prisoner's stripes into fresh pajamas, but thanks to the Draught of Living Death, Sirius still looked more like a fresh cadaver than a preternaturally deep sleeper.

At present, Augusta and Harry were downstairs discussing the day's events. Regulus had heard the preliminary reports and was horrified by them. Not even in their most dire contingency plans had he and Lucius considered the possibility of Fudge summoning Dementors to search for the escapees. Madness! All of the Azkaban co-conspirators agreed that it was now essential to move things forward as quickly as possible. Harry's Legilimency instructor, Mr. X, would be arriving in the morning for his job interview, and if he was up to snuff, they'd start interrogating the Death Eaters over the weekend. With any luck, this whole mess would be over in a week's time.

Regulus frowned at his own sentimentality. Intellectually, he realized that it was foolish to start with Sirius now while everything else had gotten complicated. Better, surely, to keep Sirius sedated until the situation with the _actual_ Death Eaters had been resolved. But Regulus had waited so long for the chance to see his brother again, to apologize for the wrongs committed against him. And who knew what the coming days might bring? Steeling himself, the metamorphmagus looked over at his reflection on a wall mirror. He closed his eyes and then shook his head violently, and the elderly Asian man known only as Kato (Gilderoy Lockhart's faithful manservant) blurred and stretched into Regulus's true visage.

Removing a small vial from inside his pocket, Regulus moved to his brother's side and carefully poured the antidote to the Draught of Living Death down Sirius's thoat. Then, he sat down in a chair and waited. A few seconds later, Sirius gave a small gasp as his body emerged from magical stasis. After a few seconds more, the man's eyes fluttered upon. Slowly, painfully, Sirius Black turned his head, and as he took in the face of his long-lost and supposedly dead sibling, his eyes widened in a mix of wonder and fear.

"_R-R-Reg?_" he croaked.

"Easy, brother," Regulus said gently. "Don't overexert yourself."

"_Am ... am I dead?_"

"No," he replied as reassuringly as possible. "Merlin, no, Sirius. You're not dead and neither am I. You are safe."

"_Safe?_"

"Yes," Regulus said with a smile. "Safe."

It was, perhaps, ironic that Sirius responded to that assurance of safety by transforming into an enormous black dog that snarled and leaped at Regulus, seemingly intent on ripping out his throat. The other wizard let out a startled yelp as the beast hit him squarely on the chest, its momentum knocking Regulus and the chair both over. Then, with another blur of magic, Sirius was suddenly a man again. And a furious man at that, one who was now sitting astride Regulus's chest.

"_MY BROTHER IS DEAD, YOU LYING BASTARD!_" Sirius screamed as he rained down blows on the other man's head.

A few rooms away, Augusta and Harry paused in their conversation as the sounds of screaming and violence reached them.

"What the hell was that?" Harry asked anxiously.

Augusta produced her wand from one of her sleeves and headed for the hallway. "Oh, I imagine it's just the sound of an overcomplicated Slytherin plan blowing up in our faces. Stay here."

"Lady Augusta!" he objected while producing his own wand.

"_Stay here_, Harry! You cannot use magic without triggering the Trace and drawing the Ministry's gaze to us!" With that, she ran (with surprising speed for a woman of her years) out of the parlor and in the direction of the commotion, while Harry remained behind frustrated.

Seconds later, she reached the corridor leading to Sirius's bedroom just in time to see the man himself stagger out while holding his brother's wand. As soon as he saw her, Sirius fired off a Stunner but it went wide. Augusta took shelter behind a suit of armor and called out to her attacker.

"Sirius Black! This is Augusta Longbottom! Frank Longbottom's mother! You have nothing to fear from us! Please, let us help you!"

Unfortunately, Sirius's only response were a few more attempted stunners which only missed because he was using an unfamiliar wand.

"Right, then," Augusta said irritably as she touched the suit of armor with her wand. "_**AVIFORS.**_" Instantly, the armor was transfigured into a flock of starlings which hurled itself at Sirius and quickly surrounded him. Desperately, he batted at the small birds but was unable to draw a bead on Augusta who quickly advanced. "_**EXPELLIARMUS!**_" Instantly, Sirius's stolen wand was sent flying, and he dropped to his knees, putting his hands over his head to ward off the swirling mass of birds. Augusta advanced, her wand pointed at him.

"Stay down, Mr. Black. I do not wish to stun you, but I will if you continue to resist."

Sirius seemed to do as she asked, though he did not look up from his position on the floor. With a slash of her wand, Augusta dispelled the flock of starlings which flew back past her and reformed into the suit of armor from whence it had come. But in her brief instant of distraction, Sirius tensed ... and suddenly was a grim once more. Caught by surprise, Augusta tried to stun the beast, but it moved with alarming speed, knocking her to the ground and causing her to lose her own wand. The great hound bounded past her and down the corridor. For with its keen hearing, the animal could detect the nearby crackle of flames. And in a wizarding home, where there were flames, there was likely a floo connection.

Following the sound, the grim turned straight into the parlor where Harry was waiting. The young Slytherin held his wand up but did not aim it. As Augusta had noted, any use of magic by him under these circumstances would draw an Underage Magic Use warning and possibly even more stringent Ministry attention. The grim growled menacingly and slowly moved towards him.

"_Typical_," thought Harry ruefully. _"Moody and Jim both mentioned that Sirius Black might be an Animagus, but we didn't bother to prepare for that possibility. And of course, he's something big and scary. God forbid that his Animagus form should be a hedgehog or parakeet!_"

The dog continued its slow advance. Unable to use magic, Harry turned to his second greatest power: his knack for talking his way out of problems. Carefully, he positioned himself between the grim and the floo, while the dog crept forward, growling the whole time. Harry assumed that Sirius was sticking to his animal-form rather switching back to his human shape so as to be better able to dodge a spell. And truth be told, the dog was probably better at dodging attacks than the man. Desperately, Harry tried to think of something to say that would deter Sirius or at least make him hesitate until help arrived. Unfortunately, he didn't actually _know_ much about the man on any personal level, and so for once, his Legilimency seemed to be of no use... until, in an act of supreme concentration that surprised the boy himself, a memory popped into his head, one from so far back in his childhood that it should have been impossible for him to recall.

* * *

_**A long time ago... **_

_The big man's face looked so different then. His hair was shiny and his beard neat, and there were no lines around the eyes that seemed to twinkle almost as much as Dumbledore's. Then, the big man let out a broad grin, and Harry could hear himself gurgling in delight. _

"_Hey there, my little lion," the big man said in a soft voice. "I'm your Uncle Sirius. Yes! Yes, I am! Course I'm not really an uncle, though you can call me that if you wish. I'm something better than an uncle. I'm your __godfather__! Hello!" He held up a hand and wriggled them down at the baby. _

"_That means I'll always be there for you. Always! And look what your godfather has for you on your very first birthday!"_

_The big man reached into his robe and pulled out a stuffed black dog. "This is Padfoot, Harry. Which is also __my__ name, but you can't use that all the time. When we're alone, though, you can call me Padfoot or Uncle Sirius, whichever you like. And Little Padfoot here can stay with you and watch over you whenever I'm not around to remind you about me." He placed the stuffed dog into Harry's arms, and the one-year-old embraced it tightly._

"_Pa-foo," the infant Harry said. Sirius froze, and then his face lit up in delight. _

"_Padfoot?" he inquired._

"_Pa-foo," the baby answered. _

_Sirius let out an excited "HEE!" before slapping his hand over his mouth and looking around the room to reassure himself that no one else was there._

"_Okay, little lion, while that was undeniably awesome and probably my new Patronus memory, let's not do that in front of your Mum or Dad for a while. James would have an absolute cow if he learned that you'd said 'Padfoot' before 'Da-da' or 'Ma-ma.''_

_Little Harry said nothing else except to giggle softly as he clutched the stuffed dog tighter._

* * *

_**Now...**_

Harry blinked three times in astonishment at the thought of summoning up a perfectly clear memory of something that happened when he was one-year-old. Then, he shook it off as the grim took another step forward.

"Pa-foo," he said. "I mean, _Padfoot_. That's your other name, right, Uncle Sirius?" The dog froze instantly.

"You said I could call you either when you gave me that stuffed grim for my birthday. Do you remember that day? You told me that you were my godfather and that you'd always be around to protect me and look after me, right? That's why I know you won't hurt me now."

The dog began to whine softly. Harry slowly inched towards it and carefully put his hand out palm-up. The whimpering grim leaned forward, sniffed at his hand, and licked it once. Then, in the blink of an eye, he was Sirius Black once more, a crying distraught Sirius Black who immediately snatched the startled boy up in a tight embrace. A few seconds later, when Augusta Longbottom came into the room with her wand drawn, it was Harry who waved her off, as the weeping man could only hold onto him for dear life while brokenly sobbing over and over again.

"_I'm sorry, Harry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry._"

* * *

_**Five minutes later ...**_

Once he realized by the boy's scent that Harry was indeed his godson, all the fight went out of Sirius Black. He allowed Harry and Augusta to escort him back to his room, and along the way, he apologized to Augusta for knocking her down. He did _not_ apologize to Regulus when he met up with his younger brother in the hallway despite the mass of bruises on his face and the chipped front tooth. After taking a few potions, Regulus's injuries were soon repaired, but there were no potions or spells on hand to immediately fix the two black eyes his brother had given him. Also, his earlier desire to beg Sirius's forgiveness was strangely muted now. Finally, once back in bed, Sirius spoke to his younger sibling.

"So. You didn't die."

"Obviously not."

"It's a pretty crappy thing to do, letting your family think you're dead."

Regulus shrugged. "If I remember correctly, in our last actual conversation before this one, you reminded me that you had the legal authority to execute Death Eaters and that you wouldn't let whatever weak bonds of affection you had for me stay your hand if we crossed wands."

Sirius nodded. "And did you become a Death Eater?"

Silently, Regulus pulled up his sleeves to reveal the absence of a Dark Mark. "Grandfather wanted me to join so we'd have Blacks in both camps, but he also gave me the means to fake my own death if I changed my mind. A modified Fidelius of some kind, designed to activate when I cleaned out the emergency vault he'd left for me. Anyone who knew Regulus Black would just assume I had died somehow without thinking too much about the details unless someone who knew the truth corrected them. Of course, it's not a true Fidelius, and sufficiently clever or strong-willed people can see through it, so if you want to rat me out to the DMLE and ship me off to Azkaban, the spell won't stop you."

"Good to know. Have you done anything worthy of Azkaban, Little Brother?" Sirius asked in a low voice.

Despite himself, Harry stiffened uncomfortably. "_Do I sound like that when I call Jim 'Little Brother'? That ... hateful?_"

"Lord Black," Augusta interrupted. "I know you must be under a great strain at the moment, but let me reassure you. Your brother and his allies rescued you from Azkaban despite enormous risks. Whatever issues remain between you and Regulus, I would ask you to set them aside for the moment, for the stakes are higher than you could possibly know."

Sirius appeared to tune out everything except her first words. "_Lord ... Black_?"

"Grandfather died in 1991," Reg said almost blandly. "You've been Lord Black ever since, despite your incarceration."

"Uh-huh," Sirius said dully while absorbing that information. "Okay, I'll ... process that later, I guess. So where's James in all this? I saw him at Azkaban. Wasn't he part of the rescue?"

"That was me, Sirius," Regulus said. "I took James Potter's form. I'm a metamorphmagus."

Sirius barked out a laugh. "Since when?"

"Since my seventh birthday, when my hair grew back overnight after some imbecile lopped it all off as a cruel joke."

"WHAT?!" Harry suddenly exclaimed. Everyone turned to look at him in surprise.

"Pfff," sneered Sirius. "It wasn't _that_ mean of a joke." Regulus gave him a foul look while Harry just shook his head.

"No, no. It's just ..." he muttered before turning to Regulus. "We've got too much else to talk about now, but later on, I'd like to hear that story. For ... reasons."

Regulus stared at the boy before finally shrugging. "I'll make a note of it."

"So let me get this straight. You've been a metamorphmagus since you were _seven_ and concealed it from me this whole time?!" Sirius said in disbelief. Regulus pursed his lips in annoyance. Then, he closed his eyes and concentrated. With soft pop of magic, he suddenly looked like James Potter once more. Sirius's eyes widened in shock.

"And speaking of James Potter," Regulus said, "you will be disappointed to learn that not only was your old partner-in-crime not involved in your liberation, he is still firmly convinced that you are a Death Eater and a spy, as well as the person who betrayed his family to the Dark Lord."

Sirius leaned back against his pillow and shut his eyes tight. "Damn you, Wormtail."

Harry's jaw dropped in surprise at the mention of one of the four Marauders who created his enchanted map, specifically one who by process of elimination was perhaps the last person he'd expect to have betrayed the Potters. Meanwhile, Regulus shook his head violently and reverted to his true form.

"You used that name back at Azkaban. You said that was who really betrayed the Potters. Who is _Wormtail_?"

Without opening his eyes, Sirius hissed out a name. "Peter Pettigrew."

There was dead silence for a few seconds before Harry, despite himself, barked out a laugh. "Peter Pettigrew is a _Death Eater_? James Potter's Seneschal, proxy, and personal solicitor? Jim's godfather? He's just been hiding in plain sight for ever a decade? That's ... incredible!"

"Jim?" Sirius inquired.

"My twin brother. You do remember Lily having twins right?"

Sirius rubbed his face for several seconds. "Yeah, yeah, I think so. I mean, I just never had much to do with him. He was Peter's godson, not mine. I guess I don't have any memories of him that survived..." Then, he shuddered and began to hyperventilate. Augusta rushed forward and unstopped another Calming Draught for him. "Sorry," he said quietly after his anxiety attack had passed.

"It's quite alright, Lord Black," Augusta said. "Perhaps we could move on to memories that are less triggering. What do you remember about your trial? Do you know how you were forced to issue your false confession?"

Sirius stared at her dully. "I never had a trial. I never confessed to anything."

The others looked at one another in confusion. "The trial transcript is still sealed, I think," said Harry. "But it's supposed to run more than fifty pages, most of it you testifying in detail and under Veritaserum about all the innocent people you Imperiused into taking the Dark Mark against their will."

"I. Never. Had. A. Trial." he growled. "I spent about two days in the DMLE lockup begging for a chance to tell my story to someone. Then, an auror came in and stunned me. Next thing I know, I'm in my cell in Azkaban."

Harry sat back in his chair with a thoughtful expression. "So, question one. How did Voldemort loyalists fake a whole trial that was overseen by a respected three-judge panel without the involvement of the defendant?"

"And question two," Regulus added. "How did someone convince James and Lily Potter that Sirius was the Secret Keeper instead of Pettigrew? It can't just be a memory spell. Potter is an auror and, I assume, must have handled a Remembrall in open court as part of every single criminal trial at which he's testified over the last twelve years."

"And question _three_," Sirius said rather archly. "How did Harry get involved in this if James doesn't know the truth? Why are you even here at Longbottom Manor this time of night?"

"Well," Harry said with some embarrassment, "I _live_ here, during the summers at least. There's some ... legal issues between James and I that stop me from living with the Potters."

"James? The Potters? Do these _legal issues_ explain why you talk about your family like you're not even related to them?"

"Yes," Harry replied tersely and without elaborating.

"Harry..." Sirius began, but Regulus interrupted.

"Harry's upbringing is not even in the top ten of our to-do list, Sirius. Let's cut to the chase. The Dark Lord's body was destroyed in 1981, but his spirit lingers on, bound to this plane by cursed magical items called ..."

"Horcruxes," Sirius finished. The other three stared at him in shock.

"How the hell did you know that?" Regulus asked.

Sirius gave a throaty chuckle. "Grandfather Arcturus made me study the Codex just like I reckon he did with you after I left the family. Also, Bellatrix spent a lot of time ranting about how the Dark Lord would someday be restored to his former glory. And occasionally singing peppy tunes about the subject. She gave me enough information to guess what he'd done."

Harry looked over to Reg. "Well, I guess we know who has one of them, at least."

Sirius continued. "I could never tell anyone because of Arcturus's oaths... But I can now, which means you three already know about the Codex. Which, in turn, raises the question: _WHY THE HELL IS MY GODSON MUCKING ABOUT WITH THE ANATHEMA CODEX!" _

After Sirius finished bellowing, he fell back onto his pillow, coughing and wheezing. Augusta muttered a soft expletive and fed him another potion.

"Lord Black, you must control your emotions. You're still very weak from your time in Azkaban and must not overexert yourself!"

"Fine, fine. But for pity's sake, call me Sirius. Lord Black was my grandfather, and I'm not sure I want to follow in his footsteps."

"Well, I'm afraid you'll have to, at least for tonight," Regulus said. "The _reason_ I fled the Death Eaters and faked my own death in the process was that I learned that he'd made a horcrux out of Salazar Slytherin's locket, and I stole it away from him. We've since learned that he made more than one, but the one I recovered has been hidden at Grimmauld Place this whole time. We need you to summon Kreacher and have him bring the locket here."

"Oh no, we most certainly need not!" Augusta interrupted testily. "You will _not_ summon into this house Walburga Black's house elf that has been trapped in 12 Grimmauld Place for more than a decade with naught by the horcrux of He Who Must Not Be Named for company! Who _knows_ how deranged that poor elf might be by now. And who knows what powers that locket might bring to bear once it's brought here."

"But Lady Augusta, we _must _destroy the locket," Regulus said.

"And so you shall, but there's no reason to compromise the wards of Longbottom Manor to do it." She turned to Sirius and fixed him with a somewhat motherly gaze. "Lord, er, Sirius? If you will but say '_I, Sirius Black, Lord of the Ancient and Noble House of Black, do hereby grant admittance to 12 Grimmauld Place to my brother Regulus and his allies_," that will be sufficient to let Regulus go himself and destroy the locket-horcrux there."

Sirius coughed and then did as Augusta asked.

"Right then," Regulus said. "I'll be off." He turned and strode out of the room without another glance towards Sirius. Harry glanced around at the grown-ups in the room before rising himself.

"Um, excuse me," he said before following Regulus out, ignoring his god-father's calls as he left.

"Regulus! Wait up. You might need me with you."

Regulus stopped and whirled on the boy in surprise and a bit of annoyance. "_Mr. Potter,_" he said, slipping briefly back into his Lockhart persona, "I am a dueling champion, a ex-Death Eater, a former auror, and the best DADA instructor Hogwarts has had in years. What on earth makes you think I might _need _a thirteen-year-old boy to help me in the relatively simple task of retrieving and destroying an item from my own home?"

"Well, as it happens, after you told Mr. Malfoy and me about Slytherin's locket, I looked it up and noticed that the big S-insignia on the front looks like a snake. And since it _is _Slytherin's locket, I'd bet good money that a Parselmouth can talk to it and maybe learn about the other horcruxes we don't know about yet."

Regulus opened his mouth to chastise the boy for the silliness of his suggestion, but then, he paused when he realized the suggestion was, in fact, quite sound. Finally, after a few seconds, he reluctantly acquiesced.

"I have three rules, Mr. Potter. One: Once we're in Grimmauld Place, touch nothing except at my direction! Two: If I tell you to do something, you do it instantly and without stopping to ask any stupid questions. And three..." He paused for a moment. "Well, I guess I'll just think up the third rule when we get there. Come along."

* * *

_**12 Grimmauld Place  
Islington, London  
9 p.m.**_

About twenty minutes later, Harry and Regulus stood on a lonely street in Islington before a row of town houses that seemed to have once been quite elegant but had since fallen on hard times. From the look of things, most of them were fairly shoddy apartments now. Regulus looked around to make sure they were unobserved. Then, he produced his wand and slashed it in the direction of the houses marked 11 and 13 while whispering "_Toujour Pur_." For a second, Harry thought it odd that there was no Number 12, but then, the other houses slid apart and the missing town house came into view as if it had somehow been squashed between the other two. He looked up at the older wizard in amazement.

"The house is Unplottable, which means it cannot be physically perceived by those not keyed into it, as you and I now are." With that explanation, Regulus started towards their now visible destination with Harry following behind, reshouldering the book bag he carried as he went.

"Why did the Blacks buy a house in a Muggle neighborhood?" he asked. "Weren't your lot all...?

"Violent bigots?" Regulus replied. "There are some things that trump Pureblood disdain for Muggles. One of my ancestors discovered an untapped ley line convergence in this neighborhood back in the 1800's. At the time, Number 12 was just thought by Muggles to be a haunted house, but it was because the ghosts of the Muggles who had died there were being supported by the magic from those ley lines."

"And what are ley lines again?" Harry inquired.

"A good question, and one wizards have been debating for centuries. All we know definitively is that are these invisible, intangible, and largely theoretical lines that criss-cross the whole planet. We can't actually detect the lines themselves, but the places where they connect are magically reactive. That is, if you perform magic where these lines intersect, it's possible to do high level magic more easily than in other locations and also to work spells whose results will last indefinitely. Hogwarts is located at the junction of a large number of ley lines, as is the Ministry of Magic and Diagon Alley, which is why all of those were chosen as locations for those structures. In fact, the British Isles possess an unusual number of such junctions and an extremely unusual number of junctions in which more than two ley lines intersect. That's why our ancestors came here from Rome in the first place. It's also why Magical Britain has influence over the rest of the magical world that's somewhat out of proportion to our population and the relative military and economic strength of the Muggle nation within which we reside. When push comes to shove, we can generate more raw magical power than all but a few of the other wizarding nations"

He continued talking as he paused to disable the remaining wards on the house before casting an Alohomora on the door. "Number 12 Grimmauld Place sits at the intersection of two ley lines that had somehow gone undetected for centuries. My great-great-grandfather found the place, acquired the house from the Muggles who lived here, and diverted the magical energies of the intersecting ley lines into defensive spells and spatial expansion."

"So the place is even bigger on the inside?" Harry asked looking up to the top of the three story building before following Regulus inside.

"Yes. About thirty or so rooms, I should think, including an orangery on the top floor if Mother never got rid of it. Father was the one who always had to have a fresh orange for breakfast. Oh, and watch out for the troll's leg."

"The wha-OOOF!" Harry said as he tripped and fell over what appeared to be the calf and foot of a troll which had been stuffed and used as an umbrella stand.

"Sorry. Should have remembered. The stand is cursed. Anyone who is descended from House Black but who is not at least three generations Pureblood will be confunded to bang their shin on it if they get too near. Mother's way of establishing dominance, I suppose."

"Charming," Harry said sarcastically. He turned to look down the gloomy hall as Regulus summoned a Lumos. Harry still couldn't use his own wand, and he was annoyed that he hadn't thought to bring a torch. Still, even a single Lumos was enough to reveal how dusty and filthy the house was. Suddenly, both of them jumped in fright at the sound of a hysterical voice shrieking in the gloom.

"WHO IS THERE?! IS SOMEONE THERE?! WHO DARES INTRUDE UPON THE SACRED HAVEN OF THE ANCIENT AND NOBLE HOUSE OF BLACK! WHO! WHO!"

For a few seconds, Regulus went as white as a sheet. But then, he realized that the screaming was coming from a nearby wall-hanging covered by heavy velvet curtains. Steeling himself, Regulus walked over and pulled back the musty curtains to reveal a beautiful oil painting depicting heavyset older woman sitting on an overstuffed chair. She wore elegant clothes and expensive-looking jewelry, but her hair was disheveled and her eyes looked wild. And when she got a look at Regulus, they got even wilder.

"Hello, Mother," he said quietly.

"_Regulus_," she whispered. "You live? How is this possible?!"

"Grandfather arranged it for me," he replied. "He foresaw the possibility that the Dark Lord might be a monster and that a time might come when I would need to flee him for my own safety."

"But ... why didn't you tell us?" she asked in shock.

"Well to be honest, Mother, I suspected that if you knew I was alive, you would give the information to the Death Eaters as a punishment for not living up to your ... _ideals_."

The woman's face darkened. "And so we _would have_! You who turned your back on the Dark Lord! And on the Ancient and Noble House of Black! I see now you're no better than your miserable brother Sirius!"

"Thank you, Mother," he said calmly. "That's perhaps the best compliment you've ever paid me."

Then, he gestured with his wand, and the curtains fell back across Walburga's painting, muffling her words but not silencing them. It sounded to Harry as if the woman had begun weeping and wailing behind her curtain. Regulus turned away from the curtains with a stony expression, and Harry followed him further into the house, carefully picking his way past dusty furniture and old cobwebs. Regulus led the boy into a sitting room and cast his Lumos spell again, but instead of lighting his wand, the spell caused various oil lamps and an overhead chandelier to light themselves. Though visibility improved, the additional light somehow only made the decrepit home even more gloomy and sinister.

"So if you don't mind me asking, exactly what _is_ your relationship with Sirius? I mean, beyond the mere fact that you're brothers. You went to great lengths to rescue him and you just defended him in front of your mother's portrait, but when you're actually with him, you two are at each other's throats."

Regulus sighed. "Honestly, I don't even know myself. I've waited years for the chance to confront Sirius, to admit that he was right and I was wrong, and to beg his forgiveness for my transgressions."

"But?"

"But when I'm actually talking to him, all of the sudden, it all comes back. The hostility we had for each other all through school. His arrogance. His self-righteousness. His vindictiveness. All of it." Regulus rubbed his forehead and then winced from the bruising on his eyes. "Him kicking my arse back at the Manor didn't help, I suppose. Still, there was a reason back at Hogwarts that I made it a project to get you and your brother on better terms. Though I was unsuccessful there, I hope you will take the lessons of Sirius and myself to heart."

"I have. And Jim and I are getting along much better. To be honest, James is the only one I have problem with at the moment, and that's mainly because I still don't understand why he was so hostile before so I don't know how to prevent it happening again."

"So you're no longer seeking revenge against them for abandoning you?"

Harry made a wistful face. "Well, I certainly haven't _forgotten_ about it, but with everything that's going on with Voldemort and the horcruxes, I just don't feel that I have enough hours in the day for a cruel Slytherinesque revenge. So I'm putting it on the back-burner. We'll see how long that lasts."

"Mm-hmm," Regulus nodded. "By the by, why were you so interested in Sirius lopping off my hair when we were kids?"

Harry hesitated. "When I was seven, my Aunt Petunia got mad because she couldn't do anything with my hair ... so she got some clippers and shaved me down to the scalp. I cried all night because I thought I'd have to go to school nearly bald, but the next day, my hair was right back the way it was. That scared her enough for her to never mess with my hair again."

"Interesting. And you're wondering if you have the potential to be a metamorphmagus?" Harry nodded. "Well, your Great-Aunt Cassiopeia had it, so it definitely runs in your bloodline. If you're interested, we can explore that possibility next summer."

"Next summer? Why not now?"

Regulus laughed. "Because you're about to go back to Hogwarts. Shapeshifting takes years to master. If you start training now, there's a risk you might get stuck in a partial transformation for days or even weeks. When I was eight, I once spent four whole days with purple hair, blue skin, and cat-eyes before I could change myself back to normal. And if you get caught as a Metamorphmagus while at Hogwarts, you're on the Conscription List for sure."

"Good point," said Harry as he resigned himself to waiting a year to explore this possible gift.

"Also, spend some time talking to Sirius now that we know he's an Animagus. As your godfather, he may offer to teach you that gift instead. Being an Animagus and a Metamorphmagus are mutually exclusive. It is impossible for a single person to develop both gifts."

Harry nodded. At the moment, he was far more interested in metamorphmagic, in part because he suspected Jim was studying animagic and he had little interest in following in his brother's footsteps. Still, it wouldn't hurt to ask Sirius a few questions.

"So where's your house elf?" he asked, changing the subject.

Regulus turned pensive. "I don't know. I'd have thought he'd have shown up by now since we're the first people to come into this house since Mother died." He cleared his throat. "Kreacher!"

There was a loud, angry pop that startled them both, and suddenly there was an aged and decrepit elf standing before them . For a second, he looked up at Regulus with wonder and joy, but then his eyes narrowed.

"Master Regulus ... lives?" he said slowly.

"Yes, Kreacher," Regulus said as he studied his former elf with a sad expression.

"Kreacher grieved for Master Regulus," the elf said in a rasping tone. "Kreacher _wept_ for Master Regulus."

"Kreacher, I'm ... truly sorry to have caused you pain, and I promise I'll make it up to you. But, well, I'm a bit pressed for time, I'm afraid. Could you please bring me the locket that I entrusted to you all those years ago?"

Kreacher stared at Regulus with a disturbingly vengeful expression before popping away.

"He doesn't seem to like you very much," Harry said nervously.

"No, he's obviously more upset than I'd realized because of my deception," Regulus said somewhat guiltily. "He basically raised me, you know."

"Did he?" Harry replied without taking his eyes off the spot Kreacher had just departed. "Well, I'm sure he was a splendid caregiver."

Seconds later, Kreacher returned with the locket in his hands. With exaggerated care, he placed the locket on the floor in front of the two wizards. Then, he sat back on his haunches and looked up at Regulus with an intense gleam in his eye. Harry and Regulus looked back and forth between Kreacher, the locket, and each other.

"Thank you, Kreacher, for your ... devoted service," Regulus finally said. "You can, um, return to your other duties now." Kreacher did not move. Then, Regulus looked around the room and ran his fingers across a nearby credenza that was caked in dust. He rubbed his fingers together to get rid of the grime while looking expectantly at the house elf. Finally, with a low grumble, Kreacher popped away.

"Oh, yeah," Harry said. "A right Mary Poppins, that one."

"Quiet, you. Let's just get this over with."

Harry nodded and carefully moved around the locket so that it was between the two of them. He leaned over to study the snake insignia, took a breath, and then hissed at it.

"_Hello? Can you sssspeak with me?"_

The locket twitched slightly, and then the S-shaped serpent insignia on the cover slid around in a figure-eight pattern before finally coiling in the center. Then, the tiny snake's head lifted itself up and addressed Harry directly.

"_Ssspeaker. What isss thy name?_" Regulus suppressed a shudder. Despite the snake's tiny size, its unearthly hissing seemed to echo through the darkened house.

"_Harry_," the boy hissed in reply. "_And what should I call you?_"

"_Great Sssalazar Ssslytherin never sssaw fit to name me. Call me ... Locket._"

"_Very well, Locket. What can you tell me of the one who posssssesssed you lassst."_

The tiny snake hissed angrily which, ironically under the circumstances, Harry thought was a good sign.

"_Powerful isss that one, Little Sssspeaker. Ssssteeped in the darkesst artssss. Even though he issss far away, he leachesss Locket's power for hissss own."_

"_What can you tell me of other objectsss like yoursssself that he hasss corrupted?"_

The locket-snake hissed painfully. "_Arggh. That part of the Dark One inssside me awakenssss. It growsss angry at Locket'sss indissscretion. Quickly! Locket only knowsss of one other sssuch vesssel. Yearsss ago, Locket passsed from thossse of the blood to one not of the blood. A vacuoussss cow of the line of Hufflepuff. The Dark One took her family'sss greatessst treasssure when he claimed thisss one. Now, Locket begsss you. Sssstrike down the perversssion and end Locket'sss ssssuffering!"_

With one last angry hiss, the snake sank down into the face of the locket which now seem pulse with an unnatural power. Harry looked up at Regulus and nodded. From his book bag, the boy pulled out two pairs of dragonhide gloves and handed one pair over to Regulus before donning the other himself. Next, he pulled a small wooden box out of the bag. Inside were two glistening basilisk fangs which he carefully extracted, again passing one to Regulus who took it with exquisite care before kneeling a few feet from the horcrux.

"You tell it to open, Harry, and I'll strike first. Stand well back and do nothing unless ... well, unless the bloody thing kills me or something. Then, I suppose you're on your own."

Harry nodded and then hissed at the locket. "_Open._"

There was a soft click and the locket opened. Regulus moved to strike, but before he could, a shockwave of magical force exploded out of the locket knocking both of them to the ground and causing Harry to drop his basilisk fang. Then, an impenetrable black mist erupted from the locket all the way up to the ceiling, accompanied by a hideous _**SKREETCH **_that seemed to echo in both their minds despite their respective skills at Occlumency. Harry desperately looked around for his dropped fang while trying to buttress his mental defenses, but despite himself, he glanced up at the mist and saw that some large figure seemed to be moving within it. The mist parted and Harry was left paralyzed with horror.

Looming over him was the shambling, rotted corpse of Vernon Dursley.

"_YOU DID THIS TO ME, FREAK!" _the maggot-infested figure screamed at him. "_LOOK AT ME! YOU'VE KILLED ME! JUST LIKE YOU ALWAYS WANTED!"_

"No!" Harry gasped out in terror and guilt. "It wasn't my fault!"

The Vernon-thing didn't answer. It simply issued a bellow of rage and reached for Harry with a clawed hand, and as it did, the creature's entire body dissolved into a storm of doxies that fell on top of the boy who screamed in fear and pain.

"Harry!" Regulus cried out. Then, he focused down on the locket responsible for the nightmare before him. He hefted the basilisk fang and was ready to strike when the black mist twisted and billowed against. And from within it came a second figure. Regulus was prepared mentally for the sight of Eustace Tully looming over him and baying for revenge, but it was no werewolf who stepped out of the mist.

"_Hello, pretty boy_," said Matilda White with a smile for her husband.

"You ... no ... not real!" Regulus gasped in shock as he tried to fight against every one of his senses that were now leading him astray.

"_What does 'real' mean in a world of magic, luv,_" she said as she reached down to gently graze his cheek with her hand. "_Aren't I real enough to touch_?"

From somewhere far away, Regulus could hear the sound of someone screaming in agony, but he found he couldn't take his eyes off the image of his wife standing before him, alive once more.

"This isn't ... you're ... oh ... oh Matty, I've missed you so much!" A single tear rolled down the man's cheek.

"_Shh, it's okay, my luv. We're together now. That's all that matters._" She smiled again. "_And not just us. He's waiting for you too._"

"Who?" Regulus whispered. And from somewhere nearby, he could hear the sound of a baby's soft gurgle.

Nearby, Harry was on the ground in a fetal position as scores of doxies crawled all over him, stinging him through his clothes and even through his dragonhide gloves. His vision was growing blurry, but he could see Regulus standing nearby, ignoring him as he was transfixed by the image of his late wife. Nearby, Kreacher had returned. He stood at the entrance to the sitting room, watching the scene with quiet amusement. Gritting his teeth through the pain – "_Not real! Not real!_" he thought desperately – Harry rolled over and tried to pull himself forward with his hands even as the poisonous stings continued.

"_Our beautiful Leo is on the other side."_ Not-Matilda said. "_He wants his daddy, Rusty. We both want you to join us. So we can be a family again._"

"How?" the man asked in a daze as tears now streamed down his cheeks.

The false-Matilda moved to embrace Regulus warmly, and she whispered gently in his ear."_The answer's right there in your hands, pretty boy. One single prick of your skin. And then we can all be together once more. Forever._"

Nearby, a quivering hand in a blood-stained dragonhide glove slowly closed around a long sharp pearly-white object.

Not-Matty smiled down at Regulus, and it felt so good to see her pretty blue eyes once more. It had been so long. Regulus grinned joyfully back at the love of his life, barely aware of how his hand rose of its own accord, bringing the basilisk fang ever closer to his throat.

"_**GAAAAHH!**_" Harry screamed through the pain as he brought his own basilisk fang down right into the heart of Slytherin's Locket. The false-Matty screamed and then vanished, as did the doxy swarm and the black mist that had created them both. Harry collapsed onto the floor. The agonizing pain was gone, but the memory of it still lingered, like a nightmare from which he couldn't quite wake up.

Regulus looked around wildly for a few seconds after the specter disappeared. Then, he noticed the basilisk fang he was still holding just a few inches from his neck. With a loud cry, he hurled it away down the hall before rushing to check his companion.

"Harry! Harry! Are you alright? Speak to me!"

He rolled Harry over, and the boy's eyes fluttered open. He looked up to regard Regulus with a bleary expression.

"'M ... M'sorry," he said with a slurred voice.

"Sorry? /sniff/ My dear boy, what could you possibly have to feel sorry about?" Regulus asked as he wiped his face, relieved that Harry seemed to be recovering.

"M' sorry about your wife. She was very beautiful."

Regulus smiled and nodded. "Yes Yes, she was. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry your uncle was a grotesque flatulent git."

Despite his pain (and the guilt he still felt over indirectly causing Vernon's death), Harry couldn't help but laugh at Regulus's unkind remark. And with laughter, the pain from his psychic injuries lessened.

Nearby, the locket of Salazar Slytherin lay ruined on the floor, the black lies it whispered silenced forever.

* * *

**Next: "Reactions and Overreactions (Finale)," in which the Weasleys run afoul of Johnny Law, Mr. X makes a shocking revelation, and the Selwyns hold their dinner party. But what's on the menu?  
**

**AN 1: I'm not sure when the next chapter going up because I still have to send my computer off at some point for some hardware issues which means I'll be without it for a week or so. Assume not before July 15 unless I get lucky. Happy 4th of July!  
**

**UPDATED 7-17-17 to correct a minor plot hole as a guest reviewer pointed out that Harry should have already known who Wormtail was from the Map.**


	94. HP&DEM 11: Reactions & Overreactions (4)

**HARRY POTTER  
AND THE DEATH EATER MENACE**

* * *

**Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

* * *

**CHAPTER 11: Reactions and Overreactions (Finale).**

_**5 August 1993  
8:30 a.m.  
The Office of Chief Auror James Potter**_

"I want to thank you boys for bringing all this to our attention," the Chief Auror said earnestly. "At this point, every lead helps, and finding out that there's a connection between Azkaban and that business with Lockhart last term is a big one."

On the other side of James's desk sat three members of the Weasley family: Arthur, Percy, and George. Also present in the room were Senior Aurors Shacklebolt and Thicknesse and newly-commissioned Auror Proudfoot, who'd had an unexpectedly stressful first few months on the job.

"Think nothing of it, Chief Auror," Arthur said. "As soon as the boys told me last night that Professor Lockhart had put them to work on experimental portkeys and modified Polyjuice Potions, I knew we'd best let the aurors know."

For their part, Percy and George both looked contrite but also relieved that they weren't in any trouble.

"Do either of you still have any notes from your Lockhart research?" James asked. At that, Percy immediately produced a stack of parchment which he eagerly handed over.

"Here, sir. I always make a point of duplicating any reports or papers I turn it at school, especially near the end. Sometimes, especially near the end of term, the teachers don't always return them to us."

"I, ah, don't have anything, I'm afraid," George said apologetically. "I turned everything I had over to Auror Proudfoot." A soft growl came from the man himself who was standing a few feet behind the Weasleys. George winced. "Ah, sorry. To whoever it was who was pretending to be Auror Proudfoot."

"Quite so, quite so," James said while shooting the real Proudfoot a dirty look. "Well, I think that's all I need right now, but we'll contact you if we need any more information. Again, thank you for coming to see me. Arthur, boys."

The three Weasleys departed, leaving the office to James, his senior staff, and a visibly angry Michael Proudfoot. James noticed the young man's mood.

"Michael, I know this is all very upsetting to you, but if you want to stay on this case, you need to control your emotions. Otherwise, I'll have to reassign you until this investigation is over."

Proudfoot grimaced. "Sorry sir. It won't happen again."

"So," said Kingsley, "where does that leave us?"

James sat back in his chair, acutely aware of the fact that Rufus Scrimgeour, the man he'd replaced, was a deductive genius who would be brimming with ideas at this point. James knew he was not so gifted but was determined to fight his way through somehow.

"Well, we now have a clear connection between Azkaban and the Gilderoy Lockhart affair." Then, James perked up. "Maybe it's time we put some more effort into getting Lockhart his memories back."

"Is that possible?" asked Thicknesse. "If the spell that hit Lockhart is really the same one they use down under in place of executions, it's supposed to be permanent."

"Maybe so, but I'd rather get it from the horse's mouth. Kingsley, get an owl out to the Australian DMLE. See if they can send us somebody who's got experience with the Tabula Rasa Charm and can confirm that it's what took Lockhart's memories. And maybe they can give us some ideas about who could have learned that Charm without swearing an oath against using it illegally."

"On it," Kingsley said as he made a note on his pad.

"Now then, Auror Proudfoot, let's get back to your interactions with this 'Maria Gambrelli' person who you think is the one that stole some of your hair for Polyjuice."

Auror Proudfoot blanched. It was not a conversation to which he'd been looking forward.

* * *

_**9:30 a.m.  
Harry's Room, Longbottom Manor**_

Harry's eyes fluttered open, and then he winced sharply in pain. The boy had mostly recovered from the psychic attack he had suffered from the locket-horcrux the night before, but even the next morning, he still suffered from a splitting headache and heavy nausea. After returning from Grimmauld Place with Regulus, he'd gone straight to bed (in part to avoid questions from Sirius), and he was surprised to note from the clock on his night stand that he'd slept until 9:30. It was perhaps the latest he'd overslept for years, and for a moment, he imagined his Uncle Vernon bellowing at him for his laziness and sloth. Then, he remembered the vision of his uncle that the horcrux had shown him the night before and shuddered.

Shaking off the bad memories (if not the physical symptoms), Harry staggered to his bathroom to relieve himself and splash some water on his face before returning to his bedroom. There, to his surprise, he saw that his bed had already been made and the dirty clothes he'd simply dropped on the floor the night before had been removed. In their place, to Harry's greater surprise, was Dobby. The elf's dingy Malfoy tunic had been replaced with a tiny but surprisingly crisp black three-piece suit under which he wore a white wing-collar shirt and plain black tie, though like every house elf Harry had ever seen, Dobby was still barefooted. Even more surprisingly, Dobby's former cringing and broken-down demeanor was now replaced by a look of cool confidence and (Harry sensed vaguely) the barest hint of haughtiness.

"Good morning, Master Harry," Dobby said cheerfully, but not quite so cheerfully as to exacerbate Harry's headache. "Dobby has completed his instructional period with Master Harry's associate Blaise Zabini and is ready to resume his service to you, sir." Then, the elf cocked his head curiously, as if noticing Harry's physical condition. He coughed softly. "And adventuresome evening last night, sir?" he asked diplomatically.

Harry nodded and tried to reply, but nothing but a scratchy gurgle came out. He cleared his throat. "Something like that," he finally managed to get out.

"Ah, Say no more, sir. Dobby shall return momentarily."

With a soft pop, Dobby vanished. Harry looked around the room in befuddlement, idly wondering if he had enough time today to get back in bed for a bit more sleep. Before he could decide one way or the other, Dobby returned bearing a silver tray upon which rested a glass goblet containing a suspicious-looking red liquid and a small brick-shaped bit of foodstuff on a saucer. Harry studied it cautiously. It looked remarkably like a Muggle power bar.

"If you would drink this, sir," Dobby said with faint smile as he held out the glass.

"S'at a potion?" Harry asked blearily.

"Regrettably, house elves are forbidden to brew _potions_, sir," Dobby replied. "It is simply a little preparation of Dobby's own concoction. Dobby believes Master Harry will find it extremely invigorating after a late evening."

"N' the other ... thing?"

"Just a little something to tide Master Harry over, as it were. Dobby regrets that Master Harry has slept through breakfast, and while Dobby would certainly be delighted to prepare a more substantial repast, he fears that his master would have no time to eat and digest before his ten o'clock meeting."

"_Oh, yeah,_" Harry thought to himself. "_Mr. X will be here at ten for his interview. Guess a granola bar probably is all I'll have time for._"

He took the glass with a dubious expression before shrugging and tossing the whole thing back. For a few brief seconds, his nausea actually worsened and he practically had a spasm in response to the taste. But then, almost instantly, his sick feelings vanished completely, and the boy stood upright as his headache disappeared. The effects felt almost like a Pepper-Up Potion but without any of the usual magical side effects.

"I say!" Harry exclaimed despite himself, and he realized that his sore throat had also been miraculously cured. "Wow! That's ... remarkable! What's in it?"

"Regrettably, sir, Dobby cannot divulge that information. Secrets of the guild, one might say."

Harry nodded slowly. "Um, okay, I guess."

"Now, then, Master Harry, Dobby has consulted with the Longbottom elves regarding his master's regular schedule." He paused and looked somewhat contrite. "As an aside, Dobby is profoundly apologetic for any lapses he may have shown in anticipating your needs thus far in his employment. Dobby has been ... unwell. But Dobby guarantees Master Harry that his future service shall be impeccable."

"Good do know," Harry said slowly before biting into the breakfast bar. It was actually quite delicious for what tasted like granola, honey, and some kind of chopped fruit. Figs, maybe? As he chewed, Harry couldn't help but wonder _what in hell_ Blaise did to this elf in just one day to achieve this sort of transformation.

"But Dobby digresses. Hoskins informs Dobby that Master Harry regularly rises before dawn and spends several hours cooking as a way of relieving stress. Does Harry wish to continue using Hoskins as his sous-elf, or does he desire for Dobby to assume that role? Although Master Harry will find Dobby quite proficient in the kitchen, all house elves have specialities, and, respectfully, Dobby's most efficient usage would be as a personal valet and manservant, at least while Master Harry resides in the House of Longbottom. Also, Dobby is loathe to intrude upon Hoskins' domain, as it were, unless ordered to do so. It would be ... impolitic."

Harry stared at his _valet and manservant_ for several seconds while he processed that. Honestly, he was finding the conversation almost dreamlike in its surrealism. "I'll consider the matter and let you know, Dobby."

"Very good, sir. Finally, Master Harry's dogfather has requested you to come and meet with him prior to your ten o'clock appointment."

"Dog... father," Harry asked uncertainly.

"Godfather, Master Harry. Dobby said _godfather_."

"... right," Harry sighed. "Well, then, best not to keep my _godfather_ waiting. I'll go get a shower."

"Very good, sir. Dobby will prepare Master Harry's clothes for the day."

The elf popped away while Harry shook his head and went back to the bathroom.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Harry stood in front of the door to Sirius Black's room. After a moment's hesitation, he knocked softly, and from inside, he heard some coughing, followed by a raspy "Enter." The boy stepped into his godfather's room.

Sirius was still in bed, naturally. Regulus had indicated that he would be many months recuperating from his time in Azkaban. Surprisingly, the physical effects of incarceration were not the worst problem. In fact, the Azkaban staff apparently put a lot of effort into keeping their prisoners alive as long as possible, presumably to maximize their suffering. According to Augusta, Sirius would be on a regimen of healing potions for many months but should make a full recovery. Well, a full _physical_ recovery, at least.

The real problem for Sirius Black was not in his body but rather in his mind and his soul, both of which had suffered terrible assault over his ten-plus years of constant Dementor exposure. Regulus compared it to the Muggle condition known as post-traumatic stress disorder, though the wizarding equivalent had more tangible effects. Whenever Sirius suffered a flashback, he would become ravaged by physical symptoms of his former suffering as his own magic caused his memories of pain and suffering to manifest bodily. The effects were not unlike those of extreme boggart exposure, but much harder to treat. It was possible that he might never fully recover from his experiences.

"Ah, Harry," Sirius said before he was interrupted with a brief coughing fit. But the brilliant smile he offered his godson belied his weakness. "Come in, come in!" He gestured to a chair near his bed which Harry took.

"How are you feeling ... Uncle Sirius?" Harry asked uncertainly. "I'm ... not sure what to call you."

"Just Sirius is fine, I guess. I haven't been around to look after you and your family like I should, so I get why you don't actually have any _familial_ connection to me."

"That's hardly your fault," Harry chided.

"Maybe, maybe not," Sirius replied somewhat bitterly. "But as impossible as it seems, I let Wormtail get the best of me and paid the price."

"Wormtail," Harry said. "That's an odd nickname. Where did it come from ?"

Sirius grimaced. "Can't tell, I'm afraid. Took an oath. A stupid one as it turned out." He sighed dejectedly. "Doesn't really matter. He doesn't deserve the name anyway."

Then, he shook himself, as if to fight off encroaching depression. Sirius smiled again at his godson. "So, enough about that. We didn't get to talk for very long last night before you rushed out. And I know you've got a meeting with some Legilimency bloke in a little bit, but I'd like to ask a few questions, if you don't mind."

"Okay," Harry said cautiously. "Where do you want to start?"

"Well, you're at Hogwarts, I know. What house are you in?"

Harry opened his mouth and then shut it swiftly. "_Yeah, Dogfather_," he thought to himself. "_Why don't we start with __that__. Oh well, might as well rip the band-aid off all at once._"

"I'll be a Third Year next month. I was Sorted into Slytherin."

Sirius stared at him unblinkingly for several seconds. Then, he snickered softly. "So that explains it."

"Explains what?" Harry asked quizzically.

"This morning, Augusta came in here to join me for breakfast. I said a few unkind things about Slytherins, and she rather pointedly told me never to disparage anyone for being a Slytherin while I was in her house. That it was four Slytherins who rescued me from Azkaban because they were committed to destroying You-Know-Who, and if I couldn't respect their efforts enough to stop bad-mouthing their house, she'd put Draught of Living Death in my tea and lock me up in the attic until this whole horcrux-hunt business was over."

They both laughed at that.

"Of course," he continued. "She neglected to mention your Sorting or the names of any of my rescuers other than Reg. Were you actually one of the four who helped save me?"

"Well, I didn't go to Azkaban or anything exciting like that, but I helped however I could."

"Thank you," Sirius said simply. "Augusta was right. I have ... _issues_ with Slytherins. I know that, and I'm not sure I'll ever get over them. Nearly every Slytherin I went to school with either joined the Death Eaters or ended up dead at a Death Eater's hands for being a blood traitor. But I promise you, I will _never_ hold your Sorting against you."

"I'm glad to hear that," Harry replied.

"So, how did James react when he got the news? I may have had issues with Slytherins, but he had whole bound volumes."

Harry shrugged. "He didn't take it well, but that was a long time ago. He seems to be over it."

Sirius grinned. "I'll bet he made some big ridiculous scene."

Harry nodded slowly. "Yeah ... I guess you could call it that," he said evasively.

"Ha! I knew it. What did he do? I can't wait to rag on him about it, you know, after I get cleared."

The boy looked down at the floor. Sirius noticed and his smile faded to be replaced with a look of concern. "Harry? What did James do?"

Harry looked away for a moment before answering. "He got drunk. And then, he sent me a Howler that went off in the Great Hall during my first breakfast at Hogwarts. Among other things, he said if put one foot out of line, he'd disown me, snap my wand, and send me back to the Dursleys."

By now, Sirius's look of concern was replaced by one of horror. "He ... what?!"

"Sirius, it's okay. Believe me. It was pretty awful in the beginning, but we've both worked hard to get past it and become a family again."

"Uh-huh. And that's why you're spending your summers with Augusta Longbottom instead of that family you just mentioned?"

Harry made a sour face. "Well, okay then. I guess I _should_ say we're both _working_ hard to get past it, even thought we're not there yet."

Sirius said nothing for a moment as he thought about what his godson had said. "_Back_ ... to the Dursleys. Who are the Dursleys? And why was sending you back to them a punishment that was on the table?"

"Sirius..."

"Harry, please. I want to know everything. Do you mean to say that you didn't even live with James and Lily while you were growing up?"

The boy looked up at the ceiling as if trying to decide how far down this rabbit hole he wanted to go. He saw little need to open up his own wounds, particularly if it might cause his godfather to become ill again, but he also felt the man wouldn't drop it until he had the basic picture.

"When I was a baby, several healers and also Professor Dumbledore came to the mistaken conclusion that I was a squib, and James and Lily thought it best to have me shipped off to live with Petunia and Vernon Dursley, Lily's sister and brother-in-law. I stayed with them until I started Hogwarts."

"Petunia and...!" Sirius sputtered. "That awful horse-faced wench whose letters made Lily cry at school?! And I suppose Vernon was that mustachioed whale she married!"

Harry did a double-take. "_You _went to Petunia and Vernon's wedding?!"

"No, of course not. But your mother kept one of their wedding photos on the mantle at Godric's Hollow, so I know what they looked like. _Petunia_ didn't even want Lily and James to attend their wedding, but your maternal grandmother Rose insisted. Though that didn't stop them from insulting your parents every chance they got. James was livid when he got home."

Sirius shook his head in amazement before studying his godson more carefully.

"And you lived with them until you turned eleven? And now you're living here with the Longbottoms?" His eyes narrowed. "How did they treat you, Harry?"

"It's not important. I won't be going back there."

"Harry ..."

"Sirius," he interrupted calmly but firmly. "It _really_ doesn't matter anymore."

There was a brief silence between the two that was broken when Hoskins popped into the room bearing a serving tray.

"Begging the two gentlemen's pardon, but Hoskins has Lord Black's ten o'clock potion. Also, Master Harry, your own ten o'clock appointment has arrived, and Her Ladyship requests your presence."

"I'd better go," the boy said.

Sirius nodded. "Yeah, that's fine. This potion will knock me out cold for a few hours at least. But I'd like to talk some more after your meeting. We don't have to talk about James or the Dursleys or anything. I just want to get to know my godson better."

"Sure," Harry said warmly. Sirius watched the boy leave, and as soon as the door closed, his relaxed expression became pensive. "_Dammit, James_!" he thought furiously. "_What the hell have you been doing all these years!_"

* * *

_**At that same moment, at the Granger Residence in Crawley...**_

Hermione looked up from her reading at the sound of a soft tapping at her window. It was the mid-morning Post Owl bearing a copy of the _Daily Prophet_. She frowned. At Hogwarts, her copy was always delivered at breakfast, and she knew from conversations with Neville and Blaise that it was the same for them at home, even for Blaise who traveled extensively during the summers. Yet her copy delivered to a Muggle address in Crawley always came hours later and sometimes not until the afternoon. Idly, she wondered if Wizarding culture was actually so petty about blood purity that even newspaper deliveries for Muggleborns got bumped to the end of the list. She pushed the idea aside for the moment. There was no use in looking for soft bigotries everywhere, for she was sure to find it whether it existed or not. She paid the owl and handed it a treat before taking the newspaper over to her writing desk. The headline was every bit as lurid as she'd come to expect from the newspaper. She wondered if the wizards had learned about "journalism" from reading Rupert Murdoch's tabloids.

_**DEMENTORS UNLEASHED!  
FUDGE UNVEILS CONTROVERSIAL NEW PLAN!  
WILL USE DEMENTORS TO GUARD HOGWARTS AGAINST  
DEATH EATER MENACE!**_

Hermione sighed loudly and hard enough to ruffle the bangs of her frizzy hair. Then, she set the paper aside and pulled out the _Monster Book of Monsters_ that she'd recently purchased. She stroked the spine for a few moments until the book calmed down and then opened it up and flipped through to the section on Dementors. After a few minutes of review, she set the book aside with an even bigger sigh and reached for the list of school supplies she'd been working on. She added one item to the bottom and then frowned.

"_How on earth am I going to persuade Mummy and Daddy, both dentists, to let me take a large supply of chocolate to school with me?!_"

* * *

_**Meanwhile, back in the Longbottom conference room ...**_

Six people sat around the great circular table, and Harry studied the five adults casually. Mr. Malfoy and Lady Augusta looked as composed as always, while Reg was back in his Mr. Cato face, that of an older vaguely-familiar man with Chinese features. Upon meeting him, Mr. X actually crooked an eyebrow, and when Lady Augusta actually introduced him as "Mr. Cato," he almost seemed amused before his Occlumency clouded his features once more.

As the group took their places around the table, Harry contemplated his peculiar relationship with Mr. X. He could count on one hand the adults he trusted implicitly and have a thumb left over. Artie, Augusta, Snape (to an extent – Harry understood that his relationship with Dumbledore introduced _complexities_ to their relationship), and Mr. X. Even Reg and Malfoy he didn't trust completely. Both were former Princes of Slytherin and both had their own agendas which were congruent with his for the moment but could easily diverge under the right circumstances. Honestly, Harry suspected that if Voldemort actually did return to full power, the odds of Lucius turning on them to rush back to his former master were somewhere around 50-50. Of course, Harry _had_ to trust Mr. X in a way. Their relationship as mentor-student meant that Mr. X was privy to Harry's innermost secrets other than those protected by the magic of the Lair, and while the Memory Lock ensured he wouldn't remember anything he learned, the man had never once given the impression of either judging or pitying Harry for what he discovered, a kindness which the boy genuinely appreciated.

And yet despite all that, Harry still knew very little about the man himself. All he'd ever let slip during their sessions was that he had a wife and children, and the complex web of Notice-Me-Not Charms and other glamours concealing the man's identity meant that Harry was literally incapable of directly perceiving anything about his true appearance and wouldn't even recognize his tutor if he bumped into the man on the street. He simply had an impression of an incredibly bland and ordinary individual with absolutely no memorable features save a tendency toward dry humor and occasional sarcasm.

In fact, Harry suddenly thought, technically even Mr. X's gender could have occluded, and it was entirely possible that his teacher had been a woman this whole time. But Harry found that unlikely. Even if he couldn't perceive any details about Mr. X's true appearance, he'd dropped enough clues at least to hint at being male, and not even Harry could fathom the insane level of paranoia needed to pretend to be of a different gender just to make a few galleons from tutoring. He was still amazed that Reg had actually transformed himself into the form of a beautiful Nordic blonde woman in order to seduce Michael Proudfoot and steal some of his hair. Harry wasn't sure exactly how far Auror Proudfoot and "Maria Gambrelli" had gone as part of that ruse, but Reg once muttered disdainfully that Proudfoot wasn't his "type." And also that he had bad breath.

Unlike Marcus Flint, the conspiracy would not be binding Mr. X to an Unbreakable Vow at first. Instead, he would simply be swearing a high-level secrecy oath which would strike him with an extremely debilitating curse if he revealed anything he learned during this initial meeting. For that alone, Malfoy was paying him 1,000 galleons for an hour of his time with the understanding that he would consent to a Memory Lock if he did not wish to proceed any further. If, on the other hand, he was agreeable to helping them (at a fairly outrageous price), he would reveal his true identity and swear an Unbreakable Vow.

"Now, to business," Mr. X after completing his secrecy vow. "And I am most eager to find out what the business is that requires such high levels of secrety and also involves such esteemed personages as Lucius Malfoy and Augusta Longbottom. To say nothing of the reclusive squib manservant and subsequent heir to the notorious Gilderoy Lockhart. Mr. ... _Cato_, I believe you said?"

"Yes," the metamorphmagus said amiably. "That's the name."

"Of course it is," said Mr. X with a drawl.

Harry frowned. There was some subtext here that he was missing, but he thought he detected a whiff of disdain from Mr. X directed towards Reg's current persona. "_Is Mr. X bigoted towards Asians_?" he thought curiously.

"Let us get straight to the point, Mr. X," said Augusta. "You are here today because we desire your aid in bringing about the final destruction of You-Know-Who."

Mr. X stared. "I see. Most people are under the impression that the Dark Lord's destruction was achieved twelve years ago through the power of the Boy-Who-Lived. I am ... aware that Mr. Potter here believes differently, but I should like to know what your cabal has uncovered that leads you to think you can succeed where so many others have failed. Also, I must admit to some surprise as to _your_ involvement, Mr. Malfoy, given your own _history_ with the Dark Lord."

Malfoy puffed up a bit. "As I'm sure you know, sir, I was found not guilty of being a Death Eater due to an ironclad Imperius defense. In any case, whether you believe I was a Death Eater or not, let me assure you that my current opposition to the Dark Lord is implacable."

"Indeed," Mr. X said languidly. "So how, exactly, do you all propose to destroy the Dark Lord? And what will my role in these machinations be?"

Augusta spoke. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named secured for himself a limited form of immortality through the use of cursed objects known as horcruxes, into each of which he has inserted a fraction of his very soul. As long as these objects endure, he can never truly be slain. Presently, he exists in a spirit-like form in which he is able to possess others and potentially communicate with his supporters. And we believe it is possible for him to eventually reconstitute a body for himself unless all of his horcruxes are destroyed first."

"To that end," continued Malfoy, "we have liberated the Dark Lord's most trusted advisors from Azkaban. It is our desire for you to probe them with Legilimency to determine if any of them know anything about the nature and location of his horcruxes, as well as exactly how many horcruxes he made if it be known."

Not all of Mr. X's poise and Occlumency could keep the shock from his face. "You?! You people engineered a breakout from the most dangerous prison in the word? And your purpose was simply to interrogate the Dark Lord's five most dangerous and loyal followers? I cannot decide whether to describe your actions as bold or deranged!"

"Why can't they be both?" Mr. Cato asked mischievously. "And I'd like to correct you on one point. We broke out four of You-Know-Who's closest followers and one innocent man. We believe that Sirius Black is innocent of the crimes of which he was accused."

Mr. X went silent for several seconds, and when he spoke, his voice was suddenly very cold and precise. "I'm sorry. Could you repeat that?" Across the table, Harry stiffened as his curiosity suddenly became concern for reasons he couldn't articulate even to himself. He focused all of his Legilimency awareness on his tutor.

"Exactly what I said," continued Mr. Cato who was oblivious to Harry's growing apprehension. "We believe Black is innocent. We'd also like your assistance in proving that if you can, as well as your help in healing the mental damage he's suffered."

Mr. X nodded slowly. "And where is the poor innocent Sirius Black now?"

"Um, Cato?" Harry began nervously as his apprehension blossomed into outright alarm, but Augusta spoke over him.

"The four Death Eaters are incapacitated in the dungeon beneath this house, but Lord Black is resting comfortably in a bedroom right down the hall..."

Suddenly, before Augusta could continue, there was a blur of motion from the Occlumens. His wand seemed to appear from nowhere, and he stabbed it at the table which instantly dissolved into a whirlwind of sawdust that blew into the faces of those others present. Forewarned, Harry dove for cover, while Mr. X targeted Cato before the other man could recover from his surprise. "_**INCARCEROUS!**_" he shouted. The spell struck with such force that it knocked the man out of his chair before leaving him bound and lying on the floor.

Augusta and Lucius were quicker to respond despite the sawdust whirlwind which now seemed to be more of a distraction than an actual attack. Malfoy lashed out with a Stunner, only for Mr. X to casually parry it straight into Augusta Longbottom who fell to the ground before she could utter a single spell. Then, for good measure, Mr. X chained his parry into another spell, one Harry had never heard of before. "_**LEVICORPUS!**_"

Suddenly, Malfoy was jerked off the ground by his right foot and suspended upside down several feet above the floor, and he dropped his wand in surprise. Nearby, Cato's eyes widened, and he glared at Mr. X before closing his eyes in concentration. From behind a nearby sofa, Harry yelled out to the Occlumens.

"Why are you doing this?!"he exclaimed in a fury.

"Stay out of this, _Potter_. Don't think about trying to intervene unless you want the Ministry drawn to the scene for your underage magic!"

"I chose you for this because I trusted you!" Harry yelled angrily. "You swore an oath!"

Mr. X sneered. "Yes, Potter, I swore an oath of secrecy, but that was all. And I can assure you I will take to my grave the tale of how I _killed_ that miserable bastard Sirius Black!" The man started to turn to the door but was then distracted and did a double-take. While he was talking to Harry, Mr. Cato had somehow stretched himself from a somewhat short Asian man to one who would be over seven-feet-tall if standing upright. His arms and torso had grown incredibly thin as a result, and Cato had successfully wriggled out of his conjured ropes and was now pulling out his own wand.

Angrily, Mr. X targeted Cato for a Stunner, but just before he could fire, Harry dilated his perceptions so that he could time his move. At the last second, Harry hurled himself forward and took the Stunner in place of his ally, Cato. The boy dropped to the floor and slid into the wall already unconscious. Shocked by the self-sacrifice, Mr. X was unable to defend himself when Cato fired off an Expelliarmus that knocked the man across the room while sending his own wand into Cato's waiting hand. For good measure, Cato then fired off an Incarcerous of his own to bind Mr. X before pulling off the rest of his ropes and climbing to his feet. As he did, he shrank back down to his normal height before casting Renervate spells on Harry and Augusta.

"Well," said Lucius irritably with as much poise as he could muster while hanging upside down by his ankle. "Kindly don't leave me hanging, if you'll pardon the pun." Harry was suddenly pleased that Malfoy's devotion to wizarding traditions did not extend to robes with nothing but underpants beneath them, and the man's anachronistic but otherwise Mugglish suit kept everything in its proper place.

"Sorry, Lucius," Cato said. "That's a very special curse that I've seen in action but never had the chance to learn. Unless you know the specific countercurse, you can't break it until it wears off after about an hour."

"And let me guess," Malfoy grumbled. "You don't know the countercurse."

"No," Cato replied as he moved towards the bound and seething Mr. X with his wand pointed and ready for any further attack. Harry moved to stand next to him, his face still a mask of shock and betrayal.

"Happily though," Cato continued, "I believe that the spell's creator is close at hand. _**REVELIO!**_"

The spell washed over Mr. X, and slowly his generic unmemorable hair darkened to a slick black, his generic clothes changed to ebon robes with perhaps too many buttons, and his generic face morphed into sallow features with a nose that seemed entirely too big for the face. Harry gasped. Mr. X was gone, and now it was the familiar face of Severus Snape that glared up at them both with an expression of boundless fury.

* * *

_**Five minutes later ...**_

"Explain!" Harry said irritably.

"Manners, Potter," Snape said imperiously. "I am still your teacher and am owed a measure of respect."

The group had reassembled back back in their chairs around the pile of dust that was all that remained of what Lady Augusta grumpily described as "a Hepplewhite table that's been in the family since 1810." Snape had been allowed his wand long enough to countercurse Malfoy (Harry made a mental note of the wand movement and the incantation, _Liberacorpus_), but Mr. Cato then confiscated it once more and handed it off to Malfoy who secreted it inside his jacket. Now, Harry and all the grownups sat guardedly with three of the adults pointing their wands at the fourth. Harry was not pointing a wand for obvious reasons, which was a good thing as he was having more difficulty than usual in suppressing his temper. In fact, he was probably angrier now than at any point since he'd started studying Occlumency.

"Don't talk to me about respect, _sir_," Harry said through gritted teeth. "It's summer, and school is out. And I don't expect to consider Mr. X a teacher of any sort ever again."

"Harry, calm down," said Cato.

"No, don't anyone tell me to calm down." He glared almost murderously at the Potions Master. "Not ten minutes ago, I was actually thought to myself that there were at most four adults in the world I really, truly trusted. Four! And I have just learned that two of them were actually _the same person who has been lying to me from the start!_ So I'll ask again – explain yourself!"

Snape let out a long-suffering sigh. "If you will recall, Mr. Potter, I was the one who first detected your natural skill at Legilimency and realized that you would likely become a skilled Occlumens as well if led to apply yourself. I quickly realized that, modesty aside, there was simply no one else in Britain who could possibly teach you as well as myself, with the possible exception of the Headmaster, who you would never accept as an instructor, and a few certain individuals with Death Eater connections who were as likely to murder you as teach you. And yet, I also knew that even if you agreed to let me instruct you, an uncertain prospect at best, you would never develop your abilities to their height under my guidance. Teaching the psychic arts requires a powerful bond of trust, and between me being your head of house, my oaths to the Headmaster, and my ... relationships with both your parents and also your brother, I knew you would never trust Severus Snape enough to fulfill your potential."

"So you invented Mr. X and then encouraged me to study under him," Harry concluded in a cold voice.

"Don't overexaggerate your own importance, Potter. I didn't invent that persona just for you. Mr. X really is the anonymous identity I use for teaching private Occlumency and Legilimency lessons during the summers to supplement my income. Despite or perhaps because of the rarity of the two gifts, teaching either or both of them is a very lucrative field, and my reputation as Mr. X is well-known, at least among the somewhat insular subculture of devotees of the psychic arts. After you acquiesced to my recommendations about studying Occlumency, it was a simple matter to arrange for Mr. X's resume to pass into the hands of your solicitor who hired me on the merits. And also at a significant discount on my usual fee, I might add."

Harry rolled his eyes but then furrowed his brow in confusion. "Hang on, a minute! You said you had a wife and two kids!"

"Oh think it through, Potter! You're a Legilimency deductive genius. Unless I diverted you somehow, it was inevitable that some slip-up would allow you to realize that Mr. X and Severus Snape were the same person. So I made a maudlin display of tearfully revealing the existence of a fictitious family for whose safety I was concerned. You accepted that at face value and thereafter ignored any points of comparison between the two personas."

Snape's statement shocked Harry, and as he thought about it, he realized it was the truth. He'd actually lost count of the number of times that he'd noticed how much Mr. X reminded him of Snape, especially in their shared tendency towards biting wit, but he'd never considered the possibility of them being the same person.

"Is that why Mr. X constantly insulted Severus Snape and discouraged me from following his advice?"

"In part. But it was also valuable to your training. As Severus Snape, I could drive you to develop your powers to the fullest, while as Mr. X, I could warn you about the potential risks of pushing too hard. And also, I suppose, about the dangers of placing too much trust in someone with loyalties as conflicting and complicated as mine. Whose advice you chose to follow was ultimately your own choice. Besides, at this point in my life, sarcasm is second-nature to me, and by directing it at myself, I further separate the two personalities in your mind."

"Speaking of sarcasm," Malfoy interrupted, "this is all _fascinating_. But can we please get back to this matter for which I've paid a thousand galleons just to ensure your presence here. You know what is at stake with the Dark Lord's horcruxes. Will you help us? That is, I suppose, without making the murder of Sirius Black a precondition?"

Snape sat and thought for a long moment. "I will swear an oath to maintain the secrecy of your cabal and its agenda and also to aid you in probing the minds of your captives, but _only_ to the extent it is safe for me to do so. The Lestranges have all had Occlumency training from Augustus Rookwood, and a probe of their minds could be highly dangerous unless undertaken with the utmost care. I believe I can penetrate the defenses of the three Lestranges, but you are all being quite naive if you think it can be done anytime soon. It would likely take weeks to prepare myself for even a preliminary scan. And I will tell you all right now, I would never attempt to enter the mind of Augustus Rookwood unless I were persuaded that the fate of the world depended on it."

All of the conspirators looked dismayed at that news. Finally, Augusta spoke.

"We quite understand, Professor Snape. And I hesitate to ask, but about Lord Black...?"

Snape barked out a laugh. "So he's a _Lord_ now? Typical! No, Lady Longbottom. I will not lift a finger to help that animal in any way. If it is essential to defeat the Dark Lord, then I will swear an oath not to raise my wand against him except in self-defense until the Dark Lord is finally defeated. But once that is done, Sirius Black and I will have a reckoning. Of that, I can promise you."

Throughout Snape's speech, Mr. Cato grew progressively angrier, but it was Lucius who spoke first.

"What exactly is the source of your obvious hatred for Sirius Black beyond schoolyard rivalries?" he inquired. "We are certain that he was never actually a Death Eater."

"Frankly, I don't give a damn whether he was a Death Eater or not," Snape snapped. "Either way, he was a cruel, vicious bastard who deserved what happened to him." Then, the Potions Master turned his attention to the fuming Mr. Cato. "But before I say anything more, since we're all laying our cards on the table, perhaps Sirius Black's brother _Regulus_ might do me the courtesy of dropping that ridiculous disguise and showing his true face!"

Silence fell on the room, and Cato's expression of anger was replaced by one of astonishment. "How long have you known?" he finally asked.

Snape snorted. "I've had most of the clues for months, but it was only in the last few minutes that all of the pieces fell into place. I was the first to suspect Gilderoy Lockhart's imposture by an unknown wizard with some form of shapeshifting magic after I noticed his apparent ignorance of events from the real Lockhart's school days. I reported my suspicions to James Potter, but naturally the imbecile leapt to the wrong conclusion and assumed that it was the real Lockhart who had simply gone dark. The newspaper accounts of Lockhart's histrionic confession followed by his apparent self-lobotomy – not to mention the report of him leaving all of his wealth to _an Asian squib manservant named Cato_ – strongly suggested that the shapeshifter had simply assumed a new identity after disposing of the real Lockhart. However, I kept my suspicions to myself because I could not prove anything nor could I divine why the mystery shapeshifter posed as the Hogwarts Defense instructor in the first place. But when the Azkaban breakout occurred and was apparently facilitated through shapeshifting magic, I realized that the imposter was involved and as Lockhart had tricked the best and brightest of the Hogwarts student body into giving him the means to defeat Azkaban's defenses."

He smirked at Cato who was still speechless. "And _then_, I was invited here to finally meet the elusive Mr. Cato and more connections were made. I realized at once that the shapeshifter was raised as a Pureblood but later spend considerable time either among Muggles or in some foreign Magical culture where association with Muggles was more common than Britain. I also knew that the only known British Metamorphmagus of this era was Nymphadora Tonks who inherited her gift from the Blacks. Your personal interest in exonerating Sirius Black was the final clue I needed. Obviously, Regulus Black was a secret metamorphmagus who faked his own death and fled Britain for either the Muggle world or a foreign Magical society with strong Muggle ties, and he stayed there for many years before returning in the guise of Gilderoy Lockhart in order to manipulate the top Hogwarts students into giving him the means to rescue his miscreant brother from prison."

Snape glanced over at Harry and sniffed disdainfully. "I may not have born with your _natural_ affinity for the deductive aspects of Legilimency, Mr. Potter, but I _am_ a master Legilimens, and that includes developing such skills."

Cato shook his head in confusion. "How did you know that I was a Pureblood who went Muggle?!"

"Elementary, my dear Regulus," he said smugly. "For one thing, only an insular paranoid Pureblood family like the Blacks could have concealed the existence of a Metamorphmagus from the Conscription List. But more importantly, only someone thoroughly immersed in Muggle culture would be aware of the existence of a somewhat obscure Muggle fictional character such Cato from the _Pink Panther_ film series. And _only a Pureblood_ would be so _fatuous _as to disguise himself as Cato from the _Pink Panther_ film series and never imagine that his false identity might be _obvious _to any Muggle-born or Muggle-raised wizards he encountered. Honestly, Regulus! I lived among British Muggles throughout the 1960's and 70's! _Of course, I know who Burt Kwouk is!_"

The others all turned to look at Cato who was suddenly blushing.

"Burt ... Kwouk?" Harry inquired.

"He's a Muggle actor. He, um, he played Inspector Clouseau's manservant Cato in the, ah, _Pink Panther _movies." The others continued to stare at him. "They're really very funny. _A Shot In the Dark_ was my favorite. You should watch them sometime." More staring. Finally, he sighed loudly and shook his head vigorously to reset his appearance to that of Regulus Black.

"Better?" he asked Snape.

"Marginally," Snape drawled.

"Professor Snape," said Augusta. "I know what Sirius Black was like when you were at school together. My son Frank spoke of James Potters band of hooligans many times. But you both graduated from Hogwarts nearly a quarter-century ago. In the face of a crisis as serious as a reborn You-Know-Who, surely you can put aside whatever bad memories you have of his past bullying."

Snape straightened in his chair. "With all due respect, Lady Augusta, It was _far more_ than childish bullying. When I knew him last, Sirius Black was a psychopath, and I have no reason to think that a decade in Azkaban has improved either his disposition or his character."

Regulus's lip curled in disgust. "You know, Severus, I must say I really do find it astonishing to see what a monumental hypocrite you've grown up to be. Breath-taking really."

Snape's eyes flashed dangerously, and Lucius casually shifted in his seat. Snape's wand was still in his pocket, and he didn't want the other man to summon it wandlessly and resume conflict. Like Augusta, he grieved slightly for the ruined Hepplewhite table and wished to see no more irreplaceable antiques destroyed today.

"How. _Dare_. You!" Snape hissed at Regulus.

"Oh knock it off, Severus," the other man interrupted. "It's _me_. Regulus Black! I was a Slytherin just one year behind you. We spent six years sharing a dormitory. I _know_ you. You may have ruined your friendship with Lily Evans by losing your temper and calling her a Mudblood to her face, but we both know how free you were with that word while it was just other Slytherins around. And you may never have bullied anyone personally, but you were perfectly happy to be the evil genius behind Mulciber, Rosier, and Avery. We both know that nearly every dark curse they learned at Hogwarts came from you."

"Do not presume to equate the childish pranks of Mulciber and Avery with what Sirius ...!"

"MARY McDONALD!" Regulus shouted angrily. Instantly, Snape went silent with his mouth still hanging open in surprise.

"Oh," Reg continued in a more reasonable tone of voice. "So you _do_ remember poor Mary McDonald. Or as I believe you used to refer to her, "that jumped-up little Mudblood from Aberdeen." Refresh my memory, Severus. Did Mary McDonald ever return to Hogwarts after that breakdown she had during her OWLS? For that matter, were the mind healers at St. Mungo's ever able to cure her of that persistent delusion that she had cockroaches crawling around under her skin?"

Harry looked from Reg to Snape in shock, and Snape himself bore an expression of shame that the boy had never imagined his rigidly-controlled teacher could display.

"What happened to Mary McDonald was ... unfortunate," Snape said much more quietly. "A schoolboy prank that went wrong." Then, he looked up at Reg, determination returning to his face. "While I regret it, it was not comparable to what Sirius Black did to me."

"No? Then share with us, Severus. What exactly did my brother, who was only two months older than you, ever do to you that was as bad as what you helped Mulciber do to Mary McDonald."

Snape locked eyes with Regulus, and a fierce righteous anger seemed to fill him.

"He tried to murder me, Regulus."

Silence reigned.

"I don't believe you," Regulus finally said in a quiet voice.

"Believe what you want, Regulus, but it is the truth. In the fall of 1976, your brother Sirius deliberately and with malice aforethought tried to bring about my death. I cannot reveal all the details due to oaths I was compelled to swear for the protection of innocent parties. But make no mistake. Sirius Black actively tried to murder me, and he only failed because of the last-minute intervention of James Potter to whom I owe a life debt over the matter even though I know perfectly well that the arrogant sod only acted to save me to prevent his friends from being harmed or punished for Black's actions. Sirius Black tried to kill me, and I shall never forgive him for it."

"No one is asking you to embrace the man as a boon companion, Severus," said Lucius while wearing a speculative expression. "Merely that you work with us and by extension him. If the passage of time cannot heal your wounds, what else would do it?"

"There is not enough gold in all the Malfoy vaults to persuade me to work with Sirius Black." Snape said with a sneer.

Lucius smiled. "Well actually, I wasn't going to offer gold from the _Malfoy_ vaults ... _Regent Prince_."

Snape went very still. "... what?"

"I have found you an Heir, Severus. A wizard of the line of Prince. Someone who can exercise a legal claim to the Prince seat but who, for a number of reasons, cannot formally take it for at least three years and perhaps as many as ten. Someone who is willing to reinstate you to the Prince family and appoint _you_ as his Regent until he comes of age. Someone also willing to share with his only magical kin the bounty of the Prince vaults in exchange for helping to transition fully into our world."

"A Muggleborn descended from squibs of the Prince line," Snape said slowly. Then, his expression hardened. "And you think dangling the Prince inheritance in front of me is enough for me to let go of my hatred of Sirius Black?"

"I _think_ that dangling the Prince inheritance was enough to get you _to take the Dark Mark_, my old friend. A decision that you have regretted ever since. And I _think_ that offering you that inheritance once more, conditional on you doing whatever you can to help _defeat _the Dark Lord, will purge you of those regrets."

"_And just like that_," Harry thought to himself, _"Malfoy's got him._" The boy marveled internally at what he'd just witnessed, a demonstration of why Lucius Malfoy had been worthy to become a Prince of Slytherin. Some Princes had magical gifts that eased the way like Parseltongue or Metamorphmagic. But others, like Lucius, simply had a knack for knowing what people wanted and how to get it for them.

The group spent the remainder of the hour discussing terms before Snape left for Hogwarts. One of his terms was that he would need the Headmaster's permission to miss school on those occasions he returned here to psychically interrogate their prisoners, though naturally he would not be able to explain the true reasons for his absence. But assuming Dumbledore consented, Snape was on board. He even promised to try to help Sirius with his various mental issues, but only while Sirius "keeps a civil tongue in his empty head."

Later that afternoon, Harry went to visit Sirius once again after the man's long nap.

"So how did your meeting go?" Sirius said groggily. "Is your Occlumency guy on board?"

"... he is," Harry replied.

"Good news. I look forward to meeting him sometime."

"Yeah," Harry said with his best fake smile. "That'll definitely be an interesting conversation."

* * *

_**9:00 p.m.  
Cauchemar Abbey  
Dark Peak Moor, Derbyshire**_

Cassius Warrington fought down the urge to adjust his collar as he struggled to eat his _Bisque de Crevettes _without dribbling it down the front of his shirt. It was the boy's first visit to Cauchemar Abbey, the ancestral home of the Selwyn family since some time around the Eighth Century. Initially, Cassius had thrown a bit of a tantrum which his father had told him the night before that he would be attending a "family dinner party" when he'd already made plans to spend the weekend with Miles Bletchley. He complained rather loudly about the imposition ... and then was shocked into obedience when his father slapped him for the first time in his life. He was even more shocked when he looked up at his father and realized that the man wasn't angry with him.

He was afraid.

Cassius put that insight out of his mind and focused on his soup. He had no idea what _Bisque de Crevettes _was though he suspected it was something to do with shrimp. He also had no idea what "Cauchemar" meant beyond the fact that, like his soup, it was something French. Probably something awful to judge by the frighteningly oppressive architecture and Gothic furniture in the old manse. He'd ask Miranda about the name, as she spoke French, but the girl was no longer on speaking terms with him.

Which made things rather tense since the girl was sitting to his left and resolutely ignoring him.

Though not directly related to the House of Selwyn, Miranda Bonnevie was a part of the extended family by way of the Warringtons. Specifically, she was the niece of Cassius's mother, Juliana Warrington _née_ Bonnevie. It had been his family's hope that the Bonnevies might someday be brought into the larger Selwyn family network, thereby extending the Selwyns' reach into France where most of the Bonnevies reside. But all his parents' work on that front had apparently been ruined by Cassius's disastrous screw-up the previous term. The plan had been to lead Jim Potter, the Heir of Slytherin, into a greater appreciation of dark magic and eventually Pureblood ideology. It ended with Cassius suspended and forced to repeat Fourth Year and Miranda expelled and on her way to finish her last year of education at Beauxbatons. Understandably, relations between the Warringtons and the Bonnevie's were _strained_, which was why it surprised Cassius when his father announced that Miranda would be coming with them to tonight's dinner party. Surprised and perhaps troubled. Cassius Warrington was by no means the most astute of Slytherins, but even he was aware of a terrible undercurrent of tension that flowed beneath every bit of casual dinner conversation so far. It was as though nearly everyone in the room was waiting for an axe to fall. But on whose neck?

Cassius looked around the room. The throne-like chair at the head of the long table was empty. It had been reserved for Adramalech Selwyn who had been Lord Selwyn since before Cassius's _grandfather_ had been born. But these days, Lord Selwyn was rarely seen out in public, or even in private for that matter. Cassius assumed it was due to declining health since he was pretty sure the man was over 160 years old. To either side of empty chair sat an elderly witch and a positively ancient wizard, Auntie Camilla and Great-Uncle Merihem, Adramalech's younger siblings. Merihem's grand-daughter, Cassilda (the House Seneshal despite her youth) sat between Merihem and Aldones Selwyn, Cassilda's father and Merihem's son. Cassilda's older brother Hyades, a neckless hulk of a wizard who rarely spoke, sat beside Auntie Camilla. One thing that had been drummed into Cassius's head by his parents was that Adramalech was Grandfather, Camilla was Auntie, and Merihem was Great-Uncle. Their given names were not to be used in casual conversation, and their actual familial relationships were deemed irrelevant. As for the rest, anyone outside one's immediate family was simply "Cousin" regardless of any actual family relationships.

Moving down from the head of the table, Corban Yaxley sat with his three children: two boys (Giles and Albert) who attended Durmstrang and a daughter (Viola) who would be head girl at Beauxbatons this upcoming year. It was expected that she would help Miranda "adjust" to her new situation. After the Yaxleys came the Carrows. Amycus and Alecto sat across from each other, and each had one of the identical twins, Hestia and Flora, sitting beside them. Cassius had once jokingly asked his father whether Amycus and Alecto were brother-and-sister, husband-and-wife, or both. His father immediately grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him furiously while shouting almost hysterically "_Never ask such things where anyone else might hear!_' Flora and Hestia rarely spoke at dinner, but they constantly gave each other significant looks, as though they could hear one another's thoughts. They also took turns glancing at Cassius and smirking, as if to suggest to him that they knew something vitally important that he did not.

The Warringtons were seated near the far end of the table from the great chair, and even Cassius was not so oblivious as to miss the significance of the seating arrangements. The only one farther away from the Selwyn end of the table was poor, pitiful Uriah Travers who ignored everyone else while slowly dranking himself into a stupor. His wife, brother, and two of his sons had died during the Wizarding War, while his third son was a convicted Death Eater who was _not_ among those that had been rescued from Azkaban earlier in the week. Uriah never took the Dark Mark and even gave testimony against his son which is what secured his own freedom and Lordship, but now, twelve years later, he had nothing left to offer anyone save the five votes he cast in the Selwyns' favor whenever called upon to do so. Whenever he eventually finished drinking himself to death, the House of Travers would likely die with him.

The food was excellent, as to be expected for an Ancient and Noble House at the height of its power, though poor Cassius, who had not received the deportment training one might expect of, say, a Malfoy or a Longbottom, struggled a bit with which fork to use on each course. And each misstep brought another smirk from the Carrow girls which only caused the boy to grow angrier as the meal progressed. Through it all, however, there were no discussions of politics or current affairs which, as Auntie Camilla reminded everyone, were not proper topics for the dinner table. Discussion instead focused on banal observations about fashion, Quidditch, recent theater productions, and the occasional Mudblood joke.

Finally, after the dessert plates were taken away, everyone moved from the dining room to a large study and billiard room where the house elves served drinks: butterbeer for the minors, wine for most of the women, scotch for most of the men. Cousin Cassilda, Auntie Camilla, and Great-Uncle Merihem eschewed all those drink options in favor of a thick ruby-red beverage that looked like some sort of cherry cordial served in tall fluted glasses. The house elves served the drinks in silence, and none of them so much as made eye contact with anyone in the room. Cassilda took a sip from her drink, licked her lips as if to savor the taste, and then leaned back against a billiard table before addressing the group.

"Let me begin by saying that Grandfather is still resting and will not be joining us this evening," she said. Immediately and to Cassius's surprise, a good deal of the tension in the room drained away, and Cousin Uriah actually exhaled in obvious relief.

"However, I spoke with Grandfather at length, and he has a number of questions which he finds vexing. Let us begin with the most obvious ones. I feel certain that none of you would be so ... presumptuous as to involve yourselves with the shocking events from Azkaban Prison that have captured the nation's attention this week. Or at least, none of you would have done so without at least _consulting_ with us beforehand. However, if any of you have any information you feel might be useful to the Family, please share it now."

At first, there was silence as the assembled family members waited to see who would be the first to stick his neck under the blade. It turned out to be Corban Yaxley, who was not only Lord of his own House but also an official of some importance within the DMLE.

"In the confusion surrounding the Azkaban affair, I was able to filch the incident report on a mysterious fire that broke out in the community of Thurso on the coast of Northern Scotland. Twenty Muggles were killed that night."

"Bah!" said Uriah with a loud belch. "What do we care for burnt Muggles, Yaxley?" Then, the drunken old man noticed Cassilda staring at him. He clamped his mouth shut and began studying the carpets intently.

"I found it significant, Travers," Yaxley said with annoyance, "because Thurso is the only Muggle settlement that lies outside the Ministry's early warning system, which means it's virtually the only place where more than three wizards could enter the country via international portkey simultaneously without it being detected. And _also_ because the Azkaban breakout happened _the very next night_!"

Cassilda nodded. "So you suspect that whoever was responsible entered the country via Thurso and then killed all the Muggles who saw their arrival. Well done, Cousin Corban. Please continue your investigation."

Auntie Camilla snickered. "I always said you were my favorite, Little Corby." Corban's smile faltered, and he swallowed at the possible implications of gaining the favoritism of this particular witch.

Amycus Carrow spoke up next as if eager not to be upstaged by Yaxley. "By an interesting coincidence, our sources in Eastern Europe have told us that within the past week, Fenrir Greyback has pulled his entire pack out of Lithuania. Their current location is unknown, but their disappearance coincides with the timing of the events in Thurso that Yaxley just described."

"I find it highly unlikely that either Greyback or any of the Magical werewolves who follow him can produce a mass portkey," said Yaxley with contempt.

"I agree," said Cassilda, "but that might mean that he is acting as a catspaw for someone who _can_ produce such a portkey. Cousin Corban, Cousin Amycus, reach out to your spies in the Ministry. Get us a list of British underground portkey artificers who might have the skills and inclination to produce a portkey for Greyback's entire pack. Other than that, Grandfather would like all of you to keep your eyes and ears open for any information, but do not draw any untoward attention to our Family in these tumultuous times."

"Moving on," said Great-Uncle Merihem as he lit up his signature pipe, the one that had been carved with the face of a leering daemonic imp, "has anyone heard any juicy rumors about the other members of our noble fraternity that might have any bearing on recent events."

Juliana glanced at her husband before speaking up. "It is likely unconnected to these affairs, but I have heard rumors that Tiberius Nott has entered a sealed marriage contract. I have not yet heard who the intended bride is to be, but if the Family thinks it important, I will make further inquiries."

"Please do so," said Cassilda. "That is indeed an interesting rumor, coming on the heels of the remarkable lengths to which Tiberius Nott went in order to mark his younger son as an outcast. Has anyone any thoughts on his motivations for either his upcoming nuptials or his unseemly vengeance against the No-Name boy?"

Uriah barked out a crude laugh. "I think I've got an idea. Mainly because the bastard told me about it after too much fire-whisky last time we went out whoring together. The fool is still trying to get me to forswear myself to the Selwyns and join his alliance. I won't, but I'll still enjoy m'self on his coin."

"The Family is grateful for your continued loyalty, Cousin Uriah."

Uriah snorted. "Like we don't both know the price I'd pay for _disloyalty_, Cousin Cassilda. Anyway -hic- Tiberius thinks that Theo No-Name was never actually his spawn. Thinks his wife and Lucius Malfoy cuckolded him."

"Ah!" exclaimed Auntie Camilla. "And poor old Lucius cannot rescue little Theo No-Name from his awful fate without confirming the cuckoldry and paying a heavy price for it. How charmingly diabolical! I wouldn't have thought Tiberius Nott would have such cunning in him."

Cassilda turned to Alecto Carrow. "See that this rumor is passed via third parties to the Skeeter woman. We will let her investigate and expose Malfoy if the rumor is true ... or, I suppose, if the theory is plausible enough to escape defamation claims. Regardless, the Family will not take an obvious side in any future Malfoy-Nott feud."

Then, her gaze returned to the Yaxleys. "Is the Malfoy heir still on his way to Durmstrang?"

Corban nodded. "He is. I have already instructed Giles and Albert to afford young Draco every courtesy. I have also advised them on how to undermine the boy if it appears he and his father are no long loyal to the fraternity. Given the way dear Narcissa has cut them both off, that seems likely the case."

"Keep us informed." Cassilda thought for a moment. "It is interesting, now that we mention it, that both the Malfoy Heir and the younger Nott should undergo such dramatic life-changing events at the same time." Her gaze scanned across the entire room. "Do they have anything in common?" she said with an almost exaggerated curiosity.

There was silence at first, and then Miranda Bonnevie spoke up.

"Harry Potter," she said with barely disguised bitterness.

"Oh, Cousin Miranda? Do tell us more."

Miranda looked over to the Warringtons for a second and then stood.

"Harry Potter has been a close friend of Theo No-Name almost since their start of school. Potter and Draco Malfoy initially started an antagonistic relationship until Easter Break of 1992, when ... _something_ happened. I've never been able to find out what, but the end result was that Harry Potter somehow acquired the loyalty of Draco Malfoy as well as that of both Slytherin prefects and the Quidditch captain in a single night. _No one_ knows what he did to achieve that, but it resulted in a significant alteration to Malfoy's own character over the course of the next year, to the point that Draco also developed an extremely close friendship with ... _a Mudblooded Hufflepuff_!"

The rest of the Family began to murmur at that news until a barely audible cough by Merihem caused them all to instantly go silent.

"These are remarkable claims, Cousin Miranda. And refresh my memory. Was it not also this ... _Harry Potter_ who played a role in your own unfortunate reversal of fortune?"

Miranda returned Cassilda's gaze levelly and did her best not show fear. "It was," she said.

"Please," Cassilda purred almost seductively. "Tell us more."

Miranda spared the merest glance at her aunt's family before she began. "It began with a plan by Cousin Cassius. As I'm sure you all know, the Boy-Who-Lived was revealed this past year as a Parselmouth. Cassius believed that this was a sign that he was the Heir of Slytherin and had somehow been Sorted incorrectly into Gryffindor. He proposed that we ingratiate ourselves with Jim Potter and introduce him to certain darker magics than he was accustomed, with the goal of seducing him to our ideology. Cousin Cassius asked for my assistance, and I acquiesced."

"And you thought that likely that this scheme would work?" Corban Yaxley said incredulously before ducking his head in response to a casual glance from Cassilda.

"Honestly, no," Miranda said bluntly. "But I did think it possible that we could manipulate him into using potentially illegal curses in some capacity so that we could either engineer his expulsion or further damage his reputation. Failing that, there was always the possibility of blackmail."

Auntie Camilla nodded in seeming approval. "And what went wrong?"

"As I said, Harry Potter. He somehow learned of our scheme and blackmailed Cassius's lackeys, Derrick and Bole, into betraying Cousin Cassius. Who, in turn, betrayed _me_!"

"_That's a LIE!_" Cassius said, jumping to his feet. Instantly, his mother and father each grabbed him by a shoulder and roughly shoved him back into his seat.

"_Be SILENT!_" Antonius hissed furiously at his son through gritted teeth.

Cassilda glanced at the three Warringtons almost diffidently before turning her focus back to Miranda.

"Grandfather was most displeased to hear of your expulsion, Cousin Miranda. We have all invested a great deal of time and effort into both you and the House of Bonnevie. He desires ... an accounting. Are you willing to meet with Grandfather? One-on-one, as it were?"

Miranda swallowed painfully. "If it is Grandfather's desire that I plead my case for myself and also for my family, then of course, I will honored to do so."

Cassius grew even angrier. "_She gets to see Grandfather but not me? No way! She's not going to scapegoat me and get away with it!"_

Before his parents could stop him once more, Cassius Warrington leapt to his feet. "No! The plan was mine. And it would have worked if Miranda hadn't lost her nerve in Dumbledore's office! Let _me_ speak to Grandfather! I demand to see him!"

Several people in the room gasped aloud, even as Cassilda Selwyn fixed the impetuous boy with a piercing gaze. Along with a _smile_ that was somehow unlike any other smile Cassius Warrington had ever seen before. Who knew that a pretty lady's smile could be so frightening? And though he could not see them, Auntie Camilla and Great-Uncle Merihem were also grinning in utter delight.

Both Antonius and Juliana moved to rise and apologize for their son's outburst, but Cassilda simply raised her right hand without taking her eyes off the boy, His parents both froze instantly. The Seneshal then held up her left hand in the general direction of Miranda without taking her hypnotic gaze off of young Cassius. She waved her fingers dismissively towards the girl, who took the meaning and swiftly sat down.

"You ... _demand_ to see Grandfather?" Cassilda repeated almost deliriously as if she couldn't truly believe what she had heard. Then, she shook her head with what might have passed for pity to anyone who didn't actually know her. "You don't know anything about what's going on, do you Cousin Cassius?"

Before he could reply, she looked back and forth between Antonius and Juliana, like a cat trying to choose which of two captured birds she should play with. "The boy knows _nothing_. You actually brought your fifteen-year-old son to the Abbey of Nightmares for his first visit ... and he knows _nothing_ about who we are. About what the House of Selwyn truly is. Astonishing!"

Then, she turned back towards Cassius, who had taken the opportunity to study the faces of his kinsmen. Their expressions ranged from utterly aghast to viciously amused depending on each family member's capacity for empathy.

"Well then, Cousin Cassius," Cassilda said. "If you are so ... _eager_ to face Grandfather's judgment, who am I to deny you?"

"NO!" Juliana shouted as she finally jumped to her feet. "Cousin Cassilda, the decision to ... to not tell Cassius about ... about how things are... it was made by my husband and I. We are the authors of our son's ignorance. We are the ones responsible for his ... lack of decorum and cunning." Then, Juliana took a deep breath before continuing. "And I, I am Miranda's aunt. It was my desire to bring the House of Bonnevie into harmony with that the House of Selwyn. That makes me responsible for any missteps on Miranda's part. Please! Allow me to be the one to meet Grandfather and plead our case to him."

"Yes," Cassilda said almost dreamily. "I'm quite sure there will be some pleading involved on someone's part. But I am deeply moved by the maternal devotion reflected in your speech." Then, she turned to look at Antonius who was still sitting in his chair utterly speechless.

"And what of you, dear Cousin Antonius. You are Lord Warrington, after all. Will you now take this moment to display your sense of chivalry and heroically demand to take the place of your wife and son?"

Antonius simply stared unblinkingly at the woman, his mouth open and quivering as if he wanted to speak but simply couldn't bring himself to utter the words.

Cassilda laughed softly. "No," she said, her contempt obvious despite her soft tones, "I thought not."

She turned to the rest of the Family. "This meeting is ended. All of you, please consider the matters we have discussed. If you have any information to share, you know how to contact us. If Grandfather has any instructions for you, they will be disseminated by the usual means."

Juliana Warrington turned stiffly to her flummoxed son and kissed him on the forehead before following Cassilda out of the room. Meanwhile, Viola Yaxley invited Miranda Bonnevie to come home with her family for the evening so she could tell the other girl all about Beauxbatons. She promised that she and Miranda would be "such great friends," a prospect that Miranda did her best to view positively. While they were talking, Auntie Camilla waddled over to Hestia and Flora Carrow.

"Well look at you two! You've grown _so much,_ haven't you!" The two girls smiled and curtsied.

"Thank you, Auntie Camilla," they said in perfect unison. Amycus and Alecto Carrow stood behind them, beaming like a proud Mother and Father. Or perhaps a proud Aunt and Uncle. Or perhaps even proud older siblings. It was difficult to say.

"Soon, my pretties," Camilla continued. "You'll be at Hogwarts, hehehe!"

"Yes, Auntie Camilla."

"And of course, you'll both be sorted into Slytherin!"

"Of course, Auntie Camilla."

The ancient crone bent down over the young girls. "And you'll keep an eye on this little _Harry Potter _snot and burrow out all of his nasty little secrets, won't you my pretties?"

"Naturally, Auntie Camilla."

Camilla smiled and pinched each of their cheeks. Flora and Hestia smiled up in perfect unison at their Auntie Camilla. A painfully naive person would have said they looked angelic.

Minutes later, everyone was gone save Cassius and Antonius. The boy was still looking around as if not quite sure what had happened. The father finally rose from his chair and wandered over to the drinks cabinet in search of more scotch.

"Father?" Cassius asked once he'd finally and far too late realized he should be nervous. "What ... what's going on here?"

"Shut up, Cassius," Antonius Warrington said while pouring another drink and without even looking back at his son and heir. "Just ... just _shut up_."

The two sat alone and in silence for nearly two hours before Juliana was returned to them. Hyades and Aldones Selwyn supported the woman by her arms as she was too weak to walk under her own power. Her skin was as white as driven snow, her eyes were glassy and unfocused, and her hair was disarranged. The sleeve of her gown had been ripped away from her right arm, and bandages were wrapped around that forearm from her wrist almost to her elbow. Very thick bandages, thankfully, so only a little bit of blood seeped through.

Antonius and a horrified Cassius took Juliana home to Warrington Manor via Floo and then put her to bed. Immediately, Antonius summoned their family healer who prescribed a regimen of potions for the lady of the house. Over the next two days, Juliana Warrington would consume four Blood-Replenishing Potions, three Draughts of Peace, and two Dreamless Sleep potions. On the third day, she had recovered enough to speak and summoned Cassius and Antonius to her bed chambers so that Antonius could bind their son to an Unbreakable Vow.

It was only then that Antonius and Juliana told their son the truth about the House of Selwyn.

* * *

_**Next: Back to Hogwarts!  
**_


End file.
